Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
Pablo Neruda
For the past 45 years, I always found myself at the other end of a leash. The five dogs that walked me every morning during these days were bitches, studs and sires, and every one of them was the master of passing moments.
I am with my last dog now. He is heavy, strong and big. He can drag me into the brush if he sees a deer or a wild pig. Sometimes I think I can ride him like a pony when tired of the daily long miles of walk. But I let him take me home, at his own pace, pulling on the leash.
He is my last dog because I do not see myself with a small dog. I do not see me carry a dog in my lap when going to a restaurant or a store. My dogs have all been strong but careful with their strength. They all snored at night at the end of their lives. Some snored even as a puppy.
I have trusted my dogs to decide first who is friend or foe. They somehow, in a split second, decided who was good for me. And they were never wrong.
… It is a snowy day and he is all joy. All joyful. His large paws, wide open to run in the snow, have already marked all the pristine snow covers of this morning. He will soon get tired and sleep by the fireplace.
He may even snore and not hear the coyotes howling outside.
He is my last dog, and I already know I will not learn how to walk with a leash alone if he goes first.
January 23, 2021
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2021
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