The Tug

Some feelings are never forgotten even though they may  have been  very fleeting. This morning I was standing by the kitchen sink and felt a sharp tug on the hem at the back  of my flowing pink dressing-gown. It was Stan, my bouncy puppy who is all action and full of fun.

The  tugging sensation pulled me back to an early morning over eighteen years ago.  Our eight-week old son was sitting in his tiny seat which was on the kitchen floor. I was in a mad rush getting ready to catch the train to Dublin on what was to be my first full day away since his birth.

A quick tug on the back of my dressing-gown somewhere near ground level brought me to a stand-still. I spun round and saw his tiny hand retreating and his big eyes gazing up into mine. The mad-rush was forgotten as I picked him up and gave him a cuddle.

There is always just one first tug and they are the ones that seem destined to be treasured most.

Author: socialbridge

I am a sociologist and writer from Ireland. I have worked as a social researcher for 30 years and have had a lifelong passion for writing. My main research interests relate to health care and sense of place.

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