Mirrors

Mirrors, that’s what they call them, if my under-size ears hear it right.

I was mucking around a bit this morning, hanging out, dragging Erwin around my playground by one of his streaky legs, taking time out to tug at an annoying yellow towel, and re-shaping my cotton bed like a champion digger, when I saw something incredible. And frightening.

Without being consulted – no, not a mention – I see another dog. In the same room. Ears, tail, everything. Young and somewhat fragile, frisky like me. Who is this? And hey, this is my playground.

I approach the wall and see this dog up close. It moves when I do. I try a dummy, a feint to  the left, a small jump. He copies me. What reactions! I growl. I mean you would expect that, wouldn’t you? Dogs growl. It’s part of our defence mechanism designed to frighten the opposition, the uninvited or unwelcome. I’m already quite good at it, and I intend to practice. But wait, he – I think it’s a he, but I’m not sure – he growls back at me. What a shock, what an insult.

I was just about to launch a fierce, even vicious, assault on this four-legged intruder –  I’m getting ready to head but him – when a LARGE HAND lifts me up and puts me down in another part of my playground. Next to my favourite green ball. Think I may chew it a lot.

And then I hear sounds that seem suspiciouly like laughter, a gurgling bubbly sound. I roll over, expose my pink tummy, and try to join in the fun. I mean, I do like to entertain.

Yes, I do. But then a doubt creeps in. Only briefly, mind. Was the joke on me? Not sure.

Who cares, life is fun.