My Best Friend - Piper

We oftentimes hear people talking about a dog as their best friend. I could only respond to them half-heartedly as I did not yet have a first-hand experience regarding the matter. But now that I had experienced it, then I could truly say that dogs are indeed, the most faithful friends one could ever encounter. This is the story of my dog- Piper.

Piper had been brought home by my husband when she was just several days old. Even then, she was so impish and unruly. She would run around the yard non-stop; toppled everything blocking her path, and bit strange looking things into Kingdom come.

I was irritated at first because of how she was turning the house upside down that I had to tie her up. She refused to be tied up of course and did all she could to get out of her imprisonment. I had no option but to set her free. By then I was growing to like her cute antics. I named her Piper. Yes, after the lovely lady Piper of Charmed!

When I arrived home from work, she would rub her body against my feet and wagged her flurry tail, wanting to be cuddled. There were times that my husband and son were out, so I had to bathe her and feed her myself.
After two weeks however, she got sick. She vomited all what she had eaten and had tenesmus (blood in stool and difficulty in defecation). I thought she would die then, and I prayed silently as I patiently fed her milk and medicine from a dropper. She was just lying down there so weak and helpless that I prepared myself to lose her.

After a week though, my prayers were answered, she was up and about and was again in the front door to greet me whenever I came home.
She did not get sick again, not until she was 3 months old. She had a big infected wound, from a barbed wire fence in the back yard. I had again to nurse her to health until her wounds got healed.

Soon, when husband and son were stationed in another city, I was left alone, as I didn’t want to leave my job. Piper provided me with the company and security. She may have sensed that I needed to be safe and had kept vigil over the house when I was not around and more so when I was.

There was a time I had been brought to the hospital for treatment and she stayed faithfully in the front door guarding the house. Nobody remembered to give her food or to check on her. (I still, am teary-eyed whenever I remember) I was unconscious then so I could not instruct them to check on her, and because everyone was preoccupied, no one remembered.

When I went home eventually, there she was sitting guard at the door, faithful as ever!

When I moved to an apartment nearer my place of work after a year, to avoid stress. I was forced to instruct my son to bring her, as dogs were not permitted in my apartment.

She had adapted nicely to my son’s family and again stood guard over my grandkids!
When she died, my grandkids cried as I did.

If at first I found it strange that people would cry for a dog, the death of Piper had made me understand them completely.

And I’m not ashamed to admit that I have cried for my best-friend; my dog – PIPER!

N.B.

The picture here is not of Piper but of my son’s dog – a Rottweiler, which they named Piper too, in memory of my best friend. They have to tie her up as she would bite strangers.

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STILL STUPID AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

By: KEN ARMSTRONG

Normally, my ‘stupid-stories’ are about things that happened to me in the dim and distant past. But the story which I’m going to tell you now actually only happened a little less than six weeks ago.

It still hurts me, both emotionally and physically, to think too much about it. Still, I hope you get a little smile from reading it.

That’s the whole point really.
* * * *

In my job, I sometimes have to go out into fields in the countryside and check out their boundaries. Six week ago, I had one such job which took me into the green green depths of County Mayo (Ireland, of course).

It was a lovely sunny afternoon as I drove out and met the very nice lady who owned the land. We had agreed to meet her elderly neighbour down the field so we both pulled on our boots and headed off together down the grassy slopes.

Soon enough, we came to a fence. It was made of barbed wire and interspersed with tall wooden posts. We had to get past it. The lady – let’s give her a name, let’s say… Mary! Right, well, ‘Mary’ inched her way through a tiny gap and left a fair scrap of her nice tweed jacket on the jagged edges of the wire.

I had my best and loudest red jacket on and I didn’t fancy tearing it so I decided to go ‘over the top’. My plan was to climb on top of one of the large wooden poles that made up the fence and then simply jump down the other side.

It didn’t work out that way.

I got up on to the pole all right. There was only room for one foot on top of it so I balanced there, one leg bent back, arms outstretched. I reckon I must have looked a bit like the Karate Kid except in Welly-Boots.

So for one graceful moment, there I was - perched in the countryside on my pole.

All was well with the world.

Then I went to jump down the other side of the fence.

Perhaps it was because Mary chose that very moment to shout, ‘Be Careful,’ at me.

Perhaps she caused the very air to become negatively charged with her concern.

Perhaps it was all simply destined to fail from the moment I mounted my pole.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

I launched myself from the top of the pole but the act of my launching caused the poorly anchored pole to fall away backwards behind me just as I departed it.

This transformed what should have been a simple leap to the ground into a graceless swan dive out into rural space.

Bear in mind I was about six feet off the ground when I parted company with the toppling pole. It felt like a long long way to fall.

On the way down I found time to realise that my chin was going to be my first point of contact with the Earth.

In a last-ditch attempt at vanity, I drew my head back to save my beloved chin.

I threw my arms out behind me too, so as to further take my lower jaw out of the impact zone.

It worked. I hit the ground chest first, head up, arms back.

I think it really was quite a remarkable show.

Mary ran up to me. ‘Are you all right?’ she gasped, "Are you all right?"

I was winded. I was as winded as a winded person can ever be winded. There was no breath in me.

But I could tell that Mary was deeply concerned. The way I was curled up clutching my chest, the poor lady was probably thinking that I was having a heart attack.

So I squeezed an answer out on my last dribble of air.

"I’m fine." I wheezed, "Fine…"

Did I mention that Mary was ‘hard of hearing’?

