JUDY, THE SEVENTH OF THE GREAT DANES

She walks through town with her inverted umbrella, its spines flexed inwards and up in the shape the wind swept it one day. 

She sees no problem with it.
 
A man passes by her and asks what she’s doing with that umbrella, why doesn’t she just throw it away? She tells him it’s her phonograph – her loud speaker. How will she be heard without it?

Judy, the seventh in our story

She loves bugs, mostly the ones that crawl or otherwise behave in peculiar and expressive ways, and least of all butterflies. It’s easy to love a butterfly, she says, because they’re beautiful. She appreciates the things that others find ugly, perhaps too much at times.

The next day is windy again, and her umbrella bows further into itself and she thinks that perhaps it was always meant to be this way, and was simply stuck trying to be like all the other umbrellas for too long. And she feels love for the umbrella. ​And then she wonders if this is the beginning of the end – if perhaps things are always meant to fold into themselves one day.
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She’s the artist and the scientist, in one.
 
The man again asks why she bothers carrying that broken umbrella around. He does not understand, and she knows he will not come to understand. So she simply says, if I flip it back the other way, what will you watch in your boredom? Who will keep you entertained?
 
She is Judy, the golden one, the seventh of The Great Danes. 

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