Love & pets, and love for pets
Most mornings, I wake up earlier than I need to so that I can give my dog exercise with some play. Half asleep, we both stumble around the garden- him still playful at seven years just like he used to be as a pup, me fervently wishing I was in my nice, warm, soft bed. I then clean his poop-thoughtfully left in several spots- and give his morning kibble. Hit repeat. Add evening playtime and neighbourhood walks, with us tensely hanging onto a leash that twists and turns every time he spots a cat or bird.
Once, Caesar- that’s his name- made a break while my sister was walking him to chase a stray dog across the main road. She described how she ran across the road after him without stopping to consider the vehicles zooming past and the possibility of being knocked down in a split second. I once ran on the main road at 3 am on New Year’s Day, crying (in my pyjamas, on the road) because we thought he had accidentally wandered out (he hadn’t-he was cozily tucked into a corner of the garden he doesn’t frequent). My dad still gets big laughs when he tells this story.
Ostensibly, we keep dogs at home for ‘security’, which has always seemed to me a weak argument. They are tiny and easily duped into eating something funny, and often capable of sleeping through a whole burglary. And if you’re annoyingly realistic about it, our pets are so faithful to us because we feed them, play with them and scratch their tummies. It’s a pretty great deal if you ask me- all that in exchange for clearing your throat once in a while? Sign me up.
So why do we really keep pets? Is it because we glimpse in them a chance for us to redeem ourselves in our own eyes? To grow older is to know your own weaknesses and reservations deeply, to know that you too are capable of selfish, miserly thoughts and expectations from your relationships. But my love for my dog is the purest form of unconditional love I feel- he could choose to ignore me or growl at me from today, and I’d still continue waking up at 6 am for playtime, clean his runny ass poop and fork out large chunks of cash for food and overpriced toys and medicine.
It has very little rhyme or reason when I think about it- Caesar doesn’t do those cutesy Instagram dog things where he will lick my tears off if I cry or even check on me if I play dead (ahh how we have tried). But I think I know what it is- no matter how cold the outside world has felt for me on any given day, I can come home and scratch his head and run his errands and feel like something is right in this world. Maybe that’s why- to love a pet is to know unconditional love is possible, and that’s pretty damn nice.
