THE CLOUD CHRONICLES
Johnny is a young boy with a rather large imagination. All day long he could sit at a window and beg the clouds to take him away. He wasn't running from anything in particular, but he needed escape. He was on his way to somewhere grand and all he had to do was glance up at the sky in order for his day to begin.
Johnny liked to imagine shapes best. He wasn't any good at seeing people or places, but a figure in the sky, that was his specialty. He saw animals of all sorts. In fact, those were about the only shapes he did see. He was beginning to wonder what actually made up those wonderful drawings in the beautiful blue sea, when all of a sudden, he realized. Maybe it was not what made the clouds, but who and for who he should be curious about.
Ever since that fateful day, when he asked all of those ominous questions, some very weird things began occurring. He wouldn't say he minded, except for the fact that he was getting terribly lazy 'round the house and that none of his friends were any good at playing nowadays. His imagination was getting him so carried away that it wasn't until night fall that he would even think about how long he'd been sitting there. "Daydreamin'," as his mother called it.
He knew. Even if she didn't. And even if his friends could hardly play along. To them, it was all in the realm of make believe. Which, as kids, is a really good thing. Nobody wants to be around another kid, so long as they keep interrupting a game to point out how unreal it is. Everyone knows they aren't real cops and robbers or children on a runaway train, but they play anyways, for the fun of it. That's what Johnny's friends thought they were doing when he would call them over in the middle of the day to fight off the angry dragon or to protect the blubbering sheep. Little did they know he wanted to sit around, staring up at the clouds, wasting away an entire day. It was after they figured out all of this that they suddenly could no longer play. Not at all, but not at all when their mothers said it was Johnny who was calling to play.
That suited Johnny alright anyways. He didn't need people to tell him what he was seeing or make-believing that the agitated elephant, with a very severe problem, was actually a mouse with a cricked tail. He was better off on his own. That way the animals felt more comfortable to tell him their stories and that way, he never had to wonder why he felt so all alone. Even when our closest friends are near to us, it is possible to not really feel connected. That's why when his friends were gone, he really believed he was getting somewhere. At least someone wanted to talk to him and at least those imaginations understood the way he liked to play.
It was a junk yard dog that started it all for Johnny. He was just a lonely puppy at first, placed in the junk yard as a type of scarecrow. Except there were never any burglars and the puppy only ever really wanted to play. Anyone who spoke to the puppy tried to make him tough. They'd tease the mane between his ears and speak to him real gruffly, trying to get him to understand the importance of his work. Oh, he got it alright. It was his job to defend the palace, the sanctuary of garbage and he would have done it too, if anyone would have ever felt like barging in.
He dreamed of another dog to play with. To make the rounds with, to share the scrap bits of meat with and to share the human attention with. Sometimes, he didn't feel so much like being pet by those owners. They never had anything new to say and he was bored of acting happy at, "Sit Fiddo. Now, pounce. Good dog. Good work. Go, fetch." It was always the same and not that it was bad, only... Only, he longer for something more.
Maybe it was the longing in this pups eyes that caught Johnny's attention. The rest of him looked pretty standard. Long scraggly ears, a soft shaggy tail. He was, of course, only shades of blue and white, but when Johnny allowed his imagination to take over, the whole story finally came to life.
***********************The tale of the lonely dog***********************
Fiddo wasn't even his real name. He was adopted when he was only six weeks and his new owners called him that. Originally he had been called, Buddy. He loved that name. He wore it proudly, like a badge. His first owners would look down on him and call him over affectionately, saying, "Come here, Buddy. Come here. Good boy." And it didn't even stop there. They'd scoop him up and hold him tightly against their chests and just rock him back and forth, or play with him a bit. He loved those days, even though they were becoming distant memories by now. These days, he was practically a full grown pup. Almost two years old, in a few weeks, but he wasn't really counting. He knew no one who remembered the date and for that matter, did dogs even really get to have birthday celebrations?
If it was up to him, they would. Dog parties would be the best kind of parties, too. Instead of cake and ice-cream, which were usually made of chocolate (Yuck!) he would serve hamburger pie! There would be chew toys as party favors and all sorts of races for the games. The one exception to this all, the thing humans never think about, is that instead of boring old water to drink, the dogs would be served ice cold vanilla cokes! There isn't a dog on this planet who can resist the cold fuzz of a soda, or any other bubbly drink. Whoever got it in their heads that sodas not for dogs has another thing coming when they finally see the truth. Anyways, he'd have soda at his birthday party, for the special occasion. And dog biscuits right along side biscuits and gravy! He could smell it now! But, he'd better stop. With all this fantasizing he was getting awfully hungry. That wouldn't do when it came time to eat the slop they served here for dinner.
