PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Inside his bedroom, in the corner next to his couch, my grandfather had a safe, but not an ordinary I must say. It had a dog shape, bulldog shape indeed. Curious is that there was no money, jewelry or even a sheet of paper inside him. “The can is empty, why won't you throw it away? “My grandma said again and again. But the answer was the very same, in his calm voice's tone my grandpa used to answered “But my dear, I like it this way”. Anybody, mom, uncles, aunts even my grandma couldn't understand why such thing was there. It was the ugliest safe they ever saw, my uncles complained. “That’s why it isn't in any of your rooms, that’s why it's in mine's” grandpa said. My childhood is in that house; inside those walls is where I have most of my early memories. Memories such as people getting scared by my friend, Mr. Dog, but many others I'm the one who's scared by him. Once, I remember being looking for something, I don't remember what it was, but it must be a toy ; he is already asleep, know that I think about it, my grandfather used to sleep a lot; I am crawling in the dark, under he's bed there is nothing but a couple of boxes and dust, tons of dust. I am already leaving, but suddenly, someone scared me, I shout and cry it was the very same dog; he was hidden in the shadows, looking at me with his mad face and his big and black eyes. Years has passed, my brothers, cousins and I get older, things have changed, new colors in the walls, frames and pictures on them being switched and switched, A new TV in the living room and also a sofa, things have change there, a lot, but there was something exactly the same, in his usual spot, it was inside one of the second's floor bedroom, in one corner next to a new couch. It was a safe, as dusty as usual, as creepy as I always remembered, everything in that house was getting older, including me, but not the dog. Now there's no one living there, my grandpa died years ago, and my grandma has moved out. But inside the house is still the dog, protecting it since I can remember. I had never asked my Tito about why he kept the dog with him during all that time, it was something that I get used to it, seeing that ugly safe in his bedroom became normal. But now that I think it deeply, I would loved to ask him about it, as many other people I know. More than one person in my family has ever wondered the very same thing that I am doing now. Why he kept that ugly and dusty dog with him all that time?