DOG DAYS

12.09.04


When I was old enough and while still at school, I had hired a cow as a bodyguard. She was not a real cow. She was Simba, a fat stray dog I had picked from the street. She came with me wherever I walked (without a lead) and knew how to take care of me even better than a paid companion. She barked on the crossroads to make cars stop until I could pass (back then I used to drive a tricycle that functioned on batteries). When I went to parties and classes she was waiting for me to come back and once, when I collapsed on the road, she tried to lift me up. Some times she couldn’t be bothered to follow me. I had to bribe her. I was buying her a bag of chips and everything was all right. One day, some lady overtook me with her car. She saw me feeding the dog and stopped to talk to me: ‘Good for you, my dear boy. God will never forget what you’re doing!’. ‘He already has’, I replied, but she gave me no answer. She was already too far. Now I don’t know if I would utter the same words; not out of fear of God (what God?) but because I know that I have no reason to feel neither forgotten nor wronged (I write this now that I am doing fine.).

The one who should feel wronged is Simba. Not only was she not taking the care that she deserved but she was unlucky enough to get sick too. She passed away (I don’t even want to use the word ‘died’) because of Kalazar while she was already exhausted. All the tenants of the block (she had become the neighbourhood’s dog) raised money for euthanasia. I asked to be present on the day of her ‘execution’. My parents didn’t allow me to be there. They did it one day while I was at school. They buried her at a cemetery for dogs afterwards.

For some strange reason, I accepted all this with great patience. Four years had to pass before I could say goodbye to her the way I wanted. That was when I cried for the first time. This seemed to be really strange to me. Every time I was taking a walk I got the impression that I was hearing her little feet’s steps. I used to turn to look, because I was used to doing that, forgetting that my cow was not there. I was a poor and lonesome cowboy. It was enough for me to be a cowboy.