My doggie died at Christmas
Someone kicked him in the head
I thought it was concussion
Turns out he was dead.
A nasty neighbor did it
While walking down the street
Our doggie was out wandering
And knocked her off her feet.
He didn’t mean to hurt her
Just frighten her a bit
But she went barking mad
The rotten little shit.
The cheap skate public housing
Should have fixed the gate.
I’ve asked them very nicely
But all I do is wait.
Our doggie’s present’s unopened
My wife is drunk, I think
She’s crying in the pudding
I think I need a drink.
The above cheerful little ditty was composed out of gratitude to a pathetic little pooch for NOT chasing me this morning. Nor in honesty has it ever tried to knock me down, so it has thus far escaped any well aimed kicks. However, the owner did once try to defend its depredations by blaming the ACT government for not providing a secure yard. Wanker!
But the Christmas season is no time to rail against the limitations of fellow suburbanites and their trivial peccadillos. It’s too hot! Rather it is time to rejoice with acts of charity and gentle forgiving. I am grateful that, like most Canberran soft-shelled bureaucrats, I’m essentially harmless. I don’t kick dogs (well, maybe once) although I consider arthropods fair game. It is useful at Christmas to reflect on humanity’s sliding scale from cruelty to kindness.
As a species it seems we are defined by our extremes. From B to S, Beethoven to Stalin. And is it not the role of religion to remind us of that, to guide our moral compass? I guess that why I get so pissed off when I hear about still more torture at Guantanamo Bay, and I can’t help but wonder if all the good Ministers and priests in the country that is running that sick show are preaching to their flocks at Christmas about how they can stop these atrocities from being committed in the name of freedom and democracy.
And then there’s the report I heard about Israelis delaying access through their friggin wall for pregnant Palestinian women trying to get to a hospital, resulting in several still births…why would any nation offer support to people who do that sort of thing? Where is the outcry from our leaders, religious and secular? It chokes the part of my brain that would like to believe in authority, of any kind.
So there, I’ve spat it out, too old to be an angry old woman, but not happy with George or John or Tony Blah. Instead, I will smile at my neighbours, sip my bubbly until I feel silly enough, and slip into the pool, pretending that I have earned the right to forget.
For anyone who has read this far, best wishes.