! Three Persons And A Dog And Loyalty

I, you, he, she, it… three distinct views of the world (though perhaps not to the Creator?) which seem so different. Which grammarians note, and writers write about. A father who was all mine, I thought, waiting for a boy one day after school who was that younger me with a small and lively bundle of love and energy and loyalty straining to meet this stranger, as if I’d been a friend already all its life - yet whom he’d not yet met - straining at a brand-new brown leather leash… how well you remember it… he said he’d bought it for that son, who was me but when, a childhood ago, he had to have it put away it was he who cried for, so mother said only the second time in his life. I just felt betrayed. Again. so when they gathered at his, that’s father’s, funeral thinking of things to say that would not hurt too much to say they said, and he loved that dog so much he cried, for the second time in his life, Dorothy says, we never ever saw him cry… and you remember that day and what they said so clearly and though I’ve moved from there they may if they remember me say much the same of other matters about that boy who was me. For memory doesn’t distinguish much in the past between the living and the dead, in grammar, why should it and you wonder, well I do, whether Sport in his unspoken dog-grammar even with his eloquent tail perhaps, sniffing at an interesting tree in the park might not distinguish just as sharply with that wet, wise nose, I-dog, you-dog, he, she, it-dog, living with memory of some unspoken kind, yet oblivious of death or betrayal. for Max if he likes it