Ode to Dog

July 30, 2016 § Leave a comment

There is practically nothing more precious to me than this little being, so delightfully alive. She makes my heart cry just to see her big black eyes, so suspicious as she looks up at my mother and me after we betray her with yet another bath, or eye-cleaning, or other intrusive procedure. She makes my heart burst with laughter to see her cocky stance and pouted-out black lips as she looks at my mother, ready to prance and bark her heart out at nothing when given the command.

She’s lying there, looking at me with some bemusement and distrust in her eyes. She doesn’t trust anyone as much as my mother, and particularly not me, as I was young and impatient and tried to train her with all these techniques I learned online. I was the obnoxious parent always trying to “do what’s best” and not earning her favor in the least. It pains me to this day, but I am so happy to see what a beautiful relationship she has with my mother than I’ve stopped minding so much.

She’s the flightiest little creature I’ve ever met. Unless you have food, good luck getting close enough to so much as touch her on the back. She doesn’t need attention or cuddles, in fact, she’d rather be left alone, except by my mother. She has bouts of absolutely unbelievable playfulness, digging in the covers, pushing pillows off the bed with her tiny, thin, black muzzle and her tiny, thin, wet, black nose. When playing with toys, she gets possessive and almost aggressive, but always seems to come back for more; I’ve yet to tire her out. Only her doggie friends have managed to do that.

Twelve years of life is no obstacle for her, I still can’t see symptoms of ageing. I like to think I helped with that by insisting on feeding her a raw diet throughout her life, though recently she’s been demoted to (high-end) kibble due to stomach troubles. I didn’t listen to vets’ and friends’ fearmongering and read numerous books and sites on the subject, and I’m so happy to see that BARF is becoming a mainstream thing in pet nutrition.

But I digress.

She is so funny. Afraid though she may be of strangers, she is a bossy little napoleon when confronted with big floppy dogs like her friend Kikko the Pitbull or Bratan the Doberman. Bratan whines when she is under the dinner table because it’s a no-access zone when she’s down there. She seems to respect dogs her own size a bit more, but still tries to hump ’em good (for dominance reasons), in spite of sometimes dangerous remonstrations. On a walk, she’ll avoid any dog in her way; she’d rather not talk to strangers, thanks very much.

She’s so fragile and small. Such a tiny skeleton under all that fluff and attitude. What nightmares I have had about her being in danger. Children just don’t do it for me; but I know what a strong mothering instinct I have when I think about her. I had it since I was a teenager and she’d sleep in her crate in my room; the tiniest noise of distress from her little bed and I’d be awake and fretting. And I’m no light sleeper. I can’t count how many times I’ve woken up to be heavily disappointed at missing an awesome thunderstorm that morning. But this little creature… even now that I haven’t lived with her for nearly five years… she still haunts my dreams with her sheer preciousness.

And finally, her smell. My god, that smell! I will choose my next dog by smell and smell alone. There is nothing to calm me quite like that homely aroma that just rolls off her when she is quietly sighing in her crate as she sleeps. Nothing like that gentle aura of warmth, for it is the absolute definition of warmth, to me. When I hold her and she gives in despite the annoyance of being held, her flexible, full and bony little body just emanates this warmth and this smell so powerful that I can hardly distinguish one from the other. It is THE smell of love, and cuteness, and warmth, and body heat, and life. Call me crazy? Yes. You probably will. I wish I could capture that essence in a bottle (without having to do anything gruesome like Grenouille in Das Parfum) and keep it with me at all times… although maybe I wouldn’t, because the smell is just so connected to the body and the being, and the WARMTH!!! How many times can I use the word warmth in one paragraph? Count and see. Even the word “warmth” is lovely and represents well what I’m trying to describe.

Warmth, warmth, warmth. Nothing better! God, I love warmth. God, I love this dog!

Just how can anyone resist?

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