P and his Dog

P was born in a white-washed, airy house with a small vegetable patch, lying somewhere north-east of the great big city. The sunlight flowing into the house made curious criss-cross patterns on the walls and wooden floor, where a lazy-eyed dog could often be seen stretching out. The family pet. It was a cheerful house inhabited by well-meaning, middle class folk with mediocre aspirations and expectations.

P was a slow child, bordering precariously close to being called stupid. He was the shame of the Annual Sports day. Always the last one to finish the race, but always managing a big, goofy grin, flashing a set of crooked teeth that melted most people’s hearts. He was nothing special when it came to lessons either- failing to live up to his big glasses and small frame. He was no mathematical genius.

P was a happy child. Every evening when the dusk settled in, spreading a loving violet hue across the front yard, he would sit down quietly on the steps of the house. And beside him would be the lazy eyed dog. The family pet. Little boy and his old dog, side by side. The sweet, pungent smell of the vegetable patch, mixing with the kitchen smells. And everything in the universe would feel just right.