Ozzy and Me (II)
A Rotkäppchen Story Reversed
No blog entries last weekend; I fell ill.
On Saturday morning, the first day I took Ozzie under the shelter of my roof, a friend of mine invited me to attend a dog party in a park. Both Ozzie and I are curious; the only difference is that he has thick fur, and I have not. After standing outside for ca. 80 minutes watching dogs play, I felt chilly and feverish. The same afternoon I had to lie down.
It turned out to be a long, difficult night: I woke up four times to take liquid herbal medicine and use the bathroom; everytime Ozzie woke up immediately and followed me quietly wherever I went.
As the alarm clock rang the next morning, I, half awake and half dreaming, felt a soft hand stroke my left cheek. I opened my eyes and saw the face of a chocolate labrador with human eyes looking into mine. That was Ozzie—caring and careful, as if he had taken me under the shelter of his roof. I felt grateful, yet strange: Ozzie’s face reminded me of something I could not clearly recall.
In retrospect I realize that it’s a dramatic scene in the fairy tale Rotkäppchen: the ‘little red cap’ confronts the ‘false grandmother’—the big bad wolf—in bed. However, in my case the story was double reversed: first, the bad wolf became a good dog; second, das Rotkäppchen was lying in bed, and it was the dog who took care of her.
A Cry & a Rock
My courtship of Ozzy began one week ago—simple and cheap: I walked him every afternoon for an hour or so. Yet he became fond of me just this way.
On Thursday evening I took him back to the backyard as usual; my friend came out and saw me off. As we talked to each other, Ozzie stood behind the fence watching us. The fence is pretty high; but Ozzie is so big that, while standing on tiptoe, his head is right above the top of the fence.
The moment I was about to go, both my friend and I heard a curious cry; we looked in that direction and saw Ozzie sobbing from behind the fence. This was almost a tragicomedy: on the one hand his sadness was genuine and contagious; on the other it was really amusing to see a dog sob in that posture—standing on tiptoe, with the protruding head sticking out beyond the top of the fence.
A Chinese legend suddenly fell into my mind. It’s the story about a gracefully shaped rock: once upon a time a boy bid farewell to his girl and left the village. The girl waited for him day after day, in vain; eventually she turned into a rock, looking in the direction of his walk back to the village.
I wondered for a while whether Ozzie would stand like that from here to eternity—and become a rock.
Dinner Date
As much as Ozzy had become fond of me, he refused to eat in the first hours after moving into my house on Friday morning. This worried me; I thought he might be homesick.
On that evening, however, I made a cheering discovery: he refused to eat until I started to eat myself. Seeing me enjoy my meal whetted his appetite right away!
As my friend called from California later, I told him about the secret. His wife commented spontaneously: “Huiwen is Ozzie’s dinner date.”
(to be continued)
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