Along came Polly

May 24, 2006 at 6:36 am (General)



Mr Jeavons asked me whether this made me feel safe, having things always in a nice order and I said it did.
(“The curious incident of the dog in the night-time”, Mark Haddon.)


May 15th, 2006
By Jimena

I used to have a good tidy life, shearing days and love with boyfriend Walter and two years old schnauzer mini Greta. We had our spaces, times and occupations. Walter is a lawyer who became an editor (of TV programs) for the sake of his brain, and Greta, well, she is the sweetest hairy dog on earth. Calm as a lake with no wind, she never barks or demands much: the only thing she needs in life, more than air and food, is human contact and her favorite ball. We were a fine trio.

There are moments in life when you are fully aware of your luck. Apart from unspecific soul pain and universal suffering, days are sweet and I feel loved. Animals teach you the full concept of unconditional love that should be, probably, the biggest learning of all. They care about you, wait for you, know you inside-out. Or, anyway, that was always my experience with them.

Greta is my anchor to the planet, the reminder that there is always a bride side in every experience; she is the call of the wild, of the essence. Humans and wolf had made a pact thousands of years ago, and me and my dog are nothing but children of those first humans (no matter if I wax myself) and those first wolfs. Sometimes, she will howls to an ambulance siren like if she was singing to the full moon. Sometimes, I will dance with a big fire in mind, and afterwards I’ll feel a bit like King Kong getting shot. The archetype of The Fool is about to fall into the abysm, when he gets alert by his small dog.

My place is a neat, clean place. Smells like Indian incenses, delicate candles and antibacterial products (those that assure you to kill 99.9 % of germs.) Music and light are never absent. But, someday during the week, it will get noisy and messy with friends and family aboard. Or it will get lonely if I feel particularly sad or moody. Otherwise, I practice cleaning as a basic form of manual therapy.

I don’t like the concept of collecting (except books and memories, but that is something else) so our apartment it’s not full of things: a figure of Ganesh made out of ebony that Walter brought all the way from Indonesia. My one-patch drum with a hand made picture of a Coyote. No photos. No other ornaments. So, there is not much to see, really. Besides, we’ve been about to move out for the last year and a half now. So, I never felt like taking care of decoration, and just did what possible to make home cozy. Maybe, I should reconsider the subject. Meanwhile, our plants grow healthy in the balcony. And Horacio, our bonsai, get used to live next to the kitchen sink, because I hate doing dishes alone.

Optimism makes me nervous, but I have to recognize how blessed I am… Oh! I was trying to tell you about Polly, right? Named after Polly Jean Harvey (one of Walter’s favorite singer), she is our two-month old Boston terrier. Born during last Saint Patrick’s Day, her Godfather is my Irish friend Dennis, because we are THIS coherent. Last weekend she came into our life while I was attending an all weekend workshop on Anthropology, so I wasn’t really here. Walter went for her and looked after, now, our two dogs, as a single devoted parent. The apartment went upside down. My home sweet home suddenly became devastated by a tiny loony pure-eyes creature. What did we do?! I am a dog-person, but…Wasn’t this a little too much?

I spent last weekend doubting about our capacity of taking a good care of a new living creature. And, suddenly, I started missing our good old life. Things seams to be a bit out of hand. Polly has laryngitis and Greta is so jealous of her that ignores me most of days. Last night, Walter and I, looked into each others eyes in silence, feeling awkward and full-handed. What now, my love?

A week after…
May 23rd, 2006.

I like dogs.
(“The curious incident of the dog in the night-time”, Mark Haddon.)

Tonight, Polly fell asleep over Greta’s furry back. That image was the postcard of my dream comes true. I had invited my mother to join me for dinner and suddenly, by surprise, Walter was home early. So, the three of us were amazed by this two crooks getting along. We toast, one more time, to our wonderful destiny. Plates started piling in the sink, wine’s drops stained the tablecloth, Polly miss the location of her “bathroom”, sort of speaking, and the smell of the moussaka took the fragrance of my incense away. I mean, everything was in a nice order again, and then I was safe.


1 Comment

  1. verodriano said,

    Oh, my !! Two day ago, some guy in the ciber I work in, was doing a search about this !!! Incredible !!! LOL !!

    Very interesting too !!!

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