A Dog's Life

I have always had dogs in my life. It began when I was eight years old with my dachshund, Winky, and ended a few years ago when mother Bonnie and daughter Bubbels moved on to the eternal pooping fields. In between lie many precious memories of dear four-legged housemates.

The void left after the Labradors passed away was vast. Especially Bubbels—who was a "special" little dog and struggled to truly bond—had managed to do just that in the end. We miss her terribly.

Here in Cape Town, I kept a close eye on various dog shelters calling for people to take in "rescue dogs." But then again, dragging a dog back and forth between two continents every year is impossible. The poor animal has to go into quarantine, gets placed in the hold of a plane amongst heaven-knows-what other creatures, and almost certainly emerges from the process traumatised. So, we thought: it’s not possible. A pity, but that’s that.

Until earlier this year, when I struck up a conversation with a girl at a pop-up dog shelter. Very cleverly, they place a bright yellow container in a busy shopping area and, during the weekend, set out a pack of dogs for passers-by to meet.

I asked this girl if she happened to know anyone specifically looking for a dog only during the winter; perhaps we could share one. No, she said, I don’t know anyone like that. "But I’m already happy if you foster a dog for a day or a week. Otherwise, they’re just stuck in our kennel! It’s no problem at all if you bring a dog back later—at least they’ve had a wonderful time."

That changed everything for me. I could do something good by temporarily fostering a dog! In doing so, I ignored as best I could the thought that I would inevitably become attached and that returning her would never be an option. But the girl knew that too, of course.

It eventually led to us enriching our household with Simbi. A sweet female dog, about a year old. She and I share a piece of history. Last year, she contracted a disease that caused all her hair to fall out. her entire coat vanished; she was as bald as a plucked chicken. Considered a hopeless case, she was given up by the people who had her, and by some miracle, she ended up 500 km away in a Cape Town kennel, where they literally patched her up with medication and patience.

So, Simbi and I share illness, baldness, being given up on, and being revived in Cape Town. That certainly creates a bond!

And now that she is in my life, that life is changing too. Early mornings on the beach, playing with other dogs. The sea, the sand, and the mountains in the morning sun are magnificent! Long walks through fantastic nature that I otherwise never got around to. And as I write this, she is with me on what would otherwise have been one of my solo trips. A cheerful and affectionate companion.

Hanging over all of this, of course, is the concern: what happens later? What happens when we go back to Europe? Saying goodbye and taking her back to the shelter is no longer an option. Should we put someone in our house to look after her? Or find another family with multiple dogs? Will she even still want to be with us? I must find what is best for her, not for myself. A solution will surely present itself.

In the meantime, I believe we can learn a lot from dogs. After all these years, I’ve actually become quite a dog admirer. Because dogs can do all sorts of things we can’t. And they do all sorts of things we don’t.

They’ll chase a ball, walk through snow, and climb mountains without putting on the right footwear for any of those activities. They parade along the beach or through the streets and show themselves to their peers without shame, without make-up, without even putting on clothes. They pee and poop wherever they want. They drink and eat whatever they come across, as long as it smells halfway decent. And when meeting someone new, they unabashedly have a sniff at each other—intimate parts included. You surely learn more that way than with a stealthy glance or a handshake.

A dog is also carefree and not particularly keen on possessions. Very occasionally—when you start packing suitcases, for example—I see anxiety about what’s to come. And you shouldn't just snatch away a favourite bone. But mostly, our dogs just lie there, sleeping peacefully. And if you give them a ball, for instance, they can be overjoyed with it, only to carelessly lose that same ball ten minutes later.

I’ve also never had a dog with a morning mood. Every single day, you are greeted cheerfully in the morning. And that repeats itself all day long. You only have to be out of sight for five minutes to be enthusiastically welcomed again. I know very few humans with that quality.

The only reason dogs are kept on leashes and put on a kibble diet by us is that we humans have made our world difficult for dogs to live in. High-speed, life-threatening cars drive right through their landscape. Incomprehensible borders determine where they can and cannot go. And heaven help them if they do their business in the wrong place! None of that has anything to do with the dog; it is our human order that restricts the life of the dog.

So yes, I’m quite a bit jealous of those dogs. A carefree, mega-Zeroist life, walking around naked and peeing wherever you want. Completely free of possessions. That sounds like an attractive existence to me.

Is there somewhere you can submit your preferences for reincarnation?