Discovering the Temple of Thought

He was true to his pedigree. It was mixed. Therefore, as he saw it, there were options available. He was genetically selected; bred to adapt.

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His nature held desires that needed release. Attack was intrinsic: in play, war and behaviour associated with humping. When the mood struck, he would rub against anything animate or inanimate. He accepted the drive of the irrepressible beast within. He ignored those entities of a higher self who would look down upon his carnal inclinations. He assumed those who punished him were jealous for what is not available to them.

!!

Yet, he desired their power. A simple finger point carried energy, especially when it synched with the music playing in his space.

Schubert transported him between the ethereal realm where angels subtly fly in and out of hell and transform joy and bliss to pain, turmoil and hold the culpability of demons with hell-bent fury.

He listened, at ease with leisure, and happily gnawed and obsessed on chewing the forbidden carpet fringe.

This was the life he knew.He was bred from nobility and had been raised accordingly. Entitlement was his prerogative.

From an 18-week-old puppy’s perspective, he had learned about a system that promised order. Each situation is shaped, limited, or overlooked by a design. He organized his behaviour accordingly. He was the commander in chief of this household and knew how to run the show.

Life according to Oliver Twist the Third was predictable. He was cute and charming and knew how to attract attention. Each morning his personal servant would rise, encourage him out of slumber from his comfortable warm bed in his cave, then provide his every need.

This was the ideal order.

Then the comfort of predictability failed.

He was certain that he could relieve himself and drop his scat whenever and wherever he liked. He ignored doing his business in a prescribed, regulated fashion, that ensured his well-being. She, that higher self, had lost her patience and scolded him and was merciless, taking him out every hour.

Then a frisbee toss landed on the side of the nose.

Life was not as expected.

The sound of failure is often quiet at first. Little Oliver Twist the Third had selective hearing and comprehension. He did not hear any warning sound.

Distraction techniques had previously worked up until now. He could manoeuver attention from a little accident here or there. Up until now, no accident was too big or small for a diversion to be successfully applied. He knew how to sit, touch his nose with anyone, shake a paw, lie down and cock his head to the left and right, as if trying to understand, to excuse mistakes.

Now Twister was sitting in his crate, where flannel, fleece and borg awaited him. Their soft warm embrace let Twister return to sleepwalking and successes of the day in terms of his preferred dream.

That was until the adagios of Beethoven’s piano sonata 14 in C sharp minor op. 27/2, the Moonlight Sonata, sounded. His brain grew, in spite of himself. It did not grow three times greater, as did the Grinch’s heart. Three times greater represents exponential increases in conal volume. No, Twister’s brain grew into the infinite silence of space.

He had put himself into a barred crate. It was prison. He only heard motors hum at 60 hertz. They pulsed in synchrony with his heart. The rhythm aligned with the wind that is sucked into the vacuum left as a front passes.

Then Oliver Twister Poopoo the Third had a clear glimpse outside the system that he had imagined was real from his childhood. He saw with another eye. The social expectation that you will be loved by everyone as much as your mother, was generally not true. The life he thought he knew, felt broken or misaligned with the unpopular reality he was facing.

He expected the rules are based on a name, as if a name is a god- given omen that portends a life’s pathway. He was born with a prophetic name that allowed him to Twist and carve out incredible possibilities.

Then he saw that he was playing a game that he did not know he was playing. He had been bred and raised in a way that made him believe he held the trump card. A trump is a playing card which is elevated above its usual rank in trick-taking games such as Whist, Tarot and Euchre. A trump increases the chances of a win, and often uses ruffing, to force the bidder to play their high trump card to win.

Shedding card games, such as President, are based on the power of privilege. They are often played while drinking. President starts of by throwing down clubs. The winner has privilege; the others are scum bums.

The trump card is often the jack, known as a joker, fool, or scat, The card is associated with knights and knaves. The knave, an historical attendant or servant, has become known as an undisciplined and unprincipled deceitful, dishonest, and untrustworthy scoundrel, rogue, villain, rapscallion, scalawag and varlet.

Winning trick games often also depends on using the face cards at disposal. Twister had in his genetic ranks, the dweller of the marsh or fen, who sat behind him at his right. Cockers live and thrive on the low ground. They were bred to hunt waterfowl in the marsh. They are associated with conquering, with a sense of sophistication and the depth of a thinking, of a bedbug.

On Twister's left, was the male part of his nature. It has a brain of its own, that speaks for the various houses that preside over affairs. The firm, stiff lever was always eager and ready to stand up, clap and express elation for those whose policies support their own personal agenda.

As Twister’s eyes closed, he dreamt of the Temple of Thought. Twister was a dog with a job. He was lying down, at attention, as a statue.The moon was rising. He guarded the hill that overlooked what was below. A river cut through the valley dividing, yet feeding the two banks. Darkness was near.

His simple brain did not need to diagnose the problem or propose a fix. The only element required was to figure out how to adjust to this new cultural, technological or other climate issues.

He had a new beautiful plan. This was the opportunity to learn a new way to win this trick taking game. The rules of economics remained. There was a treat given after retrieving a frisbee, ringing the bell to go do his business, and then simply doing it. Perhaps, instead of dirtying inside the house he could just bark or ring the bells to be let out.

As the sun set, he did not worry about tomorrow. He would choose what battles he could win and how to get his next treat.