How long has it been?

Roughly, I mean

I was going to just do the old Bobby Ewing shower thing and show up after an entire season without any explanation at all just a little hint that it’s all been a dream except I learned recently that not everybody knows who Bobby Ewing is and they’re even more in the dark about who shot his big brother.

I said to more than one person but not quite a crowd that I’d just written the best cliffhanger since who shot JR and got thick silence instead of the knowing delight I expected and silence is not only deadly when referring to Daisy’s hourly bouts of digestion – still with me? – silence is also deadly as a response so you can imagine I was relieved to hear a little voice pipe up until it said what’s JR? and sensing the explanation not only immense but futilely so, I switched references on the spot and said rather smugly let’s just say I’ve written the best cliffhanger since Twin Peaks and again silence but Daisy is my saviour and decided at that very moment to let one go.

Talk about a cliffhanger

I have a friend who comes over every Friday morning and we sit and shoot the shit, she’s a deceased friend’s mom, and unexpectedly she has become a great friend, she simply exudes acceptance, she doesn’t think any of my shit’s too weird, she seems to like me no matter what, no matter how she has to wade through the mess and when I say sorry about this or that messy situation she says I came to see you not your house which is the nicest thing under the circumstances.

She’s the reason I do any tidying up at all even if it is just forging a pathway from the door to her preferred couch 

She’s got some superstitions I think it’s a generational thing for instance she believes dead people leave you white feathers when they’re thinking of you and she just moved and right there in her new apartment in the middle of the floor where it has absolutely no business being, you guessed it, a white feather she easily attributed it to her recently deceased friend Margaret.

She suggested I be on the lookout too

While we’re in the feather game I think I’ve told you before Daisy is famous for eating weird shit including one time somebody’s false tooth and almost all my pockets. Well once when I let her off the leash at the beach I couldn’t find her and some lady hollered if you’re looking for a dog there’s one over there eating a dead swan and I said how am I ever going to love you again? to Daisy not the lady although she seemed quite nice.

But back to the other feathers. The morning after our visit I sent my friend this text: You told me to be on the lookout for white feathers. Got up this morning and there were white feathers everywhere. Daisy chewed a hole in my down-filled blanket. I have lots of followers it appears.

Not to sound too Julie Andrews or anything but early morning fall walks they are like giant brown paper packages

Daisy’s somewhere around a hundred now, creaky and farty as mentioned, but she’s always eager to go, she – I’m not sure about the verb here – she sort of lurches around her wagging tail seems a consequence of her wagging bum, our cool morning hikes are def one of her favourite things.

Her enthusiasm is often misconstrued as a display of adorable puppyhood

There’s that same wild abandon, an overwhelming sweet awkwardness which people are drawn to but then they get closer and I like watching when they discover she’s more like Betty Davis teetering on the edge of insanity like in that movie where she kept her sister upstairs.

Just got back from one of those early walks and I think I swallowed a spider – or even worse – I think I almost swallowed a spider and it’s stuck, alive like an oyster

Which is the problem when you’re first on the trail. They hang their nets across the pathway like they’re trying to catch me. I had one hanging from my hair, a fucking dangler I couldn’t shake, a willnot if you will or not, those fuckers are dense, dark and heavy. I had to give myself a full-body pat-down several frantic times in succession – Daisy enjoyed my rendition of her lurch – but still that tenacious little fuck was bobbing I realized he was helplessly stuck in my hair like two inches from my wide slippery eyeballs.

And then he was gone and there was something in my throat

If you feel like reading a story it’s on litbit and you can listen to it if you like. Click the big LITBIT. The site is under construction, but if you feel like commenting you can use the blue link under the story or you can come back here and say something.

I recorded this in one go, always I record in one go and I never listen before I post otherwise I never would. I wait and torture myself a couple of days later when it’s too late to change anything. Anyways there a stumble or two and a few kerfuffles but please let’s just pretend there’s not.

This story won high commendation in the Plaza Prizes 2023 short story competition so it’s coming out in an apology soon (ah spellcheck’s back the little fucker) it’s coming out in an anthology soon as in actual printed matter as in pages.

So here’s the link again if you’re in the mood to read or listen or root around in a fledgling site, and if you’re not, here it isn’t.