He knew it was only a matter of time before he found the perfect friend to play with though. In all his time at this junk yard, he never saw a thing that didn't come along side a matching pair. He noted the objects as he did his usual patrol; the tires, for example. They were always rolling up to another tire. They never did too much but sit there and lean on each other, but Buddy assumed that was what tires liked to do best so he never spoke too much about them. The other thing that always came in pairs were the cats. He would see them late at night, when he had almost started sleeping, creeping over the wire fence, right into his yard! Buddy wasn't sure if it were part of his job to keep the cats out too, but it never seemed like they took anything the owners missed, so he let them slide. Besides, he kept an eye on them, to see how they played with each other and to see if he too would like to be part of the group. Cats didn't act very friendly though, so he thought he better not try it. They looked at him crossly and then stole into the night to go after whatever it is that cats like to get into. Just like with the tires, Buddy thought that was one more thing he might be better off not knowing. And then there were the birds. He loved watching the birds! He could sit there and scan the sky all day if his job would let him. He loved to see them soar up in the sky and then leap down. He liked to look at them dancing with each other and then cuddle on the tree and sing songs to one another. It sure must be sweet to share those good moments with a person you had so much in common with, like, wings. He wouldn't know much about them either.
He loved to learn though! It was about the best thing there was to do as a junk yard dog. Everywhere he went, he could find little scraps here and there that told him about the life outside. Plus, his owners were constantly watching the T.V. which made it nice for Buddy to catch the news, given that reading was still a little difficult for him. One day, Buddy saw something that shocked him.
As the news came on that evening, only two nights ago, Buddy was going on his normal stroll. He had barely passed the owner's house when these few words stopped him cold in his tracks. "The monkeys then spit right through the fence!" You must know why this caught his attention. He had never heard of another animal living behind a fence, as he did. All the other animals he ever encountered either came and went as they pleased or flew so high above the ground, they would have hardly noticed the fence at all. This was something different, something extraordinary! And , to think, the monkey spit! At whom? And, why?
These were ideas he had never had before and the mere image of a monkey spitting at anyone was enough to get his tail wagging. He went to bed merrily that night, thinking of all the learning he was going to have to do.
Chapter 2:
Why the Monkey Spits.
Did you know, I had never been in captivity before coming to the LA Zoo? That's right! The first two blissful years of my life were spent winding around trees in the jungle and I couldn't think of anything except those trees and the next banana I was going to split!
That was all until I found myself very much alone one night. It wasn't scary or anything, swinging there from branch to branch. We monkeys always split up and go in search of food, so even at two I was used to being on my own. I'm adventurous. But, when I noticed it was night and that the atmosphere wasn't what it should be, I started planning on returning home. I wasn't supposed to stay out so late, my clan was always telling me so. The only problem with being out at night is that the canopy to the rainforest blocks out all the moonlight. I figured I'd have to camp out, just for the night. Just until morning when the bird songs might be more helpful in leading me home.
There must have been a fire that day, a trick of fate that kept me away from my home. When I returned, the wreckage was fierce! I didn't even recognize our community tree, the largest in the region in which we all pulled our food from scavenging. It was bare, all of it, and I wondered where on earth everyone had gone. That was, until I spotted the humans. I had seen them before, once or twice. Normally, we were pretty safe this far south, but lately there had been words thrown around, such as, "expansion" and "population growth." Those words didn't mean much to me then, but looking around now at my depleted home, I recognized my unfortunate predicament.
I was about to swing away, in search of the others when I heard it.
"A spider!"
"Aye mate, it's a spider monkey alright. Come on, little fella."
"Oh, he must be scared to death. All alone and at his age."
"Come on down little monkey. I've got a treat for you."
And at that moment, I saw what brought the biggest grin to my face of all. You bet! A gloriously large, yellow green banana and I had hopped onto the ground in seconds. Flying through the air, swinging on my tail, soaring through the trees. It was a miracle! He said I could have it and so I stayed near their troupe. He never asked permission when they loaded me into a crate, but I suppose I let it happen. I wanted to be safe and I felt that curiosity again in me. Where was he taking me? Would it be where the others were? I wasn't sure, but I certainly hoped so. This was a journey I wasn't very prepared for, but then again, what journeys in life are we ever really prepared to go on?
