Digital Ischemia


A Terriering Hurry

Filed under: Shorts — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — Teepwriter @ 16:45

A farm track heads due south from the village church. On both sides are rough pasture tending to moorland, usually populated by horses/cows/ragwort. The track runs for about a mile until it arrives perpendicularly at a rural road. Roughly halfway along there is a dogleg right between a few remnant scrubby beeches and rowans. The verge is wildly uneven and sprinkled with gorse and broom and seasonal wildflowers. The sky is vast and you can see the weather heading toward you 20 miles west.

One day, on my return north, or in fact east on the dogleg, I encountered an actual dogleg, several, comprising a whole dog. One wee dirty white westie terrier catapulted into sight around the bend. We faced each other, both instantly wary: I froze; the westie screeched to a halt with dust clouds billowing from its feet. It panted. I had elevated breathing. I don’t like dogs of any size ‘being friendly’. We shuffled a wee trackway do-si-do then I acquiesced and stepped on to the verge, vanquished by the westie’s adrenaline haze. The dog revved up, cartoon-style, and catapulted— no, dog-a-pelted by me, around the other bend and out of sight. Last seen heading south at full tongue loll, legs going like wheel spokes.

I was captivated by the exhilaration radiating from that wee face. Anthropomorphisation, of course, but the sheer exuberance seemed unmistakable. I would say so to its human companion in due course. I rounded the bend and saw the track heading north to the village. Empty. I’d not passed anyone going out, nor returning this far. Perhaps they were behind that wee rise a quarter of a way from the village… No.

The wee dog was utterly unattended. Where was it going? Where fae? Finally, my only limp hypothesis was the kennels a further mile east – an escapee? Liberated by its own nifty cunning and pelting hame or just anywhere, with the euphoria of restored freedom… Maybe. It gave me a smile.



Filed under: Shorts — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — Teepwriter @ 11:00

Not that I was ever fast, but the fatigue slows me down and allows me to experience much more of my world. The pain focuses me on sensations. To paraphrase John Muir, I go inward in order to go out: I see my adventures in my mind, still hoping that one day I may re-experience them, but not attached to that; it is the story of my learning that experiences I hanker after will never come, while those that I have now are the ones to be savoured.

As my feet tread the carpet, my head follows its scalloped flight path through the muir. I have been walking a mere 15 minutes, and I am no distance from where I started, but my head is already a mile gone. It turns out that it doesn’t matter how far you walk. Success is not proportional to quantity. The slower you go, the more detail you see; in fact you’ll see just as much on that smaller scale.

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