Here is another building block to the create aim of my blog:During the preparation course to come to India we had a lesson on ethics. Among the plethora of hypothetical questions, this one was thrown out there:
“What do you do if there is a stray dog starving near your home and your host family advises you not to feed it since they don’t want her puppies?”
In class I got on a bit of a soap box. “We come from the land of Mickey Mouse and stuffed animals and tooth brushes for our dogs.” From my experience in Ghana I felt like I had a new perspective. I wanted the students to realize that this is not the same mentality that we will experience once we get to India.
I was firm. Felt firm. As much as I love puppies, the dogs in Delhi with their dangling tumor stomachs did not stir my blood. I am not heartless—it is just different somehow. I have felt really good about living with Buddhists who do not believe in killing, even insects (even really, really big insects in my room), and I’ve gotten by just fine so far without getting my heart strings wrung.
Until last week.
I found a stray dog—a ghost white dog with a limp, protruding ribs, and pink eyes, lying on the piles of rocks from the nearby construction sight. At first I thought it was dead. I wanted to look away, but then it turned and stared right at me.
Something strange happened—like all of my suppressed sadness over beggars, homesickness, Jodha’s dead host grandma, the Tibetan situation, lingering Ghana slivers, and yes, even the stray animals, were all embodied in the face of this pathetic dog. This dog of all dogs—one that seems to have lost all will to live. It lags to get out of the way of cars, as if it was a decision.
So I’ve been feeding it my pancake breakfasts on the way to yoga—a futile effort to a seemingly hopeless, unchangeable situation. I want it to live. I want so badly for it to live against its better judgment. No one has told me to stop, but I wonder if I should.
It seems to have taken on a meaning of its own. I am surprised by how much of myself I have invested in this dog.
(Photo credit goes to jorisvo)
I don't think a small dose of compassion hurts.
ReplyDeleteYou have a sweet spirit.
I'll tell you more on this in my next email.
some looks stir a lot, don't they? And a few words can be just as shattering.
ReplyDeleteIn a similar, though completely unrelated note, my dog got skunked. At 9pm. As a result, he was bathed, and dried, repeatedly up until 11pm. He loved the extra attention and physical contact, but he's still quite hurt that I made him sleep outside. His eyes told me so. And I gave him a slice of chicken for his inconvenience.
On a sad note, I think the dog is dead. I have not seen it in a week.
ReplyDeleteSorry about your dog Chase. :) Hope the skunking is going well now.
In fact, I would love to know what you would think of all these dogs Chase... I remember you in Ghana having a hard time with the two outside of our compound.
ReplyDelete