Keaton, my now not-so-little Landseer boy, simply lay there after I had given him his morning brush. The sun by then had bathed him with its first warming rays at one end of the breezeway. The timing was perfect for even in the midst of our Australian winters these morning grooming sessions leave me quite warm. Having gathered up the many clumps of hair the rake and slicker had removed from my little boy’s coat thus it was I then turned to Liquorice, quietly lying, gnawing methodically on a sizeable rawhide treat, to give her a thorough brushing in the now welcoming shade. After a while Keaton raised his head, rolled over a bit and came to rest on his chest. He looked on without expression as his Dad set to work on Liquorice. Keaton noted the sounds of morning with little interest, slowly turning his head as he heard the excited twitter of small birds or the warbling of Magpies giving thanks for their morning treat of wet kibble. Keaton was quietly enjoying the sun on his broad white back. The still morning air, slowly warmed by the sun’s rays, had started to stir. With eyelids growing heavy he observed white hairs, formerly his, had come together forming embryonic “tumbleweeds”. These wispy bits of fluff would gently sway as air moved first one way then slowly back the other. Keaton had seen such things before. His eyelids were getting heavier, the sun on his back and the sound of Liquorice’s rhythmic gnawing before long had Keaton’s ample head coming to rest between his front paws.
Quiet and contented snores soon came from his direction.
Various distant sounds would awaken my little man from his slumbers, a dog’s bark or a car coming up the hill. Keaton’s sleepy eyes would half open, his mind, working with less than its usual brilliance, would determine the nature of the sound and once again ease back to sleeping mode. Sometimes the faint movement of fluff balls would catch his attention, but not with any appreciable degree of enthusiasm, Keaton would merely note their activity as from time to time they moved slowly back and forth around him. Their journeys were never of epic proportions, just a few inches or so before coming to rest. Keaton’s sleepy head remained motionless, only his eyes swiveled toward such movement before closing yet again. Still Keaton could not sleep. He kept opening drowsy eyes casually viewing the lazy life these fluffy tufts enjoyed. Time passed, the air warmed, even I began to feel its occasional changing of directions. A couple of the fluffy-balls from the young master’s white hair had rolled over and over forming transparent “sausages” of ghostlike appearance. Slowly they rolled one way, then drifted back the other. There was no urgency in their rolling, more relaxed, in keeping with Keaton’s mood. He watched disinterested, as one stray collection of hairs tumbled casually toward the end of his nose, only to witness them follow the path of the unseen air as it obligingly changed course around dear Keaton. Occasionally, as invisible air currents collided, an eddy of air would form, swirling a small accumulation of hair a few inches above the cement floor. Keaton’s eyes followed their ascent, and then traced their descent back to ground. All not worth the effort of raising his tired head.
Liquorice was in rapture, gnawing on her treat. I contented, brushed my little darling. Keaton attained various levels of semi-consciousness. All at peace, thanks to some kindly Fate.
Arthur Witten
Liquorice – Any more edibles?
Keaton – Hey Dad, next time sweep the floor!