Bobby
I found Bobby just after the war in Bosnia ended, and we returned to our ruined and robbed home. Although soldiers took even our floor, we were grateful that the whole house was not burnt to the ground or bombed, like many other houses in our village. As a child, I was delighted that among the ruins and destruction, there was a ray of life and undeviating happiness embodied in my new friend, Bobby.
When I started elementary school, Bobby followed me. He was very protective of my brother and me. At the end of 1999, we had the the heaviest snowfall. I’ve never seen so much snow since then. Out of electricity and running water for two weeks, I remember being bored and making up games that would replace watching cartoons. During this winter, I don’t remember playing with Bobby because my friend disappeared. I would never see his little yellow Weiner body again. He was probably eaten by other dogs or buried in the snow.
After that heavy winter, our literature curriculum at school included memorizing Sergey Yesenin’s The Bitch, the most touching poem of my life. (And yes, it’s funny that the song title translates to The Bitch, but it’s not my fault that the society decided that a female dog and a prostitute should share the same signifier). As I engaged my mental capacities to memorize the poem about the bitch and her seven reddish-brown puppies who were mercilessly drowned by her master, I remembered Bobby and started sobbing.
“And softly, as when someone, jesting,
throws her a stone, her tears,
like golden stars,
trickled down into the snow.”
(Yesenin, Sergey. The Bitch. PoetryVerse)
Rest in peace, Bobby. You were my first true friend, before any other human or animal creature. You and I survived the war to find each other. Even 20 years later, I didn’t forget you.
Svilenko
Svilenko (Bosnian: Silky one) was Bobby’s younger friend. He was just a puppy when we found him and Bobby. We named him Svilenko because of his silky fur. When he grew up, he was much larger than Bobby, and he looked like a mixture of a Labrador and Rottweiler. I used to play with Svilenko for hours. He was a very active and happy dog. Like most other dogs, he was terrified of fireworks. One New Year’s Eve, he was so scared that we let him come into the house. I don’t know if this trauma or the sheer love for us, his family, made him attack other people that would pass by our house. He bit Aunt Alma on the calf, and she never recovered. We had to put Svilenko down. I saw him last in our shed, just before dad shut the door and called the pound guys to come. The next morning, Svilenko was gone. Rest in peace, Svilenko. Your love was great, and I wish you were not betrayed by people that you loved so much.
Rex
A couple of years after Svilenko’s execution, my uncle brought us a puppy of a German Shepherd. It was adorable to watch him learn to walk. He lived in a cardboard box in our shed, and later dad built him a doghouse. Rex was a great house watcher. One year, several houses in our neighborhood were robbed, but not ours because I know that Rex would sound his barking alarm. In the summer, we gave him baths. Rex spent 12 years with us until he died of testicular cancer two years ago. Mom told me that dad cried. If my dad was Odysseus, Rex would be his Argus. The story about Odysseus and Argos is the oldest story I’ve read about dogs and their loyalty. This is the part when Odysseus comes back to his home at Ithaca after 20 years.
Thus, near the gates conferring as they drew,
Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew:
He not unconscious of the voice and tread,
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head;
Bred by Ulysses, nourish’d at his board,
But, ah! not fated long to please his lord;
To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain;
The voice of glory call’d him o’er the main.
Till then in every sylvan chase renown’d,
With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around;
With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn,
Or traced the mazy leveret o’er the lawn.
Now left to man’s ingratitude he lay,
Unhoused, neglected in the public way;
And where on heaps the rich manure was spread,
Obscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed.
He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet;
In vain he strove to crawl and kiss his feet;
Yet (all he could) his tail, his tears, his eyes,
Salute his master, and confess his joys.
Soft pity touch’d the mighty master’s soul;
Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole,
Stole unperceived: he turn’d his head and dried
The drop humane: then thus impassion’d cried:
“What noble beast in this abandon’d state
Lies here all helpless at Ulysses’ gate?
His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise:
If, as he seems, he was in better days,
Some care his age deserves; or was he prized
For worthless beauty? therefore now despised;
Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state;
And always cherish’d by their friends, the great.”
(Homer. The Odyssey (pp. 416-417). Kindle Edition.)
Even after 20 years of not seeing his master, Argus, who is now neglected and left to lay on heaps of mule and cow dung, recognized Odysseus but then finally dies:
The dog, whom Fate had granted to behold
His lord, when twenty tedious years had roll’d,
Takes a last look, and having seen him, dies;
So closed for ever faithful Argus’ eyes!
(Homer. The Odyssey (p. 418). Kindle Edition.)
Ancient Greeks knew that dogs have unshakable loyalty, a type of loyalty that is worth preserving in that society’s collective memory. Rest in peace Rex, I hope you got a chance to meet Argus. Dad and I will meet you again, once we finish our odyssey.
Pennie
Currently, Pennie is my best friend. She is a golden retriever that belongs to my wife’s parents. My sister-in-law bought Pennie when she was a puppy. She came into the family after Daisy, another Golden retriever, died. Every evening, Penny and I go on a walk in the desert, where she chases jackrabbits. Pennie fears objects, especially helium balloons. When she was a little younger, she would pee out of the joy of seeing me. My connection with Pennie is strong because she reminds me of Bobby. Pennie, my friend, I love you.
Millie
Two weeks ago, my wife and I spent a week at her aunt’s house in Las Vegas. The aunt had a business conference in Chicago, and she wanted us to watch her newly acquired puppy named Millie. The first morning was rough because Millie’s day starts at 4:30 a.m. when she needs to eat, and then 30 minutes later, she has to go outside and poop. I usually get up at 5 a.m. but waking up 30 minutes earlier was a challenge. Millie and I soon became friends. I took her on a morning run and realized that she’s a runner. She could run longer and at a higher pace than Penny. Later that day, we found driblets of blood on the floor in the living room. My wife told me that Millie’s feet must be bleeding a little from the run. Poor puppy, her paws were delicate, and she was not used to going on big runs. For the rest of the week, I enjoyed playing with Millie, occasionally letting her fully squeeze her teeth into my flesh. I was able to either avoid her bites or endure the pain of being bit, except once when she bit my right butt cheek. It hurt badly. Millie, although I don’t see you as much as I wanted, I promise you that I will always be your friend. In running and biting.