Dog Songs (3 page)

First of all, I do not want to be doing this.

Second of all, Percy does not want me

to be doing this,

bent over the desk like a besieged person

with a dull pencil and innumerable lists

of numbers.

Outside the water is blue, the sky is clear,

the tide rising.

Percy, I say, this has to be done. This is

essential. I’ll be finished eventually.

“Keep me in your thoughts,” he replies. “Just because

I can’t count to ten doesn’t mean

I don’t remember yesterday, or anticipate today.

I’ll give you ten more minutes,” and he does.

Then shouts—who could resist—his

favorite words: Let’s go!

Your friend is coming, I say

to Percy and name a name

and he runs to the door, his

wide mouth in its laugh-shape,

and waves, since he has one, his tail.

Emerson, I am trying to live,

as you said we must, the examined life.

But there are days I wish

there was less in my head to examine,

not to speak of the busy heart. How

would it be to be Percy, I wonder, not

thinking, not weighing anything, just running forward.

This—I said to Percy when I had left

our bed and gone

out onto the living room couch where

he found me apparently doing nothing—this

is called
thinking.

It’s something people do,

not being entirely children of the earth,

like a dog or a tree or a flower.

His eyes questioned such an activity.

“Well, okay,” he said. “If you say so. Whatever

it is. Actually

I like kissing better.”

And next to me,

tucked down his curly head

and, sweet as a flower, slept.

For I will consider my dog Percy.

For he was made small but brave of heart.

For if he met another dog he would kiss her in kindness.

For when he slept he snored only a little.

For he could be silly and noble in the same moment.

For when he spoke he remembered the trumpet and when

he scratched he struck the floor like a drum.

For he ate only the finest food and drank only the

purest of water, yet would nibble of dead fish also.

For he came to me impaired and therefore certain of

short life, yet thoroughly rejoiced in each day.

For he took his medicines without argument.

For he played easily with the neighborhood’s bull

mastiff.

For when he came upon mud he splashed through it.

For he was an instrument for the children to learn

benevolence upon.

For he listened to poems as well as love-talk.

For when he sniffed it was as if he were being

pleased by every part of the world.

For when he sickened he rallied as many times as

he could.

For he was a mixture of gravity and waggery.

For we humans can seek self-destruction in ways

he never dreamed of.

For he took actions both cunning and reckless, yet

refused always to offer himself to be admonished.

For his sadness though without words was

understandable.

For there was nothing sweeter than his peace

when at rest.

For there was nothing brisker than his life when

in motion.

For he was of the tribe of Wolf.

For when I went away he would watch for me at

the window.

For he loved me.

For he suffered before I found him, and never

forgot it.

For he loved Anne.

For when he lay down to enter sleep he did not argue

about whether or not God made him.

For he could fling himself upside down and laugh

a true laugh.

For he loved his friend Ricky.

For he would dig holes in the sand and then let

Ricky lie in them.

For often I see his shape in the clouds and this is

a continual blessing.

The first time Percy came back

he was not sailing on a cloud.

He was loping along the sand as though

he had come a great way.

“Percy,” I cried out, and reached to him—

those white curls—

but he was unreachable. As music

is present yet you can’t touch it.

“Yes, it’s all different,” he said.

“You’re going to be very surprised.”

But I wasn’t thinking of that. I only

wanted to hold him. “Listen,” he said.

“I miss that too.

And now you’ll be telling stories

of my coming back

and they won’t be false, and they won’t be true,

but they’ll be real.”

And. then, as he used to, he said, “Let’s go!”

And we walked down the beach together.

Ricky, can you explain how it is that

Anne and I can talk with you, as we did

with Percy too, and we all understand

each other? Is it a kind of miracle?

“It’s no miracle,” said Ricky. “It’s

actually simple. When you or Anne talk,

I listen. When I talk you listen, as

you did with Percy.”

Of course we listen!

“No, I mean
really
listen. Here’s a

story, and you don’t have to visit many

houses to find it. One person is talking,

the other one is not really listening.

