A few things about our dogs





I’m so glad when I find at the flea market photos of people posing with or photographing their non-human friends. Looking at these beloved animals from the past and thinking about our own relationship to our dogs.
She is so much a person with her soulful eyes, with her strong will, with her gentleness and independence that I sometimes surprise myself being puzzled when she acts like a dog, smelling the spring grass with a meditative look.
He has trouble adapting to our human rules. Always on a short leash. He doesn’t trust another human besides us, and he’s got good reasons for it. He gifts  us instead with a completely unquestioned trust. He knows and mirrors our disquiet, he is happy when we laugh. He understands unfailingly my fear, my sadness, my discontent. He is calm if I am.
They both hate it when we fight, even if our voices remain soft and our gestures calm. He crawls under the table or a chair. She, who is more calm and independent, leaves the room with dignity.
I like to imagine myself as a part of their pack. I lie in bed and try to listen to the faintest sounds imagining how they would hear them.
Running my fingers through their fur with joy and love and sorrow and guilt for their entire species.
A love that is so different from all the other kinds of love in my life. Affection and worry and the melancholy of knowing I will outlive them. The worrying part, is it maybe similar to the love for a child? But they are not children, they will never grow up to be our equals, they will never be emancipated from our rules. And also, they are so much more than children, with their inaccessible inner lives that are beyond verbal language, with the acuity of their intuition, with their mysterious perception of time.
Becoming the self that I am today because I got to know them.
The best kind of peace and quiet is in my room with them sleeping curled up next to me, reading my book in the reassuring rhythm of their breathing.



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