What My Dog Taught Me

Well it’s a lesson I haven’t mastered yet, maybe never will. Ricky lived in the present. When we left the house he howled with grief, and maybe self-pity. It was an immediate response; true for the present time he was in. When I returned, it was pure joy, no thought of the time he had suffered. He experienced only what he felt at the time. This was not to say he had no memory, he was very intelligent and knew all the cues we gave. When I picked up my keys he held his breath: It was either “yes you can come” or a shake of my head, “Nup, can’t take you this time”. This was always followed by a pat on the head. He was sad, of course, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was being denied my company, or because he thought I was in some way rejecting him. I couldn’t explain to him that I wasn’t going to his favourite park (Macarthur’s Park), but shopping or visiting a friend. The dejection was the same, and when I reached the bottom of the steps, the howling began, and pierced my heart. When I returned, however late, the joy was immediate and all was forgiven, and forgotten.
The ethos behind his behaviour was unconditional love. Unwavering, constant, unconditional love. All he asked of my was my company. What he gave to me was priceless.