In this challenging world we live in marked by the seemingly incurable pandemic and its attendant ordeals—lockdowns, social restrictions, unfreedoms, economic crisis, and loneliness—the company of pets has never been so consequential. Especially if you are an elder living in the West where you end up either living alone in the house or in those gray, melancholic old age care homes. The company of a dog or a cat who has as much equal capacity for emotion as any human being lights up our featureless solitude and ennobles life in subtle ways if only we are capable of disarming ourselves of any sense of superiority over other species.
Right across the street in front of the apartment building where I live is a huge two-floored white villa inhabited by a solitary old lady and her dog. For the past three years since I moved to this flat I’ve often glanced on that dog from the balcony that gives a view of the neighboring front houses and their gardens. Not once have I seen the dog cuddled, patted on the head, played with, or taken for a walk by the old lady. I have seen the old lady many times walked out of the gate to run errands and completely ignore the dog as though it weren’t even there wagging its tail in excitement and running in small circles in longing every time it sees her mistress. The dog spends its days in the small back garden, sleeping in a tiny shelter exposed to the cold and rain of winter. Every afternoon it sits staring, waiting hopelessly by the gate. To be ignored is already a torture, and the weather!
Whatever the reasons the old lady has for treating the dog in this manner it seems to me so heartless, so cold, so cruel, evident of the endemic loneliness old people in the West are wont to suffer. Contemptible or understandable, it is sad that the old lady’s loneliness has to extend to her dog. I feel there is so much unexpressed grief, unshared solitude, and inconsolable grudge against life (maybe her children don’t visit her, or her husband died) in that old lady. Nothing could be sadder than to have a beautiful big house and live alone in it; moreover ignoring that pitiful creature who could possibly be a source of friendship and joy, a loyal companion, and a faithful comfort to her immensely incurable loneliness.
Perhaps I’m old and no longer bold
Perhaps them my masters are too old.
Maybe my fur has thinned by the years
Should I be blamed for all my tears?
Have we grown tired of each other
That them my masters cannot be bothered?
They lock themselves in a dark room
While in the garden I stroll back and forth in gloom.
Am I still worth a warm greeting?
Does anybody care for a joyful walking?
By the gate I sit and watch and wait
Such is the lonely old dog’s fate.
All days go by like this
I slumber and wake and piss.
I starve not for water or food
All I ask is you be not rude.
I feel, I love, I suffer
Just stroke my head and all is better.
Masters life is slipping by let’s live again
Throw a ball, make a call, company is heaven!
(paypal.me/carloreylacsamana your generous tip will allow me to write, write, and write, and I can't thank you enough!)
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