THE SEVEN MANIFESTATIONS

I knew they existed, but she didn’t tell me that they came with her, that I couldn’t have her without them.  I remember the old days when it was just her and I.  We’d walk under apple trees hand in hand, talking about everything, but then evening would come and she’d have to hurry home.  She was careful not to introduce them to me until after the wedding.  Then she told me they were going to come and live with us.

Through the door they came, Happy carrying a bottle and singing, Grumpy glowering and Doc taking my favourite chair.  Sneezy told me how ill he was in alarming detail, Sleepy allowed me to wait on him all evening, Dopey smoked weed and Bashful sat in the corner rocking from side to side in a state of trauma – he doesn’t like change.

My first mistake was to take them seriously.    I listened to Doc pontificating about politics, religion and the state of the economy and tried to argue with him.  I bought medication for Sneezy and nursed him as best I could.  I tried to lure Bashful into conversation and make friends with Grumpy.  I waited on Sleepy hand and foot, bringing him meals and tidying up after him.  It was all in vain, Doc wouldn’t listen to any point of view other than his own, Grumpy complained, Sleepy didn’t appreciate anything I did for him, Sneezy’s symptoms got worse and not better and Bashful became more and more depressed.  I started hanging out with Happy and Dopey, drinking until the early hours, smoking weed and partying ... but then that became too much.  I simply couldn’t keep up with them and I realised something – where the hell was she?

When it was hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work they go, I searched for her.  I found her walking in the orchards that I had courted her in, a sad expression on her face.  She begged me to stay with her and help me deal with them.  So, I went home and tried to clear up the mess they’d left.  I wandered which of those seven little manifestations would come through the door first.  If it was Happy, Dopey or Sneezy, drugs would need to be on hand.  If it was Doc, there would be a long rant with which I couldn’t argue and even if I didn’t, Grumpy would always turn on me for no reason, that little bastard was so angry. Sleepy would lounge on the sofa and demand dinner and Bashful would just want some space.

One day I lost my temper and threatened to kick them all out.  They subsided so I could see her enchanting beauty and I was suckered back into it.  There are phases of just her and I, but they are becoming less and less.  Each time they return, they stay for longer and she diminishes.  I’m convinced they are destroying her and I can do nothing about it.

BARK

You kept away from their fires, but I was drawn to heat and the smell of food.  I loitered, whining and slavering.  When the man threw me meat I took it, but you wouldn’t touch it.  I returned to the man’s camp the next day and the next, while you hunted alone.

Curiosity drove me closer; I took meat from the man’s hand and let him touch my head.  I couldn’t look him in the eye, there was something horrible there, but his hands were gentle and his voice soothing.  He offered me a warm place to sleep.  There would be no need for hunting, I could guard his camp and pull his sledge with his dogs.  I knew what you thought, but while I’ve always been as strong and fast as you, I’m not as thick skinned.  I couldn’t bear the cold or the long days without food.

The warm place to sleep was a cage, but it came with a fur blanket, fresh meat and a place near the fire.  At night I patrolled the edge of the camp, sometimes you came to see me, but I was not permitted to run through the forest with you.  I took my duty to protect the camp seriously.  At times, I’d hear you howl and I’d answer, but the man did not like this.  It made the dogs restless.  I should learn their language, he said and moved me into a cage with them.  I thought that once I learned to bark well, I would be allowed back into the cage I didn’t have to share, the one with the fur rug.

The sledge was heavy and the journeys long.  When I was on the diet of fresh meat it hadn’t mattered, but now I was in with the dogs, I was offered processed food from a container.  One night I was tired and fell asleep instead of patrolling the camp.  I woke to something sharp connecting with my ribs and the man yelled, his voice no longer soothing.

I patrolled slowly, hearing your faraway howl, but I didn’t answer for fear of angering the man.  The cage I lived in had been moved away from the fire and the dogs were shivering.  I crawled in with them for the limited sleep I would get before the day’s work.  I remembered those rare nights when you and I pointed noses to sky and rejoiced at the end of a successful day’s hunting.  I would not be strong enough to hunt now, the diet of tinned meat was not nutritious, my fur was dull and I was slower.  I hoped your thick skin still protected you from the cold that was in my bones.  I glanced across at the cage with the fur rug that used to be mine, there was something in it - the man was feeding fresh meat to another wolf and talking to it soothingly.

I looked at the bright stars above and thought of running those forest paths by your side, the scent of prey and the freedom and adventure ahead of us.  Here every day was the same and I suddenly knew that if you didn’t hear from me soon, you’d return to your old pack and I’d be trapped here forever.  I pointed my nose upwards to howl to you to come and get me, but all that came out was a bark that you would not recognise.