My dog is stoned. He is on methadone and is hallucinating his little head off. What he is experiencing, The Great Dog Master only knows, but it’s looking scary. He is squeaking and hollering, which is not natural to him. So I try to make him as comfortable as can be, let him sleep it off, and pet him on the head while making the usual ‘there now’ sounds.
His teeth were cleaned today, and the vet had to put him under narcosis to pull two teeth out. Once-a-year treatment costs a fortune, but hey, it’s your dog, you love him, and you treat him well. He has bad teeth and a lot of cavities to show for. But dogs can survive without their molars, so I have been told. They eat anyway.
Arie is an eleven-year-old medium-sized terrier of brown and white complexion. He is playful, funny, not that bright, and very much the ideal dog for me. Friendly to people, not so friendly to other dogs, which is his only weakness. Walking outside and meeting other dogs is no picnic in the park. He barks a lot and is protective of his owner. I sometimes take another route to avoid unpleasantness.
I bought him from an equivalent of eBay. On my own again, after a very turbulent period in my life, I wanted the company of a dog. So I searched the Internet and found an ad with a picture of a one and a half-year-old creature named Moses. His owners lived nearby, so I gave them a call. They brought the dog over, I had one walk and the rest is history. That was nine years ago, and I am still very much in love.
The day after, he is recovering from his psychedelic experience by lying on the balcony in the sun. It looks as if there are no side effects left. He slept well, and he was as joyful as ever on his morning walk. So now it’s resting time, and he is a master. I never saw a dog so serious in sleeping and resting. Outside he can compete with all the puppies in running, jumping, and sliding; inside the house, he sleeps, he rests, and he sleeps once more. Dogs can sleep on average for twelve to fourteen hours a day. Nothing dull about it.
Suddenly there is some activity on the balcony. I hear him panting and making noises while staring underneath the railing, his rear end up in the air, his eyes fixed on what can be seen is happening outside on the street. Another dog is passing by. He is alert and alive for five minutes, then he finds his favourite position and lies down again. Show over, back to normal.
Nothing great really happens in a doggie’s life but sleeping, walking, peeing, and pooping. I will fetch him a cooked chicken breast for dinner to have a bite without pain. I will do that for the coming few days, and then it’s back to his normal food.
When I return to the afterlife, I want to be a dog.