Still More Dog Stuff

                   Urban Ornament

She decided to get an Afghan hound

because everyone would notice her

when she walked through the mall or the café district

dressed to the teeth

with an eye-catchingly large and elegant entity

connected to her by a glittering leash.

She named her hound ‘Lady’.

Bred thousands of years ago

to hunt in the vastness of the Afghan mountains

independently, far ahead of their human colleagues,

they can run at about 70 kph

and can maintain a cruising speed of about half that

for hours and hours.

Witnessing an Afghan running at full tilt

is a majestically breathtaking experience.

Witnessing Lady, though,

her hair brushed to feathery fineness daily,

constrained to being an urban ornament,

tethered to the legs of a footpath table

in front of a chichi café,

her head occasionally snapping to focus

her telescopic sight-hound eyes

on some small distant thing that could be prey,

but that she couldn’t chase,

was indeed a morose experience

of majesty in bondage.

        Accidental Canine Artistry

The dog stretched out at my feet

was snoring in flawless accompaniment

to the complex figures

of the minimalist musical composition

that I was enjoying.

Sometimes things like that just happen, aye?

       Multivariate Analysis

It depends on the stick’s

length and thickness,

weight and density,

degree of wetness or dryness,

balance, irregularities, and shape,

the wind’s direction and velocity,

the direction and steepness of any

topographical slope or grade,

and my own

position relative to trees and slopes,

foot placement in regard to such factors,

grip on the stick –

which of course interacts

with the stick’s configuration

and whether it’s wet –

and, of course, human variability.

                            Ah!

Summer

shade –

lovely,

isn’t it?

My dog agrees with me that it is.

It’s always great to get out of the summer sun.

She agrees with that, too.

Emphatically.

                        Learning Together

I used to confront people who pissed me off in public,

snarling verbal abuse

at offensively aggressive Mormon missionaries,

pointing out to people

who enthusiastically informed me

how glorious the weather was

in the midst of a crippling drought

how mindlessly self-indulgent and insensitive that was,

and so on,

but some time after my sixty-fifth birthday

I settled on the much more satisfying strategy

of ignoring them and acting as if they don’t exist.

My dog stopped being interested

in playing puppy games

after being attacked by a pack of dogs smaller than she was

when she was ten.

After that, when puppies at the park

came galumphing up to her playfully

and insisted on trying

to induce her to respond to their overtures,

she’d snarl at them and snap at the air

a safe distance from their necks –

apparently universal dog language for “Fuck off!” –

as they’d get the picture and leave her alone thereafter.

Some time after she turned twelve 

she dropped the snarl-and-snap –

except in extreme cases –

and settled on the much more satisfying strategy

of ignoring them and acting as if they didn’t exist.

It worked just fine for both of us,

but now that she’s dead I guess it only works for me.

                   Small Dogs and Big Dogs

I’m sure that the people who prefer sharing their lives

with big dogs rather than small ones

have reasons for doing so that are compelling for them.

I prefer having the responsibility for the wellbeing

of a small dog rather than a big one

because they tend to have a much longer life expectancy,

eat less,

produce less prodigious poos,

and – probably most compellingly –

since all dogs believe that they’re lapdogs,

it’s just more comfortable

to have one who fits.

     The Extent of Terrier Perceptions

I wonder if,

when I from time to time

went over the line –

usually when taking a day off

after a month or more

of working nine-to-eleven-hour days

without a day off –

and drank so much that I

blacked out on my feet

and went stumbling about the house

doing things that I had to repair the next day,

if my dog understood

the difference

and felt fear.

                      Rapid Demise

Still with four years of life expectancy left,

one morning in May my fox terrier

fell down a couple of times

before we left for our ramble in the park.

At the park she stumbled, as if losing her balance,

but then recovered.

Over the next three weeks

she rapidly lost one-third of her weight

despite eating more than usual.

Her mind remained clear, fast, and retentive

while her body wasted away.

Her senses remained sharp

while her bark became weak.

Living only in each moment, though,

she accepted the reality of each moment

for whatever it was.

On her last day of life

I took her to the park as usual.

Although unable to run,

she gamely did her best to keep up.

Later, after the vet told me that she couldn’t cure her,

I tossed treats to her while they were preparing the euthanasia,

but she was unable to catch them,

as she’d been able to do until the day before,

although she tried, her eyes gleaming,

and savoured them as she lapped them off the floor.

My favourite time of day is when I’m falling asleep,

and my least favourite is when I wake up.

The vet said that Rhonda just went peacefully to sleep,

never to awaken.

During my days since I became responsible

for nobody but myself.

I guess she’s the lucky one.

             Dark Spot On The Carpet

A good-sized dark spot,

maybe fifteen centimetres across at its widest,

from north to south,

irregular in shape and tapering off

another fifteen centimetres or so to the west,

still stains the carpet in my bedroom

right in front of the space heater

more than two years after my dog

was incontinent in her sleep

the night before she died.

I see it daily,

and sometimes reflect that

at least she was warm,

and dry,

and at home,

and dying.

                     Dog Dreams

Dogs are magnificent dreamers,

spending as much of their time snoozing as they do.

It’s also clear to me that no human

has any way of knowing what those dreams are;

people who claim to know what dogs are dreaming

are either guessing or projecting or inventing

some fantasy of their own,

and neuroscientists publishing work,

such as I’ve seen online,

claiming that dog dreams

are limited to everyday canine experiences,

are merely proposing a hypothesis

that they have no way to test adequately.

Y’know – it’s like, well, maybe.

I think dog dreams may very well be

unimaginably complex and constantly changing

abstract psychedelic shapes of smells.

Prove or disprove that one.