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Mount Doom and other adventures.

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Thursday 26th March 2015

The Assault on Mount Doom

 

Master said to me the other day: 'C'mon, Cogsworth. We're going for a walk.'

Excited at the prospect of being let out, I ran around master's legs until I became dizzy, then I dashed off to get my special lead. What a treat, I thought; what an adventure!

It was then that Master reminded me that I had not yet earned the lofty status of dog.

At Master's instruction, I was to arrive at his house early for an -how did he put it?- 'Oh, five hundred start.' That seemed like a lot to me, so I arrived at four O'Clock in the morning, just to be sure. I was to bring flasks of tea, water, portable comestibles, and appropriate clothing.

When I arrived at the mansion, it was raining. It had been raining for many hours: cold, icy rain. Master was still in his night-shift. I began to doubt my understanding of the meaning of the word appropriate.

So, once I had been schooled in my duties, we set off at the appointed hour, leaving behind the flasks of lovely warm tea, the extra layers of lovely warm clothing I had brought, and a small amount of Master's hope; but that was all right because I had lots of it to spare!

'C'mon, Cogsworth!' said Master, rain dripping from his nose (at least, I think it was rain).

'Coming, Master.' I said, gleefully. 'Can I have a biscuit?'

'No.'

 

Earlier, when Master had said we were to go for a walk, I have to admit, I was a little suspicious. On previous such outings I have found myself entertaining discomforture, and no small degree of peril. However, it was just a walk; how difficult could it be?

 

We walked and skipped along the lanes, and all was well. I sang to master in words he could not hear so that he would not be offended. Master rebuked me for trifling things, and renamed me Pervert for a while; such is his way.

 

We were happy even though the sun did not shine.

Master promised sun. It never came. Only rain and ice and wind to cut the flesh and dampen the spirit.

'Can I have a biscuit?'

'No.'

Master educated me in the ways of trees and things, and once we did see the sun, but Master put it away again. He is all powerful and knowing. I skipped along behind while Master ruminated and pondered life's important puzzles.

'Bastard...' he said.

'Yes Master?' I answered.

It seems that Master likes to call my name when deep in thought. There was nothing more. That warmed me...and since the sun wasn't going to show...well, you take what you can get.

 

Some leagues into our journey, I began to feel discomfort. The lanes were cursed with tiring slopes and twisty bends. They pulled at my legs and pinched my toes. At first, just twinges, aches, and so on, but there was always a rubbing in my foot, gradually worsening. I had a bad feeling about that. Master said:'Without pain, you are not alive.' I remembered what he said. Master's step was springy and light and full of purpose. Suddenly, I felt burdensome to him, but I did not wish to trouble him with my problems, so I asked:

'Can I have a biscuit?'

'No.'

 

We travelled o'er hill and dale, around bend and wend, twixt tree and hedge. The discomfort worsened, but I never cried out nor grumbled my plight. Limp, I did, though; there was no hiding that.

(But, what fortune is this? While Master is in full stride, my ten paces alag serve to conceal my difficulty...and my shame.)

Nigh on three parts of four into our adventure, Master promised a biscuit! He can be nice like that.

'When, Master.'

'Soon.'

Hours later, our objective was in sight. We were to conquer the Mountain of Doom, known to local folk as Carlton Bank. A thin stony path lay before us, offering a way through the forest of leafless trees and tangled thorn that conspired at every step to prevent our progress. Master was undeterred. We forged on. On and Up. Ever up towards the vast mountain, which was grey with cloaks of mist and veiled like a Byzantian whore. Its snow-packed summit remained but an unseen image in my mind, for I had never ventured this far east. To Master, of course, this was his 'mistress'. He had proudly confided to me, in gentler times, that he had often mounted her. I smelled only the reek of fear and felt only pain.

'Soon.' Master said. 'Soon.'

We forged on.

Master forged; I sort of hopped and hobbled, and whimpered, some forty paces alag. I am sure Master heard, but he did not say. I had become a creature of two halves. The top half functioned much as I expected, but the bottom half was a tangle of knotted gristle and splintered bone, lubricated with the juice of blisters burst, all crunching and grinding at severed nerve-endings; each step a scream, each scream a step closer to death. It would all be over soon. Suddenly, I felt hands pulling at me. I was pushed, and lifted and there was peace. We slipped under the veils and the skirts of the Byzantian, and it was a kind of heaven. I could hear Master's footfall, now heavier because he carried a burden; I could hear his breath.

Life with master has not been all beatings and humiliation. Frequently I glimpse a tenderness not found in other masters. He calls me turd, and bestows great wisdoms upon me, pointing out, for example that the tiny metal ferrule binding the tip of a shoelace is called an aglet. Master has a way of making you feel special.

'C'mon, Cogsworth.' he said. 'You great steaming turd.'

That was my last happy memory before Master dumped me at the top of Mount Doom. The bags of skin that were my legs crumpled beneath me along with their contents on to the hard ice and rock at Master's feet. The good half of me had slumped on the pin-like cushion of the broken half of me. Those nerve-endings that still functioned, yelled and squealed 'AAARRGH!' at my brain. Tears stung my eyes. I cried like a baby.

'Biscuit?' Master said.

 

Master seems happy...

... and is that a glint of triumphant satisfaction?