I don’t claim to know the thoughts of dogs. However, I think I can tell what the one next door is thinking.
He is not a permanent resident there. From time to time, he resides temporarily in the chain-link-fenced area separated from the back yard and quite a distance away from the house. Sometimes he visits for a day, sometimes a week at a time. I don’t know what kind of dog he is except to say that he is BIG!
He is big and brown, with long, long ears and a deep, deep voice and a sad, sad face. He is so big that his head is on the same plane as the top of the fence. When he stands up on his hind legs and bellies up to that fence, his elbows can rest on the top. I’m not kidding.
One morning around 6:30 a.m., he climbed over and began roaming the neighborhood. The neighbor was summoned to the door and told, “Your dog is out.” He works evenings and was not happy to be awakened at that hour. He said, “It’s not my dog. I really don’t want him here.” Turns out, the dog belongs to a friend of his daughter’s. He finally got his canine guest to return to his accommodations, to both of their dismay.
Sometimes I hear his deep, mournful voice. It is not a bark; it is more of a moan. Deep and low, his cries make me sympathetic to his situation. He has everything he needs back there — a house, food, water — everything but a buddy. I have yet to see anyone hanging out with him.
Last night the wind was fierce. I heard it howling outside my bedroom window. But it was not loud enough to drown out the deep, sad wailing of the big dog. I do not claim to know the language of dogs, but I think I understood what he was saying. In fact, I believe he may have been speaking for a lot of the big dogs of the world.
I think he was saying, “What good does it do to be such a big dog if I have to be such a lonely dog?”