Touching Mediocrity

Copyright © 1999 Walt Zientek

She sat at one end of the sofa and placed her hand on the hip of the old sleeping dog.
She smiled as she remembered the first Show they'd entered in. She recalled how the
nicer folks there commented on her good points as well as gently ponting out her faults.
She also recalled how other, not as nice folks, made a face and moved away.

Her hand lightly stroked the dark yellow fur as she remembered how her hopes were
never met in the Ring. The dog was fixed and took the role of pet to heart. She'd always
be a mediocre Show Dog. That really didn't matter anymore.


His right hand lifted the steaming coffee to his lips as his left draped over the brown
dog's back. The frosted Autumn morning was silent, still and young. He talked quietly
to the big brown dog as they waited together in that old blind. He talked of things he'd
never say with other folks around.

The big dog listened well to every word. He knew the ducks were not around that day
and really didn't care. He wasn't eager to swim the icy pond or fight a crippled bird, but
of course he would. If his master's aim should magically turn true, he'd do the job. For


She knelt down and lightly squeezed the black cheeks between her palms. She
wondered if this goofy boy would ever understand the exercise. She shook her head
and laughed as he just seemed to grin and hang his tongue.


The man stood silenty beneath the big tree. His eyes were locked upon the the marker
on the ground. His minded raced through the memories. He allowed his heart to speak,
to cry and mourn. He placed his hand upon the stone and held it there a long, long time.

He felt a cold nose touch his arm, a wet tongue against his skin. The gangly pup nudged
and pressed his head against the man. The man hugged the pup and held him closely
for a little while, before they turned and walked away.

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Last modified: 8-19-2000

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