Who needs therapy? Not I, surely

Friday, 6:30 A.M. I’m standing in the cold, cheerless dawn, listening to the pattering of raindrops on the hood of my slicker and the squelch of mud beneath my dog’s paws as he attempts, unsuccessfully, to find a dry patch of grass on which to squat.

Suddenly I hear the distant slam of a door and a call of “Sancho, come,” followed by a frantic yip. Despite my rain-soaked clothing and my dripping dog, I giggle, because Sancho is the name of Gilbert Markham’s dog in Anne Bronte’s /The Tenant of Wildfell Hall/, possibly my favorite Victorian novel, not least because I devote an entire chapter to it in my dissertation. I strongly considered sloshing through the mud to my neighbor to inform him that his canine has the distinct privilege of sharing a name with that of a dog in a (moderately) famous work of Victorian Literature. IN my frenzy, I conveniently overlook the fact that the call to come” was delivered in heavily Spanish-accented English and that Sancho might just as likely be a nod to Don Quixote as to Anne Bronte, but it’s too late to capture my imagination, which has wandered off like a wayward child down a path of rainbow fantasies: I am Helen Huntington, and the owner of that noble canine is Gilbert, and we will exchange greetings that lead to a long, passionate love affair. Never mind that Helen is attired in workout pants and a rubber ducky yellow rain slicker and Gilbert sounds more like Ricky Ricardo than a Victorian hero.

I am pulled from my revery by the brush of wet fur against my hand. My dog has apparently decided that the heavy precipitation is hardly conducive to relieving his bladder. ON-balance, I think it best to avoid capture by white-coated men and slosh back inside through the puddles without enlightening my neighbor about this fun factoid of literary trivia.

Conclusion: I am not, contrary to popular belief, certifiably insane, though I did wonder last summer when a TB test result I took mistakenly appeared as positive if there might be health risks to reading too much Bronte.


  1. Too much Bronte…hahah..I love that.

    • poetprodigy7 said

      Not of course that you can ever have too much Bronte. 🙂

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