I used to take the secluded back-side route of the campus while changing my department for classes. it was where I saw her the first time and then every day after. she was always there, all alone admiring the silence and the beauty of nature. she hated departments, canteens, and other signs of our civilization. She resisted all education, and never understood the concept of retrieve.
dogs are wiser than humans. They come to this world to teach us how to be good and contemplate nature. humans are slow learners, dogs stint on earth is shorter so they need to act faster. She hated thunderstorms and fireworks. Patriotic festivities were her nightmare, what nonsense of humans to pollute the air in celebration of nationhood, what is that anyway?
dogs are humans’ intriguing desires. when I was a kid I wanted them. not as my friend or my family but as my everything. I wanted someone to love me, be with me all time, and never complain. I don’t want them now. It hurts to even contemplate, let alone accept that human and dog years are different. if you get a dog in your childhood, you would lose them when you become an adult.
As Mary Oliver put it: “Dogs die so soon… It is almost a failure of will, a failure of love, to let them grow old — or so it feels. We would do anything to keep them with us, and to keep them young. The one gift we cannot give.”
so my inner still processing grief refuses this. it doesn’t want someone with an expiration date before my own anymore. losing a loved one is hard, isn’t it? the same grief kept me away from her. she always gave me an innocent look that was calling me to go and pet her. I never did. I wish I could tell her why.
When she gave birth to her four delightful puppies, she ignored them blissfully. Motherhood was not her thing, she had never been consulted, had she? She stared at them with a look of, “Who are these kids and why are they calling me Mom?” she would lay flat on the ground and stare at you like a jaded teenager if you tried to walk in the ‘wrong’ direction. she stayed so low on her energy that if you threw a ball, she’d look at you with contempt, “go fetch it yourself, you threw it, not me”.
I’d made the heart of my life a dog, who could live to 100. one day when my death would be closer, I would have them. all the animals will forget you after two weeks when you’re dead, but only a dog will sit near to your grave.