Wednesday, 28 December 2016

Not Even the Dogs Would Like to Be Dogs

I keep on getting videos involving dogs sent to my YouTube. This is just one more of those: Dogs The owner seems very proud of the reaction of his puppy, and the puppy does look happy indeed, like for most of it. I would like to observe that the dog is holding on to the lead, however. It seems that it is happy with the thought of going out, not necessarily seeing the owner therefore. I watch one after the other and my conclusion is always the same: Not even the pet would like to be a pet, like all of them seem to prefer being free. 

We petize, let's say, the animals. They are naturally wild however. So are we. Just the thought of having any other human being commanding my life and decisions is like a horror movie for me. I go through all I am going through for extras 15 years in absolutely haste, horror, and with infinite amount of pain plus criminal loss, and only God knows why He would let such a penalty be imposed to someone of my nature. 

In the video I am, let's say, quoting here, you see the sweetest dog in the world. I would say however that the wiggling of the tail, which lots of vets have declared to be happiness, is actually anxiety and inability of both understanding and dealing with the human world. I think you will notice that dogs do not go like that with the own dogs. I would say things are more intuitive than they seem and we are also more similar to them than we think: We are anxious, we move up and down. We are impatient, we fiddle with a pen, with our own fingers, etc. So does the dog. This one is up and down and the tail goes crazy. On top, his facial expression does contain sweetness well beyond belief, but, at the same time, it contains what I will call suplice, which is an impression of incapacity of doing something to get what we want. We depend on someone else and our eyes go a sort of without life, as if we had been transferred to conformed mode. Perhaps they show perplexity and incapacity. Poor dogs. Poor me. No wonder some overseas miserable people who came around me in backpackers, to which I was criminally forced for long, would call me Tessa, and Tessa is the name of the dog of Bradley, which he never really watches over. His mother or sister do. No wonder. Adequate. I am also full of suplice all these years: Poor Marcia of all internal and external injuries that are created with all intention on earth by Brazilians and Australians for more than 15 years in democracy, First World. Not even a fighting chance for what used to be my most priceless head, body, life, person, etc. Only God is for us, little dog, only God. Do you pray? They say that if we pray we have more chances. 




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