3 minute read
Dogged Love
An MCA Voices story
By Alex Troy
I am a man of routine and so, by necessity, are my dogs Eli and Charlie. Every morning before sunrise we leave the house and turn right at the end of the driveway. From there we walk a short distance to the path that leads to the park. We do this without variation, as loyal to the ritual as we are to one another. It seemed we were destined to continue this practice without incident, like three interlocking pieces of a mechanism designed to complete a modest circuit in about twenty-five minutes.
Until, one morning, something happened.
As with all unusual events, the preceding moments were ordinary. We left the house and made our customary right turn. After a few steps I felt resistance from Charlie’s leash. That’s to be expected. There’s no shortage of distractions on our walk—new shrubs, intriguing odors, the occasional squirrel. Preoccupied myself, I gave his leash a tug without a backward glance, assuming Charlie would follow. He didn’t. I pulled harder, and he scrambled to hold his ground. His resistance woke me from my reverie. Turning, I saw Charlie facing the sidewalk across the street from where we stood. His caramel-colored body was taut. His tail swished crazily, like an automatic brush in a car wash.
Determined to reassert control, I pulled again on the leash. He gave a little ground but still defied me.
“What’s with you, buddy,” I asked. Then I saw the answer. Charlie was staring at a woman on the sidewalk about twenty feet away. She was petite and her blonde curls bounced as she moved away from us. For not much longer than an eyeblink, I thought what Charlie must have been thinking, “That’s Dale.” But then the world righted itself. There was no miracle, no vision, just a case of mistaken identity.
There was a resemblance, no doubt stronger when seen through the cataract-clouded eyes of an almost seventeen-year-old dog. I eased up on the leash and let Charlie lead me towards her. I hoped he would recognize his mistake before she took notice of us. How awkward would it be to ask the woman, an unfamiliar neighbor, if Charlie could sniff her and satisfy himself that she was not my late wife?
Fortunately, there was no need. Somehow Charlie understood. He let go of whatever hope or memory had taken hold. We returned to our routine.
In one of the most poignant scenes in Homer’s Odyssey, a disguised Odysseus returns home and is recognized first by his loyal dog Argos. Having waited twenty years for his master’s return, Argos wags his tail, drops his ears, and dies contentedly.
Charlie suffers many typical oldage ailments, but he still moves with energy and retains a cheerful disposition. After that strange moment, I began to wonder whether his longevity is more than good fortune. Is he observing a vigil for Dale, and is that sustaining him?
Perhaps I underestimate Charlie. He might grasp that Dale is irretrievably gone, but like her human mourners, his yearning to see her again is so strong that his hope races unreasonably at the sight of blonde curls and a bouncy step.
I already loved Charlie, but he has risen further in my eyes after that early morning encounter. In the rabbinic tradition there is a disagreement — no surprise! — between those rabbis who say animals lack souls and those who argue that some do possess them.
I am sure Charlie has a soul. What else can explain his unshakeable loyalty to, and dogged love for, Dale?
