On this day as we stand on the brink of Trump-induced armageddon, plus it’s Remembrance Day and I woke up to learn Leonard Cohen has died… thought I’d just post this video, hope it helps:

I’ll be performing this on Monday 7th November as part of an evening celebrating the film ‘Spirited Away’:

Out in the dark I stand gazing at the light

No warmth out here

My pale skin bleached by moonlight

I am alone, the silent watcher

I can see you

I can hear you

You don’t know I’m here

Things were different then

I loved the night as much as any

Danced, sang, was alive as only a spirit can be

They took my face, my heart, my soul and left me empty

All I do now is watch and long to be part of that dance

She was an outsider like me

She didn’t know

She invited me in

And now I am here, no longer on the outside

I’ll extend a hand

Come to me, little thing

I have what you most desire

I may have no face but I know what you want

And now we are together

Here they come, pouring in

Took no notice when I was outside

They all want something

Well, I’ll give it to them

And then I’ll make them part of me and none of us will ever be alone ever again

Come to me

I can make you loved, needed, wanted

Take my hand

Give in to me

She came with sin

That’s how she did it

I could have made her part of me as well

But she reached inside and choked and poisoned

Until I was empty and alone as before

But I’ll keep watching because that’s who I am

Surprisingly easy to watch even when you have

No face.

Whenever I need to clear my head, I go for a walk on the canal. It runs like a vein through the county, twisting and turning in the fashion of a benevolent serpent. You can follow it for miles as it takes from one place to another, a thread that connects us.

On a cold autumn morning, I made my way along the path flanking the canal as I had done countless times over the years. As I was casually strolling on my way, I saw a large family coming from the opposite direction. Between them they filled the narrow path; two adults, four children and two dogs. Rather than attempt to negotiate a way through the mob, I stood to one side, keeping the gravel path between me and the water and waited for them to pass me by. The large group ambled past noisily and I resumed my journey, listening to their merry babble as it died away behind me. Then I heard the screaming.

I turned and saw the smallest child had slipped and fallen into the water. She bobbed there, head barely visible, her arms flailing helplessly. The man I presumed to be her father lay down on the bank on his front, stretching his arms towards her, but she had already floated too far. I ran to the panic stricken family, threw off my coat and dived into the water.

It was cold, far colder than I imagined. Filthy water entered my mouth as my head broke the surface. I am a strong swimmer and it did not take long to reach the child. Her thick coat had blown up like a balloon, keeping her afloat but I knew it was only seconds before she would start to sink. I grabbed her and told her to put her arms round my neck. With the girl clinging to me, I struck back for the shore.

It was not easy going, for my clothes and the terrified child weighed me down, but at last we reached the bank. Both adults were there, reaching towards us and I lifted the child to them. But as she was taken from me, I felt a sharp yank on my leg and was dragged beneath the surface.

In the darkness of that dirt brown, foetid water, I was distinctly aware of the touch of something slimy on my ankle. I looked down and saw in the gloom a single pair of eyes glaring back at me with an expression I can only describe as hungry. Then arms grabbed me from above and after a brief tug of war, the thing in the water released me and I was dragged back to fresh air and civilisation.

The girl and I were rushed to hospital and treated for all the germs and diseases that fester in the stagnant depths of that canal. The family visited often and fussed over me; I was their hero. But I could not fully enjoy the adulation. I cannot forget those clammy, webbed fingers on my skin or the malevolent eyes watching me in the darkness.

I no longer go walking on the canal. They think I am still traumatised from almost drowning, bu the truth is far worse. I dread to think what exists down there, some freak of nature, evolving over generations in that unnatural, man-made lair. I am convinced the creature I glimpsed was not the only specimen of its kind and if there is a whole race of them, how long before the canal becomes too small for them, and they seek a larger, more prosperous domain in other waters?

Bracken on the trials of fame.

Not so easy being a public figure. Soon as that video me and Fang did went viral, everyone wanted to talk to the talking dog and cat. We were hiding out in some forest and a news crew, to this day I have no idea how they tracked us down, they just roll up out of nowhere and want to talk to us. I was all for frying the lot of them with my breath but Angela persuaded me not to.

Then they start asking all these questions, you know the sort: What’s it like being a dog? How come you can talk? Show us the fire trick. Honestly, I preferred being attacked by super intelligent rats to getting interrogated by that lot.

