The first thing you did when you brought him back from the dog pound and let him out of the car was step on him. You turned, a shopping bag in both hands, and trod squarely and heavily on Koki. As thoughtless and as careless as usual. Your big, heavy, clumsy feet on that tiny puppy.
“Welcome to your new home dog. It’s a good thing that you have already learned what I feel. It looks like we are going to partners in suffering”.
His coat was white but scruffy hence his name. His name was his description.
We still lived in that dirty, beaten up old house in Hara Mura. The one with the pond. The one where the mice had eaten all the insulation. Not very considerate of them when we were at 1200 metres.
The next few days were ones of some concern as he started to bleed internally and I’m not surprised as M. does not tread lightly. Luckily he was OK. No serious damage was done. At least physically. Who knows what harm it did to him psychologically. Maybe that’s why he turned into such a sweet natured if batty dog…he was always scared she was going to step on him again. The oppressed are often so humble and meek. It’s those with imagined oppressions who seem to become fascists…..I wonder why that is.
It’s now a year to the day since he died. He was not very bright. He never came when called and escaped and chased cars every chance he got. He barked at people walking by. But he was sweet natured, wagged his tail when addressed, protected Bibi’s honour and looked good with make-up. What more can you ask of a dog.
He grew old, his hearing got worse and, at the end, his eyesight worsened quite rapidly to the point where he would find himself in a corner and not able to back out. Like a battery operated toy that had no reverse. On his last night he worked his way into a corner under a chest of drawers unable to get back out. He had a wound that was oozing pus badly.
In the morning I got up early and, seeing that M. was not in her room, went downstairs. She was lying asleep on the cold, hard stone of the bathroom floor together with Koki with just a blanket covering the both of them. He was smelly and dirty…and stiff….and dead.
Lucky dog. To go like that…with a gentle kindness.
I’ll not expect the same when it’s my turn. I’ll not hold you to it.
You and your big, heavy feet.
