Picture Speak – The theme here is to weave a story based on the picture. The pic’s are simple and random clicks, less than perfect or more imperfect than perfect and that also constitutes “Life”. Would love to receive your stories with the model in the pic as the show stopper
My name is Dickey. I don’t know why, but I like that name, Dickey… sounds nice. I am from an aristocratic and distinguished breed. My great grandfather was a hunting dog in Tippu Sultan’s army…… I am young and handsome with a dash of royalty in my blood… I can make out from the way, these stray country bitches stare at me, and wag their tails. I am quite a good looker you see. The tall gentleman with kind smiling eyes, who stays upstairs, likes my looks so much, the he would take my pictures, off and on…
There is a saying that “A dog is man’s best friend”. When I say man it is not only man but embraces women also. I am friend of all.
I like to sit on my post; the compound wall. I can get an all-round view of things going on. I had enough time to think, sitting there, like a sentry on the watch tower. He has to be alert. I would catch forty winks off and on, but my ears and sense of smell are sharp. By the way my working hours are day and night. No holidays. Except that when in season, I just disappear for a couple days to the football ground nearby, No, no, not to play football. You grownups can understand, some things, they are not discussed in the open…., After a couple of days i come back to my post, yes, a little tired, as you all know, but fit for duty, day and night. No offs till next season.
There was an incident I still remember, which was the turning point in my life. It was a hot summer afternoon. I had no clue as to how long ago, but it was quite long… As I sat on my haunches at the check post, eyes drooling a wee bit, I saw a shadow from the corner of my eye. Someone was trying to climb the gate, and come into the compound. I became alert, in combat mode, and kept watching.
The man was a rag picker. I had seen him before, but never liked him. But the watchman and he used to share a smoke together off and on.
Something in the way the rag picker moved about, made me suspicious. The watchman was sound asleep on his chair. He had a small “talking Box” in his pocket. I did not know much about the box, but knew it was important for the watchman. Whenever the box would ring, the watchman would hold it to his ear and talk. He looked very happy, when he was talking into the box, especially to the young house maid in the balcony of the house opposite, washing clothes, and vessels.
As I watched, I saw the rag piker pick up a small “talking box” from the watchman’s pocket. Charge Dickey, it is action time, I told myself, and with a gallop took a leap at the thief. The rag picker suddenly saw me and slashed at me with the thick stick he carried with him. I got hurt on my head, but regardless I caught his leg with my pincer jaw. The thief shouted in pain, and the watchman woke up to the melee. He, along with the people who gathered took the thief away. I had a cut on my head which was bleeding a little, but I did not bother about it. I have had my share of fights in the football field and this was nothing. The residents pampered me with eatables, and praises. I became a hero.
The watchman became my good friend. People passing by call me by my name and greet me. All this is good, but I remain the same. What I did was my duty. My needs are simple, some food to eat, and a place to sleep and most important is love and respect………which a soldier wants.
This witty and sharp story is woven together by Sqn.Ldr H Srinvasan(Retd). He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org