Anyway, eventually we decided to get moving again, but I’m blowed if this news crew starts following us. In the end Angela did her wolf trick and chased them away while we took the opportunity to get as far away as possible. Like I said, that was by far the most stressful situation I have ever been in, and I’ve known a few. News. Yet another human obsession I shall never understand.

Bracken out.

Bracken on what it means to be an animal:

Animal. Even you lot invented that word. People never wonder what it’s like to speak a language created by a different species. Every word I use to describe myself: Dog, orange, grumpy, even my name were invented by humans. That’s the first thing that jars.

Then there’s the fact I don’t think like you. I don’t care about money, or territory, or culture. I remember there was some upset because a bunch of you had decided you didn’t want to be part of Europe, or some other stupid name. And I’m like, what do I care? I’m still living on the run, doesn’t affect me. You people will always use some excuse to fight or call one another names, what difference does it make if you’re independent or not?

Being an animal means you don’t care about borders. There are some places you stay away from because they’re bad places, but even us animals can get cocky. We only do what we need to survive, we don’t question the consequences or the morality. I’m not saying we always get it right. I often think I get it wrong. But that’s because I have the privilege of thinking that way. Privilege. Just another human word. You people do have an awful lot of words.

I suppose I shouldn’t complain because I do use those words, and some of them are quite nice. I’m gradually learning the concept of swear words and it’s surprising satisfying. Now I’m going to go off an learn some more, and I will come back and make your hair stand one end, so I will.

Bracken out.

Bracken waxes lyrical on the subject of fire:

So fire, eh? What I can breathe with my mouth. You want me to talk about fire? Is it because I’m orange? Well, alright.

It’s hot, fire. Very hot. As in, so hot you really don’t want to touch it. Unless you’re me, of course. I can touch fire, lick it, eat it. ‘Cos I’m immune, see? All part of the package. I breathe fire, I become cloaked in fire and I can touch it all I want. Smoke’s no bother, either. Everyone else should be careful of smoke because it chokes them and causes all sorts of trouble.

Met this kid once, what you’d call a teenager. He knew who I was ‘cos he’d seen my video, you know the one, where me and Fang asked people not to bomb the rats. Anyway, he says to me he’s obsessed with fire. Can’t get enough of it. Keeps playing with one of those funny little lighters of yours. I get bored of listening to him and breathe out and set his shoes on fire. He loved that, once he was over the shock. I will never understand you humans. You know fire’s dangerous, you know it kills, but you keep on using it like there’s no tomorrow. Some day it’ll catch up with you, you know.

Bracken out.

More thoughts from my friend Bracken:

So I met this dog once called Gromit. Funny looking thing, big brown bow ears and he never made a sound, though I can tell you he had the most piercing eyes of any animal I’ve ever met.

Anyway he was working on some contraption designed to light fire, apparently he wanted it to be safe for human hands. Gromit himself seemed quite capable with is paws despite the lack of opposable thumbs, but he was having trouble with this thing. It was built and all, but he couldn’t light anything with it. He’d set up one of those outdoor stoves you get and was trying unsuccessfully to light the inside with this weird blower thing.

So after watching him for a bit, I walked up and blew once and the oven was burning nice and brightly. Well, dear old Gromit nearly had a heart attack. Offered me a job there and then. Not sure what the job would have been on the grounds he didn’t speak, but it was one of my more memorable encounters with a fellow beast.

Hello and greetings to you, I started this website with a view to creating a weekly blog, but since I am too lazy to do such a thing, I have asked my friend Bracken to do a guest blog. Some of you may know Bracken as the fire breathing dog from my most recent effort Evolution. Bracken my dear, over to you.

Yeah, so that weird human with the red hair has asked me to record a blog for… someone. Readers? Don’t make me laugh. Obviously I can’t write the thing myself on account of not having opposable thumbs, so I’ve recorded a voice over which Charles is going to type up and post on his Youtube page. Told you he’s weird.

So what am I going to talk about?

Well, there’s being a dog. It’s not much fun. You get to run around a lot I suppose, but given I’ve never been anything other than a dog I suppose I can’t much compare it to anything else. Tell you what though, I’ve never really socialised with other dogs. The language barrier is a bit of a challenge. I mean I can understand them, because of body language and stuff like that. Oh, and there’s a surprising amount of meaning in a bark. For example, you may think every dog barking sounds the same but a short bark could mean anything from ‘Get off my territory before I rip your leg off’ to ‘I’m hungry, when’s dinner?’

So you see, we dogs lead complex inner lives. Or at least I do. Like I said, I don’t much talk to other dogs.

Bracken out.