Someone can look like they are but they’re

actually thinking about something they

want to say, or their minds are just

wandering. Or they’re looking at that

little box people hold in their hands these

days. And people get discouraged, so they

quit trying. And the very quiet people,

you may have noticed, are often the sad

people.”

Ricky, you have really thought about this.

So we can talk together because we really

listen, and that’s because . . .

“Yes, because we care.”

“Please, please, I think I haven’t eaten

for days.”

What? Ricky, you had a huge supper.

“I did? My stomach doesn’t remember.

Oh, I think I’m fading away. Please

make me breakfast and I’ll tell you

something you don’t know.”

He ate rapidly.

Okay, I said. What were you going to

tell me?

He smiled the wicked smile. “Before we

came over, Anne already gave me my breakfast,”

he said.

Be prepared. A dog is adorable and noble.

A dog is a true and loving friend. A dog

is also a hedonist.

Ricky, your ancesters are from Cuba,

right?

Says Ricky, “So I’m told.”

But you were born in Florida?

“I was a baby, how would I know?

But that’s what I’m told.”

And you’ve lived in Massachusetts and

other states and also Mexico and

now Florida again, and heaven knows

what other places you may travel to.

Are you an American, or what?

He shrugged his shoulders casually and

smiled. “
Je suis un chien du monde,
”

he said.

And here come the dogs. Brushed, trimmed,

polished.

“What on earth have they done to them!”

said Ricky. “They’re half shaved. And

wearing pillows on their heads. And

where are their tails?”

It’s the rules, I said.

“And look at those women trying to run.

They sure don’t look like you.”

Thank you, I said.

“I’m getting a headache looking at this.

I have to bark!” And he began.

It does no good to bark at the television,

I said. I’ve tried it too. So he stopped.

“If I ever meet one of these dogs I’m going

to invite him to come here, where he can

be a proper dog.”

Okay, I said. But remember, you can’t fix

everything in the world for everybody.

“However,” said Ricky, “you can’t do

anything at all unless you begin. Haven’t

I heard you say that once or twice, or

maybe a hundred times?”

Ricky, why are you barking and trying

to rip up the couch? Can’t you settle

down? It’s been a long day.

“It sure has. First you forgot to take

me out. Then you went to the market

and heaven knows where else. And my

dinner was late. And our walk was

short. And now you’re supposed to

be on the floor playing with me but,

no, you’re doing something else. So I

thought I’d give this couch a little

distress.”

Well, don’t. Be a good boy.

“Honestly, what do you expect? Like

you I’m not perfect, I’m only human.”

“What is that?” said Ricky as Henry

came through the door.

That’s Henry, I said. He’s a bulldog

and he’s come to stay with us with my

friend Linda.

“He’s a horse,” said Ricky. “Already my

heart is pounding.”

Yes, he’s big, he’s supposed to be.

Say hello to him.

“Really. Well hello, Henry. I hope

you don’t gobble up all my toys.”

Henry: Snort, snort.

Ricky: (to me) “He’s not very good with

words, is he.”

Henry, after another snort, clambered

onto the couch.

Ricky shouted, “There isn’t

room for both of us!”

Sure there is. Just move over, and

give yourself a little time to know

him.

Ricky sat closer, but with a nervous

look.

It was a wonderful week. My friend

and I talked, we walked on the beach,

Ricky and Henry went swimming, they

dug a hole together, no toys got

eaten.

Finally they had to leave. Ricky by

that time was friendly with limping,

lumbering, fifteen-year-old Henry.

“Bye, bye, Henry,” he said.

“Snort, snort,” said Henry.

Then they were gone.

Said Ricky, “He really is as big as

a horse, but actually a very sweet

horse. I hope he comes again.”

One day on the beach Ricky met a dog

just his size. Her name is Lucy,

and she is very pretty.

“Wow,” said Ricky.

Naturally, I met Lucy’s mother, Theresa,

at the same time.

It happens that Ricky’s full name is

Ricky Ricardo, so how could Ricky and

Lucy not take to each other? In fact,

they became quite tight. It wasn’t

a good day if they didn’t see each

other.

So how could Theresa and I not start

on that day to become friends?