The Unfortunate Events of This Morning
March 21 2014


Plucked by the collar
and hoisted clear.
You could see how scrawny
his body is
beneath the sodden fur,
freezing water dripping-off
darkening the snow.
Fast water, thin ice
he'd slipped-in unobserved;
an exhausted dog,
all his fight
gone cold.

But an hour on
he was running, barking, chasing balls.
The doggedness of dogs,
who slough off
near misses,
do not obsess about mortality.
No flashbacks, intrusive thoughts
trauma counselling.

He may very well have forgotten, by now.
Or act more cautious, near water, this spring.
But he will not fear death,
having no word for it.
Will not tip-toe into life,
unlike those who tell time
frugally watch
each step.

The unfortunate events of this morning,
when his human companion bellied-out
over thin ice
and, like the hand of God
snatched him back to the light,
have most likely been lost
in the excitement of dinnertime.

We love our dogs,
who shake themselves off
like an afterthought,
shed the past like water.

We envy our dogs
their forgetfulness.

We, who lead serious lives,
and remember
far too well.

Another dog poem, but inspired by true events. Connie courageously and resourcefully rescued Taz -- the preternaturally happy Springer Spaniel -- and we are grateful for that. 

The poem covers old ground: how dogs are the Zen masters of living in the moment; how our foreknowledge of death conditions our lives, while their ignorance frees them. It's all there, in the way language is necessary for abstract thought ("having no word for it"); in how the telling of time defines the arc of our lives (with cautious "frugality").

The ending seems simple enough. But I'm very pleased with "seriously"; because as human beings, that's what we do: take ourselves too seriously. I think that single word, if you voice it with a slightly mocking tone, or as if it was placed between ironic quotes, says everything about human solipsism, about our vanity and self-regard and self-important anxieties. (No, we are not in the image of God; who doesn't exist, anyway. And no, we are not the centre of the universe; which is, in fact, imperiously indifferent to us.) And "seriously" also says everything about how the knowledge of death weighs us down. (Not that mortality is all bad. As I've written before, the awareness of death also gives life its urgency and sweetness. ...The beauty of dogs is that they know nothing of death, do not introspect or measure out time, yet manage to lead lives of unselfconscious fullness nevertheless.)

It's worthwhile to think about how important forgetting is, and how much of a burden it can be to remember too well. There are rare individuals with perfect biographical memories: pick a day at random from decades ago, and they will accurately report what they were doing, what the headlines were, even the weather report. But these savants of memory cannot function in life: hold down jobs, fall in love, get things done. The organ of memory is as much designed for forgetting as it is for remembering. The cure for post-traumatic stress is the selective obsolescence of memory, not perfect recall. And too much clutter in the brain just gets in the way.

I had wanted to expand on the "afterthought" of dogs shaking themselves dry, but backed off. I admire the economy, the perfect mechanical efficiency, of this apparently simple reflexive motion, and wanted to say something like "nonchalant efficiency" (which also nicely resonates with "dog" and "off" and "afterthought"). But that stanza could not possibly get any longer, or any more out of proportion to the next, without losing the thread of meaning. On the other hand, all I wanted to say is probably already there -- for the knowing reader (dog lovers, that is!) -- in the picture conjured up by "afterthought" and "shed".

"We envy our dogs/" gives me an opening for one of my pet peeves. Even among highly literate people, I repeatedly ("repeatedly"/"constantly" another pet peeve, where "constantly" should only apply when the thing you're describing is literally continuous) encounter confusion between "envy" and "jealousy". The meaningful difference, and easy mnemonic, is simply that envy applies to someone else's stuff, jealousy to your own: you are envious of another's success, while you feel jealous over your beautiful wife.