Sunday Morning

There is rumbling thunder and lightning and rain.

Buddy leaps out of his bed and barks into the air. The thunder rumbles so loudly, the windows rattle. The vibrations are so loud it feels like an earth quake. The room lights up with lightening momentarily. FLASH!

6.15am. Sam comes into the lounge room, after being woken up by the thunder. “That was loud.” He goes back to bed.

The rain falls heavily. The lightning flashes black and white. Is this the tail end of (Cyclone) Debbie?

Buddy leaps to his feet again. Woof! Woof! Woof!

Milo comes in meowing. He is wet. He wants cuddles. He lies next to my leg. I’m sitting on the floor.

8am. Sam is back.

8.01am. Another joint. Oh, I insisted. I’m on holidays, for goodness sake. I should be able to indulge occasionally. And Sam put up piss weak resistance, so what was I to do?

I call it the-quieten-Sam-down joint. (Don’t worry, I say it to his face) So many less questions, and directives, after he has had a joint in the morning.

He puts his Playstation VR 3D helmet on. He can’t eat as soon as he gets up. Cone of Silence. He looks like a darlec in the low morning light.

Lights glow eclectic blue, or bright red.

I watered the plants. I repot two. The ominous weather outside, makes inside dark and moody, the light is sepia.

I have a piss.

I could hear my be-socked feet on the tiled floor.

“This is so cool, you should play this. You tell the creature what to do. At the moment, I am watching them hatch the egg. You should see what I am looking at.” Sam speaks louder than he usually would.

Buddy scratches in the shadows. He makes gurgly, nose-hissing noises. Slop, chew, spit, as he scratches lugubriously with his back leg. Big yawn. It is hard work with these short legs. His scrunched face looks at me. He can hardly reach anything to scratch it. Scratching is always a stretch for a bulldog.

It is overcast outside. Grey. The light is dull.

I write my blog.

Buddy motions from the other side of the room, by waving his front paw at me. I tell him to come over to me. He visibly harrumphs at the idea and looks away. It’s hard work being a bulldog.

Next thing, Buddy has climbed into my lap, he rests his head on my thigh and goes to sleep. A 25 kilo lapdog.