Matchstick Man Makes a New Friend

Things have gone a bit front-to-back, but no matter. Here's a story from Matchstick Man's past. Let me tell you about it.

Matchstick Man likes to walk. Because he likes to walk he spends a lot of time walking, and because he spends a lot of time walking many of his adventures happen whilst he is walking.

For example, if Matchstick Man didn’t like to walk so much he would never have fallen into the disused mineshaft and discovered the meaning of patience.

And if Matchstick Man didn’t like to walk so very much he would never have learned the value of sun screen.

And if Matchstick Man didn’t like to walk so very, very much he would never have learned that leaves can also be used as…well, you get the picture.

Anyway, these are all stories for another day. Today Matchstick Man would like me to tell you about the time he made a new friend.

Matchstick Man was out walking (you’d have never guessed, would you?). It was a beautiful sunny day, the sky was vast and blue, stamped here and there with little fluffy clouds wandering a little shyly, as though ashamed to be seen out in public. Matchstick Man breathed the warm air in, and blew it out cool and green. It made him feel brisk and determined and so he walked brisk and determined, heading towards a favourite place, a grassy banked pond surrounded by cool pines. A small oasis in which he could think and believe, perhaps, that he was the only Matchstick Man in the world. It was a good place to ponder and, second only to walking, Matchstick Man loved to ponder.

The scenery shot past, and soon Matchstick Man arrived at his destination. Being so brisk and determined he was also rather sweaty. The water appeared cool and inviting. He looked around and, as expected, there was no one around just him, the sun, the trees, the birds, and the placid water winking at him. Without another thought he dived in, breaking the waters’ virgin skin with a graceful ‘plop’. Gleefully he splashed around, enjoying the slick water against his sticky body.

After a while he settled, floating easily on his back, pondering. It took a while for him to notice that something was out of place. There was a noise, a strange noise coming from the bushes, breaching the peace. Now, you may think that being out in the wilderness it is only right to expect strange noises, but Matchstick Man knew better. Nature cupped him in its warm hands; he knew every sound, every whisper from the trees, the call of each bird, the soft sibilance of the breeze. This sound didn’t fit. For a moment he rested in the water, listening. The noise continued. Slowly, quietly, he slipped out of the water. Slowly, quietly, he crept over to the bushes, picking up a rock on the way. Slowly, quietly, he pulled open the bush.

Splat.

Before he could react Matchstick Man was knocked to the floor, and found himself covered by a dribbling, slobbering, warm mass. Fighting back he struggled to his feet, finding himself faced with this:

a dog, a skinny dog, a kind of smelly dog, but definitely a friendly dog. Matchstick Man patted it on the head, pondering. He pondered why the dog was all the way out here on its own, he pondered who the dog might belong to, he pondered why it was so skinny, he pondered…what was it doing to his leg!

It was getting late, and his sun screen had long since washed off. Matchstick Man sat on the grass wondering what to do. Dogs, he thought, were kind of good at finding there own way home better, perhaps, than Matchstick Man was. He thought that maybe if he headed for home, then the dog would too. It was a good plan. Matchstick Man got to his feet, “Well, see you again pooch!” he said hopefully, and walked off in the direction of home. The dog followed. Matchstick Man turned around, waving hopefully at the dog, “Bye, bye now, off you go home.” he said hopefully, and carried on walking. The dog followed. Matchstick Man pretended not to notice. He pretended not to notice until he was nearly all the way home, but every time he turned there it was, trailing a little behind, the dog.

Matchstick Man sat down on his doorstep. The dog came over, licked his hand, looked up, hopefully. Matchstick Man sighed, “You don’t have anywhere to go do you?” he said, half to the dog, half to himself. The dog yipped, hopefully. Matchstick Man opened his front door, “Do you want to come in?” he asked. The dog leaped through the door, snuffling like dogs do. “If you’re going to stay,” Matchstick Man said as he closed the door behind him “you’re going to need a name. How do you feel about ‘Paperclip’?”. The dog yipped, Matchstick Man smiled, hopefully.