It is not my birthday. It is two days before. However, it is Saturday night, and this means that celebrations start now. We’re all off out, but first, this shit.
This morning while making the world’s most clumsy lasagne, I was busy cackling my head off at absolutely nothing. Red faced and wheezing with laughter, one of those mornings. I skipped about like a prick in that kitchen, listening to U2. It was a damned blast my friends, oh yes.
Ben is a dog. He is a big white dog. If you will, he’s a small pony with a dog’s face. Big black eyes, funny face. The sort of face that stares at you, either through you or into your soul.
Thing is, Ben only really barks when he doesn’t know who it is who is there, for example, when you first enter the building. The rest of the time he moves around fairly silently. Funny thing is, whenever I turn around he seems to be there. He’s like a stalker. A dog stalker. That’s MY idea, Ben. Get your own idea.
Today Ben stood in the doorway from the bar to the kitchen, and gave it the right eyeball. Everytime I would walk past, he’d follow me with his dog’s face gaze, black eyes bolted to my face. Every single time I looked around, he’d be staring at me. Emotionless. Thing is, i can’t do that “WHAAAASAAAT? BEN? EH? WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” and lob a thing or something. I am the same with dogs and kids. I get awkward.
So I walk past him doing a thumbs up.
“Alright Ben? How’s being a dog working out for yer, eh?”
Well, fuck. The dog still sits there, staring at me. I gave him some ham, and he fucked off for a bit. I went about my business, and suddenly, WHOA! There he was again. Just staring. I start to go a bit insane, and say things like this:
“What are you, judging me with your face? Starin’ Ben, the starin’ dog. Starin’ all day long. You know what Ben. You’re like a dog’s face screen burn, right in my mind. Like a canine fucking Turin Shroud. I bet you can read minds.”
Nothing. Just a stare. If you took a picture of his face and hung it on a wall, it would look the same as him animated. Because he didn’t move. I am now seeing Ben’s face in my head. It’s become a memory I can’t shift. Thing is, i’ll now be thinking about this all year.
And I am also convinced that he’s going to be everywhere I go, just STANDING THERE STARING AT ME. My next romantic dalliance, he’ll be in the room watching me on the job. My wedding, he’ll be there, same face, behind the vicar, chilling me to the bone with his face. My last ever sight will be of him in a doctor’s uniform. I bet.
Dear Ben. Please stop haunting my day.
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