Danny: A Melancolonic Tale

As an HB/NW I’m used to viewing the world with a degree of cynicism.  Today, I thought I would try to see things from a different point of view and to embrace joy from the smallest of things. 

The trouble is, I picked the wrong subject matter… 

 

I first met Danny just after his birth.  He was a tiny, vulnerable little thing, clinging on bravely to his surroundings, not wanting to let go of his new life. His peers seemed stronger somehow, more strategically placed, able to make more of an impact upon the people that came across them.  Poor Danny was very much on the edge of it all – perhaps a little hidden from view and with very little chance of moving onwards…

How long would this tender creature last in such a harsh world, I wondered…  And so I kept my eye on little Danny to share in his story – and also to avoid treading on him…

 

…for Danny was a dog poo, curled up next to the lamp-post at the bottom of my street…

…sheltered from the rain…

…sad and alone.

 

 

Most of his friends had already made their mark – grabbing their chance to travel on the soles of passers by.  Surely this is the raison d’etre of all doggy doos – a life rich and full, clinging onto shoe based transport in order to see more of the world, creating tiny ball like children that roll off on their own journeys over time.  There was no such joy for Danny… no happy squeals of kiddies as they slipped and slid him into fresh carpets…  no melancholy sighs of parents as they scrubbed and polished places plastered with new poo…

Danny was a spring baby, able to survive where he lay without the harsh winter weather beating upon his curly, swirly face.  As spring turned to summer, Danny remained steadfast – perhaps a little tougher on the outside, but still with a soft heart that craved something more out of life. I considered giving Danny a helping hand on his journey but I’m ashamed to say that a part of him disgusted me.  I didn’t even let my children play with him – they would have accepted him without question, as all little ones do – embracing him… holding him… taking him on board –  without a realisation of the problems behind such close contact.  No – I steered clear of poor, lonely Danny…

Summer turned to autumn, then winter, and I was surprised to find that Danny was coping well with the onslaught of bitter weather.  By this point in his life, he had hardened to the realities of life on the street. Now with a heart of stone, Danny could stand up to pretty much anything that the world could throw at him.  Smaller now – a mere shell of the young, slick Danny that I once knew – my friend had developed into a fighter…

Winter turned to spring, then summer and autumn.  My family said hello whenever we were passing and Danny became very much a part of the community.  The local council, bless them, had never tried to move him on – they were too busy trying to win the ‘Most Floral Town’ award for the Nth year running, so had little time or inclination to deal with doggy poos – especially ones on the sidelines, like our Danny.

The next winter would be Danny’s last…  It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about his passing – tears produced not merely by the smell of other doggy plops on my street, but by the constant reminder of Danny that they pose…  Danny – a skiddy brown mark of consistency in this ever changing world.

I looked in on my old companion towards the end of winter 2011.  He was now cracked by the ravages of age… smaller… lighter…  like a smelly brown feather.  I figured that I would give Danny a ‘pick me up’ come his second birthday.

But that was not to be. I went down the road on his big day, clutching a tiny cocktail stick –  a celebratory flag sellotaped upon it – only to find that Danny had finally gone.  Perhaps he had finally achieved his ultimate dream – to dance upon the soles of others… to share himself with the world.  Oh, he was so old, but I’m sure that, even then, Danny would have something to give to anyone who touched him!

I looked sadly down my street and my heart fluttered a little.  There, curled around the next lamp post, was a newly born doggy dribble…

“This cycle will never end” I heard myself whisper sagely, “As long as dog owners allow their pets to crap all over our streets, then we shall always have tiny, turd shaped travellers sharing their innermost softness with mankind.  As long as our councils continue to spend money on peripherals rather than cleaning our streets, then friends like Danny will always be found – tucked away in the recesses, ready to radiate in our homes, with our families, alongside our children.

Perhaps a little piece of Danny has found his way onto your shoes ?  Perhaps right now, Danny is a part of your life – in your hallway, in your car, on your kid’s football kit, in your bath…

We have our dog owners to thank for the gifts that they regularly leave lying around – next time you see a dog owner relinquishing a present for you, bear this missive in mind and thank them appropriately.

Do it for Danny…

 

 

© Nova Amiko and The Has Been Who Never Was 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nova Amiko and The Has Been Who Never Was with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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