Jacky

Thoughts of having a dog were furthest from my mind. If you had asked, though there is no reason why you should have, I would have said that owning a dog was as remote from my thoughts as was a jaunty sprint up Mount Everest or attempting to swim the English Channel - though I have been doing a bit of swimming lately.

Having said that, I have just returned from walking said dog - thoughts of whom were furthest from my mind. He aroused me from my slumber at the ungodly hour of six am, making insistent noises, which to a trained ear said – walk me now or have a smelly kitchen.

Jacky, or Jackajack as he is now better known, presented himself one day at my partner’s door - some months before she and I had met. My partner requested him to leave. He didn’t, instead she felt pity on this sad stray and gave him food – a great mistake as anyone who has an animal will tell you – that’s how I got to be here. Once fed, Jacky promptly made himself at home, as did I. ‘Just for one night then’, my partner naively said to the sad-eyed looking canine. I could imagine that wry smile on the-dog-who-was-to-become-Jacky’s face. Jacky stayed, and has stayed ever since.

Enter the Big White Man, as I am euphemistically called in some quarters - even though my weight-loss is quite evident. I knew that my future partner had a dog. She had brought him with her on her first visit – another compelling story for a future telling. It wasn’t so much that dogs and I do not get on - it’s just that I have always seen myself as more of a cat person. In this increasingly smaller world there seems to be a line drawn between the cat lovers – Moi, and dog lovers - seemingly a good chunk of humanity. I had not wanted to step over that line. I was happy in my comfort zone, sans canine.

When the decision was made to move to suburbia - a decision, incidentally, not taken too lightly, I also had to consider sharing my life with a dog. At that time there was a maid – also the subject of a future missive. One of the few things she was good for, other than raising of our collective blood pressures, was walking said dog now named Jacky.

Morning, noon and yes night time too our maid would, often begrudgingly - as is the way with some maids, walk said dog. I was not too troubled. He – the dog now named Jacky and I co-existed. We were not emotionally close, physically yes, as it is only a small apartment, but not emotionally. He made few demands on me and I made no demands on him, except that he stayed at a reasonable distance.

The maid returned from whence she came. It was only then that I realised just how busy my partner was running her business, seeking charity donations for her favourite charity – Colors of Cambodia, and running her children around from school to tuition classes, to music classes etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. But someone had to walk Jacky while my partner lay exhausted from her running around. Someone had to walk Jacky when my partner was absent doing her running around and someone had to walk Jacky at night before my partner returned from her full day’s labours. There was no-one else.

I didn’t exactly volunteer. It was more like I was press-ganged in walking said dog. I thought it a one off, just as we were getting settled after the maid’s departure – it wasn’t, so I write this just minutes after arriving back having taken Jacky for his 6.30am walk, and am pondering on just how life changes from minute to minute. First there was no dog, then a dog and walks enough to keep me a little fitter than I was. I still prefer cats, but Jacky is Jacky and quite possibly the craftiest dog in suburbia, with his tousled hair and big brown, seemingly innocent, eyes. Jacky stays and I stay, and somehow we are working things out.