A night terror reaction to the invasion of Ukraine.
Maybe I should have seen it coming. After all, there were signs. Or something like signs. Her life and mine had achieved a synchrony of sorts towards the end. Together, we got up five or six times a night. I had begun to sense when she needed me. I told myself that I was a light sleeper and had just learned to listen to her, but there’s a chance it was more than that. Belle was my girl from the beginning. She picked me out of the crowd. Later, she became my sweet B. I even slept on the sofa to be near her for a few weeks before she died. When the day came, I said my last goodbye, and this time I didn’t reassure her I would “be back soon.” She crossed the rainbow bridge without me.
My first inkling that something had changed was when I met my neighbor’s dog at the fence after Belle was gone. Usually, he woofed a couple of times when he noticed I was outside and stood there with his tail wagging, waiting for me to greet him. This time, after I petted him for a few seconds, he laid down on his back porch and I headed for my house. The next thing I knew, he was back at the fence with a few soft whimpers, as if he was calling me back. I reached over the fence and petted him some more. This seemed strange, but there is a first time for everything.
A few days later, I was listening to a politician give his opinion and I seriously wanted to bark at the man. Now, I’ve always had a pretty good BS detector, but this time the hair on my neck stood up and I felt a complete lack of trust rising inside me. My feeling went beyond a cranky old man’s urge to shout at the television to something much more visceral – I instantly concluded that the Senator from Texas would sell me as a slave if I gave him half-a-chance. From deep within my being I wanted nothing to do with him or anyone like him. All I could think about was shouting a warning to anyone within earshot: “stay away!” Nevertheless, I barked inwardly and waited for my nerves to calm.
Then there was the chance encounter with a former colleague. In my professional life, I tried to be a team player, to make things work. Yet, in that moment, I felt like a flesh-and-blood lie detector. I wanted to bite the man in the leg and shake him until he told the truth. Self-serving lies like that ought to meet some real resistance beyond polite attempts to interject another point-of-view. His words hit me like a truncheon, and deep inside my reaction was to rip him apart. On the outside, all I could do was make my excuses and go anywhere but his presence.
Call it dog sense, if you wish. Belle had always been a pretty good judge of character. She knew who she could trust and who wasn’t worthy. She once barked ferociously at my boss, but she had no way of knowing that another of my colleagues, while on her way out the door to retirement, told me, “watch your back” around that man. We humans tell ourselves whatever it takes to get along, to make it from week to week, and month to month, but dogs assess the moment, because sometimes a moment is all they have – to tell an ally from an enemy. We have the luxury of rationalization. They don’t.
I lost the ability to tolerate even white lies and subtle betrayals. I began to suspect that Belle and I had shared consciousness on a level I didn’t understand. I had begun to see the world more like a dog and less like a human. Many humans have bought into the notion that we might as well go along with people who don’t give a damn about us. For the sake of what? Avoiding conflict? Keeping them happy? I’ve never wanted to go along to get along anyhow. My dog sense taught me to be even more wary. I could no longer be loyal to anyone I sensed could not or would not be loyal to me. There were some, I could tell, who would always look out for number one.
I began to feel cursed. I had to work hard to keep my composure around – what should I call them? Fools? Betrayers? Liars? I had worked hard to teach Belle she could count on me. Some people want our loyalty without doing anything to earn it. I could smell the untrustworthy if I got close enough. Even from a distance, or on the internet, I could listen to a voice and tell whether a person’s word was their bond. The sense was nearly infallible. I could detect a liar in an instant. For a while, I told myself that I was becoming too judgmental, that I was overreacting, yet time after time, later revelations proved my dog sense was right all along.
If I could change the past, I would. But no one can say I didn’t try to warn them. I barked as much as I could, if only in human words. The world put its trust in the wrong people, and there was not much I could do. Being right and being heard are two different things. A well-meaning young lady named Greta could back me up on this. Not that anything she said matters now. Events have overtaken her message and climate change seems to be the least of our worries.
Imagine my frustration – my humiliation – when my pleas were laughed off and I was branded as “crazy.” Yet, I was not wrong. Small consolation. Half the world trusted the untrustworthy. As always, party ideology was more important than the truth. Now there are no more parties, there are only ruins. Until a few weeks ago, I would have said most of the world was doing pretty well on the average, and things were getting better for many. Nevertheless, there were people with wealth and power who sought more. They, in effect, left the rest of us either starving or chained outside to get what they wanted. Some men can’t resist asserting their dominance over others, even if innocent people are hurt or killed in the process.
My dog sense screamed, “War mongers!” “Don’t trust these men.” “Remove them from power.” But they were accomplished liars. With large followings. And half the world followed them over a cliff. My dog sense and my human knowledge of what happens during and after a thermonuclear war combined to make me sound as crazy as they said I was. God, I wish I was wrong!
The ultimate consequence of electing extremists and criminals to high office could only have been the annihilation of most of humanity, as well as the destruction of almost everything humans have achieved in the last several millennia. Those of us who have “survived,” and I use that term loosely, will be forced to rebuild with minimal resources. The grifters and opportunists of the past have already picked the low-hanging fruit.
Now that I’m out of the hospital, I suppose I should say I’m grateful I was locked-up in the basement when the bombs hit. But, I’m not. Not really. I feel more like a beaten dog. One who tried to be loyal to his human companions, but who was kicked and rejected because they couldn’t be bothered to investigate what he was barking about.
I can only hope future generations will be able to rebuild, this time with limits to who shall have power and for how long. God warned the ancient Hebrews about the risks of having Kings. The danger of placing any man in power is that he will eventually become corrupted by it. That power includes public support and adoration as well. And the desire to seize and hold on to power is what drives men mad, not the dream that they have acquired an uncanny dog sense.
MurrayWorks 