The Biro Tree

 My brother has a dog, a bordoodle (border collie/ poodle cross) called Colin. Colin is two years older than Nell the Poo. They’ve met only once and Nell wasn’t keen because Colin paid undue attention to her, but she saw him off by making what I can only describe as a high pitched screeching sound. It did the trick; Colin backed off and Nell’s honour was saved. This is Colin, having a snooze-fest…

Anyway, Colin the Bordoodle is taken for walks by my brother which often include a visit to the local village church. Our sister’s memorial bench is situated in the churchyard, overlooking the deer park of which our great-grandfather was deer keeper. Our father’s ashes are buried in the same grave where that same great-grandfather is buried with his wife. There’s a circular rhythm in this churchyard for our family. Many memories. 

The church caters for visiting dogs by providing a stone water bowl for drinkies, which is nice. Colin often partakes. A few weeks ago, my brother reported that a biro pen had been carelessly strewn upon the ground near the dog bowl and we had a small discussion about how untidy people are. But then the biro might have been dropped accidentally, we just didn’t know the facts behind the case. 

Anyway, my brother decided to pick up the biro and plant it in an upright position next to the dog water bowl to see how long it would be before someone took the biro away and disposed of it. Obviously, someone would do this because someone refills the water bowl on a regular basis. I didn’t ask my brother why HE didn’t dispose of it he biro because conversations with him like that are both pointless and fruitless. I have learnt this over time. I’ve known him for over 59 years, so trust me on this one. He reckoned the biro would remain there long enough to take root and grow into a biro tree. 

I said it could be the village’s answer to the Glastonbury Thorn, a tree that legend says was planted by Joseph of Arimathea when he supposedly visited England donkey’s years ago. I said if it did take root and become a biro tree, perhaps my brother could set up a stall next to it and sell bacon sandwiches to the pilgrims who came to visit this miracle. Bacon sandwiches and maybe tiny biro key rings, or tiny biro pendants. Any sort of tiny biro merchandise, really. It could be a new business venture for him as he is always complaining about his current job.

My brother did not seem keen on this idea. I think he is missing an opportunity. 

Several weeks later, the biro is still there. My brother is enjoying complaining about the untidiness of the local church goers.