Fiction By Vince
Written July 2006
Something’s going on, I’m sure of that.
It’s the little things that you notice, like all the rushing around and the general buzz of excitement. Little things, like them coming home early but then not having dinner until late. It may be alright for them but I’m a regular sort. I like things as they were yesterday, as they were last week, last month. It’s mad enough at weekends and at holidays such as Christmas, but at least I get extra grub at these times. Right now I’m just being completely ignored and I’m not best pleased.
I’m aware that they all like to sit and stare aimlessly at that strange, noisy box in the corner of the room and mostly I’m happy with that. After all, getting my own head down is a skill I’ve mastered to a fine art. Those lazy hours can always be punctuated with the odd wander around for a bit of attention, or if I’m feeling a little mischievous I can always pretend to snore… Or fart.
This is different though. My dinner’s late, my stomach rumblings are genuine and every time I even get near that noisy box someone yells out quite unnecessarily loudly. Only yesterday I nosed over to see what all the fuss was about and I got a flying slipper for my trouble. Even my failsafe lay out on my back with my ears flat out and legs in the air doesn’t seem to attract their attention. But worst of all, now I want to go.
There may be tension in this room, rising and pitching like someone just found a key to a huge secret larder, then lost it again, but for me all the tension is in my bladder and it just keeps rising and rising. I learnt a long time ago not to use this room and that it really was in my best interests to wait until I go out. But I’ve waited nearly ninety minutes and there is no sign that anyone wants to go ‘Walkies’.
Mind you, just now, even when I do get out in the park for a bit of a run there are always far too many kids there. All of them running around, kicking a huge ball and shouting at each other quite a lot. I wouldn’t mind if I they let me join in but when I try they seem to get so upset then pretend I’m the ball and try to kick me. Not that they stand a chance against my speed and manoeuvrability. And what is it with this ‘Rooney’ name they shout?
I really hope this state of affairs doesn’t drag on all summer. In this heat that pungent smell of canned lager in this room is starting to overwhelm my sensitive nostrils.
What on earth can obsess these people so strongly?
It’s only been two weeks but I’m starting to think that if anyone else pointlessly shouts out ‘Come on Engerland’ I’ll bloody well bite them.
Author: Vince Poynter
Version 5.138 22 Jun 2018
Written July 2006 and submitted to the BBC as part of a radio script submission request
First Published: Version 2.04 in Dec 2006
The photograph shows the author's wife's Yorkshire Terrier puppy taken in Oct 1981, added on 27 Jun 2018