Point of View Exercise
Background: Arguement of two adults from the point of view of the family dog.
The man came home and it was late, but the darkness did not mean anything to her. Day or night, it was the perfect time to sleep, or to run, or to play games, or to eat...of course, come the night, her family did none of these things with her, but she could do them on her own.
The man came home and he was quiet, trying to surreptitiously maneuver his way from doorway to bedroom. But her ears and nose were sharp, and upon hearing the manner of his walk, she knew that the man called Richard was home. Happiness! Joy! Delight! Uncontrollable, intense elation sang in her head and she scrambled to her feet, nails rapping on the tile as she moved. She tried to be quiet, quiet like a good girl, like he wanted her to be, quiet, quiet, they are all sleeping, but her tail was wagging and her ears were perked, and her eyes were wide to take in what light she could, just to see him...
"Shh, quiet, Rosie."
He used the nice voice. Rosie liked the nice voice, because when they used the nice voice, then they scratched her ears or her back or her belly or maybe they would give her food, food that wasn't like what she always had, or maybe they would get her toy, and they would play together, or maybe...
She waited, but none of these happy things came. The man walked past her, and her nose went thick with myriad smells. Some she knew from this place. Sweat. The laundry detergent the woman used. The turkey he had every day for lunch. Coffee. Others were familiar, but of a place she had never been. A woman's perfume. Another man. Strange chemicals Rosie didn't understand. Yet another woman, yet another man.
And there was more than that. The man was worried, perhaps afraid. She whimpered, and moved to be at his side. The tick-tick of her nails was sharp in the silence of the sleeping house.
"Quiet, Rosie, or you'll wake Margaret." The voice was no longer playful. Her ears dropped in disappointment.
"Margaret is already awake." Rosie did not understand the words, but she knew it could not be good, as this was the angry voice. She froze, and her tail ceased its pendulum motion. The woman Margaret stood in the doorway to the bedroom, her arms crossed and looking at the man like she looked at Rosie when she was a bad dog. Yes, he had been a bad man, and he knew it.
The man sighed. "Sweetie, I'm sorry, I know that-- "
The woman cut him off. "I don't care. You're never home, Richard. The kids came home today and wanted to see you, because you left so damn early this morning to go to work. And then at supper...it was your night to cook tonight, because I have things I need to do too, you know that? At supper they asked again where you were, and I had to tell them that daddy was working. And do you know what Maria asked? She wanted to know why daddy was always working. And I thought, wow, that’s a really good question.”
It went like this for some time. The woman speaking with the harsh words, the man replying in saddened tones. Rosie understood only the emotions, because that was her language, just as it was the language of man before words. Those emotions were palpable, and she felt equally upset for both of them. She did not distinguish between right and wrong, for it was not her realm to judge, but to love.
With a whimper she forced her tail to resume its constant motion, as if it were a beacon for peace, and she could bring it to the room and quell the hostilities between the man Richard and the woman Margaret. She nuzzled both with no response, and then decided on another course of action. Perhaps if she got the ball, they would remember how to play and forget their drama. Perhaps if she got the ball, they would play with her and be happy, everyone would just be happy. That was what Rosie wanted.
When the canine finally found her toy and returned, the woman had left and the man was standing dejectedly in the midst of the kitchen. She nudged him and made excited motions with her fluffy golden tail.
He looked down at her and forced a smile. She knew that it was a good expression, but he could not fool such keen senses. With a heavy sigh he fell onto the nearest kitchen chair, and with equally fluidity cradled his head in his hands. The ball fell from her mouth and it dribbled away with hollow thumps into the darkness. Setting her head upon his lap, Rosie’s brows arched in an eager expression as she looked to him expectantly. Much to her delight, the man looked up, and reached out a hand to gently scratch at her ears. They sat there for some time, with his hand in her soft fur, with her tail wagging with untainted delight, and they were both content.
The man came home and it was late, but the darkness did not mean anything to her. Day or night, it was the perfect time to sleep, or to run, or to play games, or to eat...of course, come the night, her family did none of these things with her, but she could do them on her own.
The man came home and he was quiet, trying to surreptitiously maneuver his way from doorway to bedroom. But her ears and nose were sharp, and upon hearing the manner of his walk, she knew that the man called Richard was home. Happiness! Joy! Delight! Uncontrollable, intense elation sang in her head and she scrambled to her feet, nails rapping on the tile as she moved. She tried to be quiet, quiet like a good girl, like he wanted her to be, quiet, quiet, they are all sleeping, but her tail was wagging and her ears were perked, and her eyes were wide to take in what light she could, just to see him...
"Shh, quiet, Rosie."
He used the nice voice. Rosie liked the nice voice, because when they used the nice voice, then they scratched her ears or her back or her belly or maybe they would give her food, food that wasn't like what she always had, or maybe they would get her toy, and they would play together, or maybe...
She waited, but none of these happy things came. The man walked past her, and her nose went thick with myriad smells. Some she knew from this place. Sweat. The laundry detergent the woman used. The turkey he had every day for lunch. Coffee. Others were familiar, but of a place she had never been. A woman's perfume. Another man. Strange chemicals Rosie didn't understand. Yet another woman, yet another man.
And there was more than that. The man was worried, perhaps afraid. She whimpered, and moved to be at his side. The tick-tick of her nails was sharp in the silence of the sleeping house.
"Quiet, Rosie, or you'll wake Margaret." The voice was no longer playful. Her ears dropped in disappointment.
"Margaret is already awake." Rosie did not understand the words, but she knew it could not be good, as this was the angry voice. She froze, and her tail ceased its pendulum motion. The woman Margaret stood in the doorway to the bedroom, her arms crossed and looking at the man like she looked at Rosie when she was a bad dog. Yes, he had been a bad man, and he knew it.
The man sighed. "Sweetie, I'm sorry, I know that-- "
The woman cut him off. "I don't care. You're never home, Richard. The kids came home today and wanted to see you, because you left so damn early this morning to go to work. And then at supper...it was your night to cook tonight, because I have things I need to do too, you know that? At supper they asked again where you were, and I had to tell them that daddy was working. And do you know what Maria asked? She wanted to know why daddy was always working. And I thought, wow, that’s a really good question.”
It went like this for some time. The woman speaking with the harsh words, the man replying in saddened tones. Rosie understood only the emotions, because that was her language, just as it was the language of man before words. Those emotions were palpable, and she felt equally upset for both of them. She did not distinguish between right and wrong, for it was not her realm to judge, but to love.
With a whimper she forced her tail to resume its constant motion, as if it were a beacon for peace, and she could bring it to the room and quell the hostilities between the man Richard and the woman Margaret. She nuzzled both with no response, and then decided on another course of action. Perhaps if she got the ball, they would remember how to play and forget their drama. Perhaps if she got the ball, they would play with her and be happy, everyone would just be happy. That was what Rosie wanted.
When the canine finally found her toy and returned, the woman had left and the man was standing dejectedly in the midst of the kitchen. She nudged him and made excited motions with her fluffy golden tail.
He looked down at her and forced a smile. She knew that it was a good expression, but he could not fool such keen senses. With a heavy sigh he fell onto the nearest kitchen chair, and with equally fluidity cradled his head in his hands. The ball fell from her mouth and it dribbled away with hollow thumps into the darkness. Setting her head upon his lap, Rosie’s brows arched in an eager expression as she looked to him expectantly. Much to her delight, the man looked up, and reached out a hand to gently scratch at her ears. They sat there for some time, with his hand in her soft fur, with her tail wagging with untainted delight, and they were both content.