The Dog Mosaic: Part One

::NO TRICKS, ALL TREATS::

        October 31st, a day many children look forward to for one obvious reason… candy! The infamous song runs through my head when I remember that day, "Trick-or-treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat—" all that fun stuff…. But I was a weird little kid. I never did like the artificially flavored rocks that other kids obsessed over merely for their sugar content.

        I liked meat.

        I was a carnivore at that age; I remember clearly, that when my mother would feed me her signature soup, I wouldn't eat it if there were not a piece of chicken in the spoonful. Truthfully, I think I was a meat-obsessed five-year-old mostly because I wanted to be a dog. Yes, be a dog. Of course, I'd beg for a canine friend as a pet too —since the age of two I'd been begging to be precise— but even before I was able to make coherent sentences, I crawled around on my hands and knees, barking, yipping, and nosing at my mom's legs from under the table. I wanted to be man's best friend. It was not just for fun, it was a real wish of mine, and to be honest, I would still prefer to be a dog to a human being, but that isn't the point.

        You see, since it was impossible to really be a dog, I had to settle on getting my own personal pet that very night: Halloween, the day of tricks, but for me, only one treat, and that treat would be going straight to my brand new dog… when she got here. My five-year-old self waited by the front door impatiently for the woman giving us the dog to come over. I was ecstatic, exploding with energy from being awake way too many hours after my bedtime. Eventually, I settled myself at the door, perking up every time the bell rang, only to be upset that it was another kid my age looking for a Jolly Rancher.

        The minutes, which felt like hours, finally passed, and at last, the doorbell rang with the sound of the biggest change of my life. Without waiting for my mother, I opened the door, so happy to see a dog that I'd forgotten the rule of "don't let strangers in the house."

        "What's her name?" I practically shrieked.

        "Lady," the woman replied.

        "Like Lady and the Tramp!" I completely blocked out whatever happened next as I took hold of my new dog's leash and lead her inside.

        "Hello Lady," I cooed as my mother and the old owner took care of business. She was a poodle mix, elegant and as black as a raven, but her face looked more like the counterpart to her name… Tramp. Clearly, she had some terrier in her, and I curiously poked at her whiskers. Now, Lady never really appreciated being poked at, and this time was no different than any other time I would try to in later years. She jerked her head away suddenly, and me, being the small innocent child I was, lightly said sorry.

        Regardless of the fact that dogs and humans have a language barrier, Lady seemed to understand, and for the rest of that night, allowed me to sit beside her and bond. She waited by the door all night for her old owner to return, and I waited with her until dawn.

        Later, I would find out that Lady was more special then just a dog. She was a soul, a human soul in a dog's body. The wisest creature I'd ever met, and probably ever will meet. She had this deeper understanding of me better then even I could understand myself. She was, in her best days, a divine beast, not a dog… and the more I think about it, the less I think of her as a pet then I do a friend, a partner… or just Lady.

        She lived to be seventeen years old.