The Twisting Path of Life: A Collection of Poetry and Short Stories

By M. T. Hill

Living is an ongoing learning experiencebut not all lessons are learned in time. Some people (and animals) just dont learn, it seems. One never knows where lifes path leads, and that may be the greatest challenge of being alive. Within, M. T. Hill shares a few of these life adventures, both great and small, and how we are all products of lifetime decisions made on the fly.

In Tippys Tale, a young dogs adventures on the other side of the fence culminate with a ride in an animal control van to the Pound of No Return. But for this spirited runaway, what seems like the end may very well be a bright new beginning.

Its every brides worst nightmare, but as one nervous young woman learns in Nuptial Thoughts, not everything is as it seems. Shes been left, not at the altar but at the rehearsal dinner. Can a brides heart learn to love again after its been broken?

For both humans and animals alike, life is a series of adventures, challenges, triumphs, and heartbreak. Every life is a story, and here, Hill shares a few of hers. Some are inspired by life, and others are joyful products of her imagination. She explores the dynamic balance behind seemingly small and random decisions and how these moments can change a life forever.

The many twists and turns of a life may not be as random as they seem, and these characters invite you to join them on their journeys.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Apr 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781458202093

M. T. Hill

M.T. Hill grew up in Tameside, Greater Manchester, and now lives on the edge of the Peak District with his wife and sons. He is the author of Zero Bomb, The Folded Man and 2016 Philip K. Dick Award nominee Graft.

Book preview

Through the Smudged Glass

Through the smudged glass,

you can see the emergence of spring.

The buds of the apricot, almond, and peach

With a promise of bounty the summer will bring.

Watch and you’ll see quail marching by,

then they stop, alert with their song.

There are bluebirds, fat robins and such,

then hummingbirds soon join the throng.

What do you know, glancing out once again,

a face peers through the glass.

He’s the greeter, companion, and family member

his importance none can surpass.

Though the paws are muddy and the fur is wet

admittance is gained through the door.

It’s important to note, he gives loving devotion

you cannot and will not ignore.

Scratch, the Beach Dog

If you put me on top of a mountain, I probably wouldn’t be happy. No, not me. Pine trees, and that sort of thing don’t really do it for me. The pounding waves, paws in wet sand, chasing sea gulls...just a minute, someone’s callin.

Scratch, c’mere boy! Got somethin for ya. Sorry for the interruption, but can’t pass up those tasty‚ scraps from my favorite cafe. Just one of those little pleasures I’d miss if I didn’t live here on the beach. Give me the water anytime. Not just any shore though. Not some dinky lake, but the rollin ocean. It’s where I belong.

In this neighborhood, there are dogs aplenty. Why about every day new ones come on the scene. Me, I just keep my nose clean, mind my own business, and keep the territory safe for the beachcombers. I invite a few pals to my place once in a while and dig for crabs, lay around and just watch the people and various other creatures passing by.

Watchin the tourists is a whole lot of fun. Me, Spotty and Deadbeat have a good time! They are the closest friends I got. It’s good to have friends. Ya see I don’t take nothin off no dog and not too many humans either. Some consider it a character flaw, but my buddies, they accept me just the way I am.

My face gives ya a clue about the kind of mutt I am. Got a big black scar across my face from my droopy left ear with a chunk out of it, to what some call my cute pug nose. That is the most obvious one of my many battle scars.

It’s an interesting story how I got that one though and my two pals were right on the scene for that one. Since I have a little time before I meet my chums, let me settle in this cozy warm sand hole and tell you about it.

I was a year old when I came here. Hitched a ride on a truck with a real nice family goin to one of the seaside markets. They made a little extra money sellin stuff they grew. Fit right into the local scene like they belonged there. ‘Course they didn’t have a clue that I was hitchin, and enjoyin a snack while I rode along. When they reached their stand along the sea wall, I jumped out ready for a day at the beach or what I thought would be a day. I stuck my nose in the fresh salty air, n’sucked it in. Gollee, it was great!

After playing tag with the surf, I took a quick roll in the sand. Soon as I got nice and comfortable, I heard lots of noise, barkin and yowlin. I sprang to my paws ready to protect myself. A pack of dogs raced down the beach chasing a white ball of fluff. As they got closer, I could see it was one of those little curly dogs, a poodle I think people call ‘em. Fluff was about to get chewed up and didn’t look good.

Why do I get involved in another dog’s business? I don’t have an answer to that. Curiosity, I suppose and you know what that did to the cat. There’s no rhyme or reason for what I did next I raced toward trouble movin my way. The little white dog ran right up to me, pantin like crazy and yelping! I put on my meanest look, flexed my muscles and planted myself firmly in the sand. Fluff was beside me shakin like a leaf.

Get out of the way, grumbled a big black dog with a broad face. Struttin toward me, he stopped short of touchin, but was close enough for me to sniff his smelly breath. The rest of them barked support. He whipped his head around.

Shut up! All was quiet. We want him, he snarled.

What’s he done? I stiffened.

Nothin.

Then go away and leave it alone.

You don’t know who you’re talkin to! I leaned forward. We were nose to nose.

I’m Spike, leader of the pack. The poodle trembled.

Get outta here, I challenged.

Please, Fluff whimpered, let me go home.