Mary was as ‘hard of hearing’ as the post from which I had so recently sailed forth.

She shook me a bit.

"I said are you all right?" she wailed.

I recovered, after a while. I sat up and reassured Mary that I was indeed fine.

"I WAS ONLY WINDED!!" I said, "DO YOU HEAR ME? WINDED!"

In point of fact my stupidity had earned me two cracked ribs. But I wouldn’t know that until much later. For now, I pretended to have no ill effects at all.

It was critical that I regain some of my professional manner so that I could continue on and complete my job on a calm clinical way…

…as if!

(Really, I should end this story now – I’ve written enough words, I think. A story which has, up until now, been fairly embarrassing for me to tell is about to become completely mortifying. Still, I can’t stop myself from telling it. God help me I can’t!!)

On the way back up the field, after completing our little boundary-check, we came to the same fence again.

I had reinstated the pole as best I could so the fence was once again an obstacle to be overcome. Mary went through it exactly as she had done before.

I still wanted to save my jacket so I went with ‘Plan B’.

I walked to a point midway between two posts, pushed the barbed wire down and stepped over the top of it.

I do this all the time, it’s not a problem.

But this time, when I threw my leg over the fence , I got my first inkling that all might not be quite right with my ribcage.

A sharp pain wrenched through me.

I let go of the barbed wire in shock and the evil wire shot up and snagged me around the place where my trouser-legs tend to meet up.

I hasten to explain, there was no ‘anatomical’ difficulty here – I had baggy waterproof pants on over my ‘regular pair’ (of trousers, dear, of trousers) so I wasn’t in danger of any fate worse than death.

But I was left in a dreadfully uncomfortable position. One leg was on the ground, the other leg was dangling in the air on the other side of the fence and my trousers were totally snagged as if on the barb of a fish hook.

Try as I might, I simply could not free myself from the fence.

Not to mention that I had two newly cracked ribs.

Okay, I mentioned it.

Mary watched me struggle for what seemed like twenty-five minutes and then she apologetically asked. "Can I give you a hand?"

I had no choice.

Dear Mary got down on her knees in the field and, at face level with my snagged trousers, she tugged and wrangled and finally got my errant crotch free again.

As I told you, her elderly neighbour had agreed to walk down the field that day and meet up with us for a chat…

…he never showed up.

For these small mercies, we can only give thanks.

@Ken Armstrong 2008

About the Author:
It is a dream come true for me, having one of my most admired writers - Ken Armstrong of Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff - write a story, which is now featured in this post. I had thought it would be difficult to invite him as he is already a proven and known persona in the writing department in his own niche in Ireland - having published plays and short stories for the theater and radio, but - he so gladly obliged. The good author's feet are still rooted firmly, on "terra firma"!

For more of Ken's interesting and amazing stories visit his blog at:
Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff.

At your expense Ken, I can't help but laugh. Thanks for the honor. Hats off to you!

N. B.
This is a re- posting. I hope you enjoy reading. 
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Buddha Picture

A Journey Into the Unknown

(Due to inevitable reasons, the story "The Wanderer.." will continue next week. In the meantime, here is what I can offer in its place.)

It was the first day in school and everyone was eager to start the year. The students were excitedly updating each other with their latest escapades. There were a few of them lost in their own world, nevertheless, the air was charged with great expectancy and adventure.

I stood there at the entrance taking all of these in. My pulses quickened, and I can feel my heart do a flip. It was my very first exposure to teaching and I was apprehensive and nervous as how it would turn out to be. I reminded myself that I have made all the necessary preparations so I assumed it should proceed like a breeze. But looking at them now, I didn't expect a college class to be as "rowdy" as this one. I had expected to walk into an organized, attentive class, with all of them seated in their designated places.

Someone noticed me and turned to his classmates, "Sshhhh, she's here..." The din inside the classroom slowly diminished - as one by one - they went back to their seats. Then there was complete silence, I could hear a pin drop. I was amazed at how the ambiance changed in just a few minutes. I walked in and assumed the sternest face I could muster.

I introduced myself, gave a brief summary of the course, have their class cards accomplished and distributed their syllabus. During all these processes, I spoke in firm tones and never smiled. My hands however, were shaking behind my back, and my knees were wobbly. If they only knew how nervous I was, they may have come after me like a pack of wolves.

My first lesson was about endocrinology. I have reviewed the material thoroughly so I went on like an automaton trying to impress them with my cognitive abilities. One brave student asked several questions trying to test the waters. I was acutely aware of that, and it made me wary.

I went on to explain about the functions of the endocrine glands, the hormones they produced, the assays applicable to these hormones, and all pertinent information related to the topic.

Well, they listened and I survived my first day in college. Nothing disastrous happened. I was able to give a two-hour lecture without collapsing in the middle of my presentation. But after the class, I was like a deflated balloon, so relieved that I was able to make it through.

As days passed, I gained more experience. I came to realize that teaching is not just being able to deliver the lesson for the day. Teaching should also be an interactive process amidst a friendly atmosphere. It should promote an environment of respect and should provide enough freedom for students to be able to express themselves without fear of censure and sanction. They learn more in this set-up than in a rigid and straight-laced method.

I have also learned that adapting the "carrot method" (positive approach merits are awarded for good performances) encourages more student participation than the "stick method" (negative approach- sanctions are given for low performances)

A few of my students during my first year of exposure to college are now my colleagues in the University, and I take pride in stating that they had turned out to be very competent and effective instructors.

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