Today was a tragedy. Time was butchered in-between tasks with medicinal headaches and picayune feelings of rage. The way she talks to the dog makes me pause in the middle of my cheese cut, shift the tortilla, begin again as if my actions have some role in the larger orchestration of caring in the room. Cheese cut – iron fry – little protein disks topped with arugula and drunk with mate flakes in the teeth. STOP – NO – COME. There is nothing worse then a dog sometimes – earths most pitiful phenotypical extension of the wild, delivered from plastic kennels in fluorescent lit animal depots to the homes of lonely Americans.
^^^Serene love – Filial love – Sacred love.^^^
NO-SIT. Enslaved as objects of love, fed and fattened, runned an shitted – leashed and unleashed they return for orders like beautiful organic drones. Dogs are for control. The remind us daily of our dominant control of everything around us: weeds in the garden, eucalyptus trees, the time it takes to get somewhere, the quality of our food. Dogs train us to be controlling – to discipline – to take the hard line. They train us that everything shits and eats and sleeps. Their freedom offends us. Why are you barking? You don’t come when you are called? Don’t poop in that part of the yard? To the point of shock collars, fences and beatings. What broken spirited animal would agree to this contract – what self respecting beast would muzzle its teeth and refrain from biting everything in sight.
But maybe we are worth it? Maybe it feels so incredibly warm, purposeful, complete to be controlled by the gods - to be walked to patches of dirt by busy bipeds, to make a god bend over and pick up a warm shit in a plastic bag they’ve designed just for our shits. The leather collars with our human names, we have a phone number, a micro chip, a doctor, a meal plan. These are good gods. Maybe our love is that strong. Our hearts beat that loud. Maybe dogs are incredibly honored to be working along side us. Co-Directing the future of earth. Honored to be involved in the architecture, surrounded by our inventions.
Or maybe its just as simple as our holy hands! Pointed and thin, scratch paws, impossible, dexterous, nails and all, on the belly on the back, moving – two of them like golden rakes across patient, shaking dog skin.