The rest is history. I’ll spare you the gory details. Spike wanted it his way and I...well I stopped him. He got the worst of it though, and I got this scar on my face for my trouble. The white poodle high tailed it home, never to return to the beach again.

Spike and most of his ragtag gang scooted off with tails between their legs to another part of the beach, less challenging. Spotty and Deadbeat were two that stayed. Me? Well I got the best deal of all. I have my home at the beach and best of all, my name Scratch.

Tippy’s Tale

Part I Puppy with a Con

My life had a tenuous beginning. There were ten siblings and it was crowded. It was every dog for itself and most of the time and had to fend for myself. Things got worse when I was abandoned. I’m not looking for sympathy, maybe just a teeny bit. Life’s that way for some. You just have to hunker down and roll with the punches. It makes life interesting, that’s for sure. Here is my story, factual and true. If it promotes a little sympathy, so much the better.

Orphan-hood started when I was left near the land fill on the outskirts of town where I was born. That situation accounted for some oddities when I was older. I was just a throw away! Had it not been for some good-hearted souls picking me up and giving me shelter, well I’m getting ahead of myself. It would have been tough, but being the optimist that I am, it probably would have worked out eventually. You see, I’m a survivor. There is a lot to learn about me.

Competition was keen. I had nine others vying for food, warmth and affection, things like that. I got to be a little aggressive, okay very aggressive, but then I stayed warm and didn’t go hungry.

On the affection side, things were a little lean. I wasn’t my momma’s favorite or anyone else’s for that matter, but I did grow strong and willful, prepared to make my way, unlike some in my litter. They simply could not make it on their own. To be blunt, they died. I made sure that did not happen to me.

So ya see, there are sides of me that most of my benefactors don’t know about, but I think it’s a tale that needs to be told and yes maybe a lesson or two some critter might heed.

I’ll describe myself so that you’ll get a clear picture in your mind. Some people use to snicker when they saw me, not that I’m totally disgusting or anything, but different. My coloring is not unusual, black with strategically placed white spots, one notably on the end of my balancing mechanism and mood indicator. (For novices, my tail.) My stature, approximately 16 inches, does not classify me in the miniature category and I can hold my own with bigger adversaries. A protruding nose many times causes stifled laughter; otherwise I am not unusual and did come from a gallant line of warm blooded creatures known as wolves. The breed is known as wolf terriers. This is my story.

I was scrounging in the garbage dump looking for my next meal when I was picked up by the community organization mistakenly called Animal Control. (Frankly, there is no controlling some of us.) Some of my buddies in the canine crew (otherwise known as the Discard Cub) the ones in the know and lots of savvy, called the control station Gas City and they didn’t say it with tails wagging. I got the picture, so I knew the man with the net had every intention of putting me where the birds don’t sing. After a few days I’d be looking at the dark side of the moon, so I high tailed it out a there. I ran across countryside looking for easy pickings and a safe place to hide, but I was a youngster so my running legs were not that strong yet. Quicker than you could say gottcha, I found myself looking out of a small cage in a moving vehicle and heading for the Pound of No Return. What seemed like the end was only the beginning.

I knew it was a cruel world out there, but didn’t know it was so full of hard-hearted creatures, some even my own kind. My former running mates were putty when we were herded into the dog pound. It seemed our capturer was not too fond of his job so he didn’t exactly have a gentle touch, but then a muddy colored mongrel called Bozo, snarled and snapped at him. That didn’t help his mood any.

Quarters were tight and since accommodations were overflowing, I had to share with Bozo. What luck! Didn’t like him much on the outside let alone in confinement. I tried to look at the situation in a practical manner. After all, I had a meal each day, a clean dry place to sleep and a postage stamp patio to get fresh air.

Still, with only my eternal reward head of me and having to share my final days with Bozo, well I have to say it was pretty depressing. To make matters worse, he continually whined and howled. He would complain, complain, and complain ad infinitum. It not only disturbed my sleep but prospective adopters never came near the cage. Miracles do happen though.

Our space had been tagged death row and roomie finally settled into resignation, his protests ignored. Actually we were both feeling low.

I was outside catching some rays, since I wasn’t sure how long the sun would shine on me, when I noticed a young couple out perusing the pound occupants. They might be serious lookers. My hopes started rising and my mind started clicking. I needed to get their attention! Before I could formulate a plan, Bozo came bounding out yipping up a storm. They looked our way.

Poor dogs she said. So crowded!

We can give ONE of them a home, Nancy but that’s it. Bozo started jumping and barking, dumb mongrel that he was. He did not know how to play his cards right. I went into action.

I cowered, crept to the corner and shivered as though I was completely terrified of my companion. I put on my best miserable hang dog look, pleading silently, ‘Please, please release me!’

Look, Scott, she said pointing at me. He’s so scared.

Don’t go too near, he cautioned. That other dog looks vicious.

I want to see him, Scott, the black and white one.

Okay, but I’ll approach him first. Yippee, it worked and a spur of the moment idea at that. When Scott and Nancy came in I played it to the hilt. I started out with my tail timidly wagging as I was led out of my cage, away from my noisy companion.

Don’t be scared, boy, he said petting me gently. Scared I wasn’t, elated I was. After she touched me, it was kiss licks and vigorous wagging.

He likes me. We’ve got to have him.

Not exactly what I had in mind, Nancy.

"C’mon, Scott. He’s cute. Look at those