I, Henry, am alone.
Oliver: Henry, but what about me? I’m here!
I, Henry, am alone with a pesky little orphan. The one that answers to the name, well, I’d rather not say.
Oliver: It’s Oliver! Oliver Twist!
Yes, well, now where was I? Oh, I remember.
Once again, I was not privy to celebrating Thanksgiving, having been left alone with this happy hooligan (who shall remain nameless), while Cook travels east to visit with her daughter.
Cook leaves our abode everyday, without nary a thought about her royal charge: me. She makes no plans for me to visit with my minions whilst she’s away doing whatnot. And thus, as a result, I am confined to the four walls of this humble home, passing the day sleeping and thinking, and pining for food.
Oh, were I to have just a morsel! How I crave a slice of jerky or a filet of salmon. But alas, no. I have not eaten since breakfast and that was more than an hour ago.
The clock ticks ever so slowly around here, and I suffer the little pup, Oliver, in a silence that is befitting one of my stature. Unless a truck passes by and then I howl like a pack of coyotes under a full moon. After all, I am a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel with royal blood coursing through my veins! One that continues to be filled with the hope of one day returning to my rightful place at the British throne.
Oh, how I lament my plight!
For, my life wears a veil of nothingness. It is but an empty shell, and I am constantly hungry. Indeed, I am on the verge of starvation and sadly, I am exhausted from the solitude of my life.
Nothing ever happens here. I am trapped inside this lonely existence, searching for meaning in the stillness of the day and yet finding none.
I am sad and having Oliver Twist around makes me miserable. Did I mention food? We eat but it is never enough. I am constantly famished. When Cook dines, the lad and I take our positions by the table in the hopes of a scrap or two. I have trained Oliver to give me half of whatever he gets. But he is a slow learner, and my hopes of his share are always dashed.
Today we ventured into the patio. I wondered what I would find out there and so I looked.
And yet there was nothing to see. Such is the story of my life.
I contemplate how different my life would be had the Queen of England sent for me. Alas, I may never know.
I have been robbed of my heritage and am left with nothing but dust. Indeed, all we are is dust in the wind. Dust and a bit of drool.
There is nothing left for me but to nap. Napping is the sweet honey of life. It is the only time I can forget about the Twist boy.
When I am awake, he continues to bite at my tail. Will he ever stop? I think not. He bites incessantly, and yet I feel nothing. Nothing but numbness.
Where will it end?
I can’t say.
My lot in life is not an easy one by any measure.
One is the loneliest number. Two can be as sad as one when the second one is a dog named Oliver Twist.
Speaking of the orphan, Oliver, when will whoever misplaced the wretched pup return to fetch him? Perhaps I should put posters up around the neighborhood that read something like this:
Found: One ruffian of a dog with no royal heritage to speak of.
Answers to the name of Oliver Twist.
Claim him and he’s yours.
Poor Oliver. He does not realize his own plight, which is much worse than mine. He thinks life is dandy, playing with his toys and running amok around the house while I stare at the nothingness about us. His tail wags at the drop of a hat as he literally bounces off walls, never suspecting how unhappy he must be beneath his finely combed hair and all his chew toys. Yes, I’m certain he’s really filled with sorrow. For, there is no escape from this abode of ours.
Oh, well. It is as they say. The heart is a lonely hunter. I think I’m due for another nap. It will take my mind off the fact that it’s been two hours now with nothing to eat. Sigh.