This guy’s been sick the past couple days. Probably nothing substantial, it seems, though there does exist an iota of worry in my chest simply because he can’t communicate how serious it may or may not be. Went to the vet this morning and she stuck a finger in his butt, gave him a couple shots, and prescribed three different pills. Treating an animal is generally limited to the symptoms because they can’t tell you what they’ve gotten into and diagnostics are expensive and minimally effective.
There is so much mystery surrounding this dog. Where did he come from? He was found on the sreets of South Central, transferred to the shelter, rescued by a non-profit, fostered to me, and then I adopted him. He was brought in a mess; skinny, fur like a dreadlocked New Age Traveller. He didn’t play for months. Where did he come from? He can’t tell me. What kind of dog is he? Everyone has an educated guess but there’s no conclusive evidence. He can’t tell me what kind of dog his mother or father was. How old is he? The pound guessed he was two, which would make him three now. I thought he might be younger based on his energy, behavior, and the way he grew in the year I’ve had him. Today the vet (a new vet) guessed he was closer to 7 based on his eyes (he has “old eye,” she told me) and his teeth.
The most basic facts are a mystery. He can’t answer any of these questions. As humans we define a great deal of our identity on these simple particulars - age, upbringing, ethnicity. None of these details matter to a dog; his identity is based on uncomplicated emotions and instinct. That is why I love him so much, and also why he remains a mystery to me.
i live for ff.
