DOGS
WITH SOUL
The Boss called in to give us the latest news. Missy the cocker spaniel had been diagnosed
with cancer by the vet and he— "the Boss"— had made the decision to have her put down.
Unfortunately the little dog belonged to number one daughter. "Be prepared for tears when
you see her," was his parting comment as he made his swift departure.
Both Shirley and I were saddened, both for the little dog and her owner.
"Poor Hugo," Shirley added. "He'll be so lonely."
"Who's Hugo?" I queried, thinking this was another family member.
"Hugo's the other spaniel, Missy's mate."
We both had a moment or more's silence for both the dogs.
This got me thinking about dogs having souls. When we were little kids we were lucky to
live close to the head of the RSPCA in our town. Mr Peake was a very understanding and
compassionate man. He accepted all the sick and homeless creatures we delivered to him and
helped us prepare for funerals for our pets. We enjoyed the funerals so much that we buried
and mourned even insects gone to God, including worms. We custom-made coffins,
organized flowers and had processions with grieving mourners. Very Gothic affairs.
We all believed that animals would go to heaven, so thus they had souls. We also
understood that when we arrived in heaven we would be greeted by all our pets. Those pets
would be in perfect shape, no illnesses, all damaged body parts healed, whole, and in their
prime. No adults disagreed with this philosophy. How could they add to the misery of a child
grieving for a much loved and missed pet?
Not so the Boss. He has his own cut and dried points of view. So when Shirley asked how
Hugo, the lone spaniel, was bearing up after the removal of his best friend, the Boss let her
have it. "I'm fed up with everyone treating animals like they're human. Dogs are only
interested in two things," he snarled, "eating and sex. Hugo's too old for sex and now he has
all the food he can eat—end of story."
Shirley and I were pretty stunned by his aggro comments. I'd met this approach before in
regards to native animals. The purists who were biologist, scientific types had a big thing
about anthropomorphising, and demanded a non-emotional approach to any descriptions of
animals. This often made a simple story for kiddies quite boring and dry. They also had no
time for caring people who talked to animals as if they were human. The Boss is quite a
scientific bloke, so I guessed he fitted into this category quite well. I also sensed a little guilt
around the issue, as he made the decision to put the little dog down.
I tend to have an up close and personal relationship with all creatures. Ask Blokie how I
talk to all life forms and often try to communicate in their own lingo. This can often lead to
some frustration and embarrassment for Blokie if other humans are about. It is rather
warming to note that he often has little talks with animals himself now. I guess this fits into
the "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" slot. He tends to agree that animals need companionship
or a mate, as do humans. I have yet to convince him on the soul issue, as this relates to
"religious mumbo jumbo".
Meanwhile, Shirley and I decided that blokes must be a bit like dogs then. I bet lots of
blokes would be quite happy on their own. No more sexual pressure and plenty of tucker.
Last night, after a lovely meal, Blokie was tucking into some yummy bikkies and a cuppa.
They looked pretty good—
"Pass me a bikkie please, Blokie," I politely requested. He gave me a fierce look as he
clutched the bikkie barrel to his chest, and I could see that I had little hope of gaining control
of the bikkies. How happy would he be, like that little dog—all the bikkies he could eat and
no competition for his favourite tucker. Though, on reflection, Blokie might be a bit like poor
Hugo, missing his mate and just a tad lonely. Vale Missy. Let's hope she's in doggy heaven
free of pain and with loads of her own tucker.
