When I was little, and I'm thinking this was probably when I was about four or five, I used to like pretending to be a dog. My main reason for pretending to be a dog was because I used to like lying on my side on the warm concrete near the back door of the house we lived in.
The concrete would be warm, never boiling, and I'd stretch as flat as I could. Sometimes I would close my eyes and really pretend to be a dog. But mostly it was an excuse to lie there and watch the ants march past, or roll over and watch the sparrows that used to fly under the chicken wire that protected the roof, or sing to myself. Occasionally I would talk to Dallas, who was my imaginary friend at the time.
I liked being four and five. I remember thinking so much at that age. I remember furiously trying to work out how the world worked, and watching to see if I had got it right.
I would like to run into myself, find myself spreadeagled under a dusty Karoo sun, listen to myself singing Hasie in die holte, and say: "There isn't enough warm concrete in the world - pretend to be a dog for as long as you can."
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