With the ‘Stones' song ‘Walking the Dog’ (just a , just a) running around my head like some unleashed canine desperately in need of a pee, I led the enthusiastic Jackie out for his morning walk. I have mentioned elsewhere that I am not a lover of dogs and that the relationship between this particular animal and me came about purely by chance - but he does have his good points as you shall see later.
It’s
not a long walk. Simply out of the apartment (in England we would call it a
flat, but never mind) along the length of the car park – with some people on
the verge of panic at seeing my scruffy, docile canine, and panicking at the
very thought of a dog - then under the security barrier and out onto the road
and down a short incline – the return journey taking no more than twenty
minutes or so.
It is
rarely an interesting journey. Jackie pulls at his lead urging me to go here or
go there in his quest for olfactory satisfaction, and I try to keep awake –
having been roused by Jackie’s insistent banging on our bedroom door with his
tail. Our journey is largely spent dodging cars and me pulling at Jackie’s lead
so that I don’t have to explain to his owner – my wife, why I allowed him to
commit doggy suicide.
Rarely
do we see other dogs. Once, some weeks back - we did, we saw another dog on our
daily walk. Jackie looked. The other dog looked. They satisfied themselves that
they were both dogs - and alive, and went their separate ways with no verbal
utterances taking place. This day was different.
Jackie had been performing his daily sniffing
routine – running up onto the small grass curb and collecting his doggy mail,
urinating or defecating depending upon his will - and just the right spot to do
either, then came this hound out of hell – luckily on the other side of a wire
fence.
Other
Dog – obviously a little short on the manners front, gave no introduction other
than a very large growl – practically enough to swallow both me and Jackie, and
one of the most ferocious barks you might imagine if met on a moor somewhere
around Baskerville Hall, England – with or without a deerstalker bedecked
detective.
Chopping
at his metaphorical bit, Other dog attempted to eat the wire fence – so
desperate was he to consume the hapless Jackie. Jackie, on the other hand,
mooched up to said fence, with his nose practically poking through and into
Other Dogs maw, and gave what I considered to be a quizzical look at this
raging beast not millimetres from Jackie’s face.
‘Chill,
man. Why must you start your day all upset? Metta mate, metta, spread a little
loving kindness in your day’ - well that’s what I imagined Jackie to be saying,
while Other Dog - a cross between a
hound from hell and a German Shepherd dog was trying to eat Jackie’s face off.
Jackie frowned a little, cocked his head, then cocked his leg at a portion of
fence about a foot away from the dog eating dog – jettisoned some fluid waste,
then shook his newly combed body and calmly walked away. Other Dog, now acutely
insulted renewed his ferocious attack and almost dragged his human companion
into the fence with him. But Jackie knew better. Jackie knew the fences
strength. Jackie knew that he was one side and Cerberus was on the other, and
that the twain would never meet.
It
was, at that point, that I grew a reluctant admiration for Jackie, and Jackie acquired
a new name - an alter ego in fact. Jackie - at that moment of supreme calm and
deportment became Dharma Dog – cool, metta/loving kindness spreading Buddhist
dog, and earned my eternal respect for his calmness under extreme duress.
