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Mani's Morning. It was early morning in late September. The garden was bathed in the kind of peaceful, tranquil light that only comes with the onset of Autumn and everything looked - beautiful. This was nature at it's very best and at 6.30.am it was still early enough to hear the beauty, as well as see it. The smells were strong and fresh and the sun was not yet hot enough to have stolen the morning dew. A truly glorious, picture postcard, English cottage day. Mani had just been let out of the patio door and was making his first round of the day. After the initial gush, he emptied his bladder in installments, scent marking his territory and systematically nosing everything. He moved, inch by inch, covering his domain. Checking everywhere, making sure that there had been no trespassers during the night. It was most unlikely that anything could have got past his keen hearing but, it was always best to check. Very small things had a way of getting about making very small noises. This garden was very much designated a 'No Trespassers Allowed' area. The problem seemed to him, that so many of those who broke the rule either didn’t know or didn't care. Ignorance, coupled with a flagrant disregard for the law. It was totally unacceptable and should be tackled and dealt with in the strongest possible way. The shortcomings of these lesser creatures, made the job in hand of paramount importance. Once he had finished his morning sortie, then and only then, could he give his full and undivided attention to 'the mission'. There was a score to settle. An itch to scratch. An axe to grind. He had a vendetta - with a squirrel. It's home, was in the old Copper Birch in next door's garden. Two years ago (oh how he had relived that day, over and over) he had accomplished the impossible. They'd said it couldn't be done but he, Mani, dog of dogs, had done it. The heartbreak was - the cold hard facts were - that he couldn't show them. He couldn't prove it. And that, really, really hurt. Back on that hauntingly bleak day, Mani had wandered into the garden and had seen the scampering scragrat, foraging about in the shrubbery. The vandal, had been rummaging and scratching around, until it had eventually uncovered something, maybe an old decomposed nut, underneath the baby pink rhododendron. It had sat there, with it's oversized tail curled over it's flea infested body, turning the kernel around in it's bony little claws, and gnawing at it, seemingly oblivious to the world. The sheer audacity of what he was witnessing, had temporarily stunned Mani, and some time had elapsed before he realised the full significance of the transgression. When realisation had dawned, he had launched a full on attack, and with a determination worthy of his ancestors, he had gone for it. Quite how he had managed to actually catch the little creature was anyone's guess. Maybe it was the absence of any barking. He had been so taken aback by such flagrant audacity, that he'd been rendered speechless. Maybe that had given the squirrel the edge it had needed. Whatever the ins and outs of the situation, the outcome had been that having caught it - he had then lost it. Perhaps, he had so surprised himself at having achieved this amazing feat, that he'd dropped it out of sheer amazement. Or maybe the squirrel had turned and bitten him. Whatever the reason, he had felt his golden chance slip through his teeth and watched it shoot at the speed of light up the overhanging tree. Mani had been left, barking and bereft. The only proof that he'd ever done the deed, being a clump of hair between his teeth that disappeared forever, when he took his next drink. Ever since that day, Mani the unknown and unsung hero followed the same daily ritual, but only after first looking longingly at the 'squirrel' site. Before relieving himself, no matter how desperately full he might be. Before sniffing, or patrolling. Before checking yesterday's excavation or greeting his friends next door, he would cast an eye at the scene of the heinous crime and shudder, ever so slightly. During the course of any day, he would wander down to the overhang of the beech tree and there he would sit, for long periods, just looking - and hoping. Always hoping. Of course they saw each other often, in fact the little demon tormented him on a regular basis. Scampering across the lawn. Foraging in the hedge rows and the shrubbery. Even sitting, smiling defiantly on the patio, just out of reach, the other side of the window. To date, all meetings have ended the same way. In a flurry of fluffy tail, disappearing up the tree, and Mani deprived, aimlessly jumping up and down, barking frantically at the copper branches. In a cartoon world, there would be a bubble over his head and it would read: "I know where you live. I will live longer, and next time... your scraggy little ratass.... is mine!"
Barbara Balchin © Copyright 1999
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