The Meaning of Life, in a Smell

in #life6 years ago

image-2018-08-10.jpg

The clock is ticking in the bedroom, and with it the ceiling fan makes a subtle rattle-hum. Tick, tick, tick, rattle, rattle, hum. Sleepy time music. The room has a dim blue glow to it. My old bones ache to sink into my soft bed, the softest thing on earth. Nearby the humans rest higher up, above my eye level. The little human is sleeping soundly. Her high pitched noises and sudden movements are all hushed to the soft even sound of breathing. There is no place a dog would rather be.

Earlier I, once again, experienced the highlight of my life. The large human was chattering away about nothing of interest, until I heard that one wonderful word: Walk. I ran around the room, almost throwing out my back, but excitement enables me to power through most pain. The humans call me old, but I’m not that bad off. I take good care of myself—I make sure to hoard both dog bowls occasionally, just in case I decide I need the extra calories; I give dirty looks to little children, so that everyone knows my stance on ear pulling; and when I’m feeling a little down, I bark ferociously at nothing to boost my spirits.

But nothing is better to boost the spirits than a walk. We hit the street. My claws made a very soft click sound, from down at my level. The air was heavy with moisture and that summer rain smell. I’ve smelled it over twelve summers. It smells like good walking weather. The sky was full of pretty colors, but a dog has no interest in sky.

The human has read these lines in a sing-song voice to the little ones hundreds of times while I lay still, looking as though I napped:

“Everything that anyone would ever look for is usually where they left it,” hooted the owl. “On a bush,” sang the robin. “In the sky,” sang the lark. “In a song, in the spring, in the dark.”

In a smell, woofs the dog. The meaning of life is in a smell. It’s in the allure of that frilly female dog down the street that gets her hair done, and the insult of the chow that wants to fight me, but it’s more than dog communication. It’s the appeal of mystery from something foreign leaving only the sniff of a clue behind. It’s the scent of a toad squished flat, and the fleeting nature of life. And it is dandelions and stale ditch water, tire tracks and ant hills—it’s every type of life swirling around my nose. My neighborhood is a microcosm of this world.

The meaning of life is movement. It is interacting with every type of life, moving and changing with them—an inhalation of pollen here, a marking of my territory there. It is moving until…you stop. Stopping won’t be a sad business for me, it is only sad for the human.

image-2018-08-10 (2).jpg

So quit rushing me, human. Quit yanking on the leash—I have smells to catch up on.

Sort:  

In Roman times, mastiffs donned light armor and were sent after mounted knights.

That was an enjoyable read - nice perspective you emulated for your canine :)

Thanks, I love paying tribute to that old-man dog of mine.

Very well written, Ginny. Five "Arfs!"

If you and Old-Man Dog were together in a room he would sniff your hand, and possibly your butt, which is a sign of respect in dog language. He thanks you for your comment.

I bow to the wisdom gained through all those years of sniffing.

Nice perspective and I love the photo!

He's a charming fellow, can't help but look handsome in pictures.

Yes, dogs love stopping. I am sure that it is the best part of their day!

If only I made an effort to stop and smell the roses as much as a dog stops to smell a mailbox post.

Awww that old dog is lucky to have a family that loves him!

We are lucky to have him too.

Put me right into the mind of a dog. Fascinating! :)

It is a fascinating place. Just wait until I write that article about what is going on in a dog's head when it eats poop, or the pleasure associated with chewing a bone.

Just kidding. I'm sure those topics have already been done ;)

Coin Marketplace

STEEM 0.36
TRX 0.12
JST 0.040
BTC 70744.80
ETH 3561.94
USDT 1.00
SBD 4.80