I Had To Put Molly To Bed
Just because she would not stop looking at me.
It is unnerving at times. She had been fed,
taken out to potty, petted and loved on,
given a treat, looked at and praised. But, she
would not stop looking at me. I was trying
to watch a movie, Beginners or something
like that. I was very focused but could see
her watching me watch the screen, could
feel her intensity when the scene shifted
to the father's death. She did not attempt
to paw at me, as she so often does to get
my attention. She just simply kept looking
at me. So, I paused the film, got the treat
bag out, told her what a good girl she was,
led her to the crate--which she very willingly
entered--and gave her some of those fancy
organic things for dogs. She seemed happy
enough at the moment. She is there still.
The movie is not over. I feel as if I relegated
her to child who cannot understand
the emotion, who does not need to view
the dymanics of relationships, who must
certainly, above all, be spared such pain.
No one will watch you more or as intensely as your dog. A book I read last year (Inside A Dog, I think), discussed this "watching." Unless Molly is eating, romping, sleeping, or going to the bathroom, she is watching me. She watches me: cook (of course, hoping I will drop a morsel), watch a movie, talk on the phone, read, dance, clean the house, cry, laugh, smoke a cigarette, put something together, eat. When I turn out the lights to go to sleep, there she is--watching me as I pull the covers up and try to get comfortable. Always watching with those big brown eyes.