Mr Dingleberry

Dingle has been a little depressed.
His girlfriend told him: “There’s three of us in this relationship: you, me and your computer.”
All Dingle could think to say was, “Leave my computer alone, it’s never hurt anyone.”
All he got was a glare in return. An angry, sinister glare.
Dingle muttered to himself, just because it’s a Dell and not a Mac. No respect. Some people would call that racism.
Dingle’s friend The Wizard suggested it was just because Dingle’s girlfriend wanted to use the computer at the same time.
Dingle doesn’t know. Girls are some mystery. No binary calculation can explain them.
Nevertheless, Dingle looks forward to the day they can both have computers and be working on them at the same time in harmony.

Dingle is sometimes asked why he drinks so much.

Dingle usually answers that life is like a stream that he enjoys drinking from.

The stream near his house just happens to flow with Heineken.

It’s not necessarily the beer for everyone but its Dutch origins remind him of the enjoyable holiday he spent there visiting friends.

Dingle sharpened his claws and climbed on to the top of a log to have a better look at the fast flowing river.

It was his special place where he could sit and lose himself in his dreaming. He loved the way of the river. The way it flowed around all obstacles with grace. Life seemed so easy and mapped out for a river.

Many times he thought of where he came from and the meaning of life. He climbed down from the log and peered into the river to see his reflection.

With a head burdened with the weight of his own thoughts he lost his balance and fell into the river. Dingle’s small body soon became cold in the freezing water and he fought against millions of dagger-like shivers. Unable to control the situation, he concentrated on one breath at a time for that was all he could do.

He was becoming part of nature; he was allowing it to take its course and deposit him where it desired.

Oh the mercy! With a last effort Dingle raised his muzzle above the water line, paddling furiously below it. He struggled back to the river bank, clambouring to safety. He sucked in life with every new breath, with a general vigour he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The sun warmed him. So he climbed back onto the log to dry out. He stared back at the now strangely calm river.

His adventures continue, into the unknown, now guided by nature and with a new appreciation for life.

One of Dingle’s favourite songs ever is Runnin’ by The Pharcyde. He first heard it in ‘95 and the hook forever stuck in his mind: Can’t keep runnin’ awaaaaay, can’t keep runnin awaaaayyyy… But how true was it?

Afterall, he continued to deny the lyric but took the song as the soundtrack to his life.

Even as a child he had snuck out at night and belly-crawled onto neighbours properties to look through windows.

Once he ran away for three days and perched in a tree wishing he could fly. The excitement of wanting to jump was an ode to Sartre’s expression of freedom and nothing more. He longed to be what he felt.

It’s no wonder as he grew older he realised the eagle as his totem.

So it was no surprise while on the run recently he curled up inside the eyeball socket of an eagle-head statue overlooking distant plains one night and awoke with the warming rock the next day.

Now that’s freedom.

Sometimes it’s good to take time out to contemplate.

A day off after a public holiday is a good time to contemplate.

Dingle went down to the beach for a think. He perched on an old bit of driftwood. He stared at the sea, the sea stared back.

He twisted sand through his toes and made designs with beach shells. Oh, and there was some serious ant watching done as well.

When Dingle returned home he dreamed of sea creatures and being cast upon the sea, content and resting on some driftwood. The sea would take him where it wanted.

Dingle knows after contemplation that his life will take him where it wants.