it's all in the knowing

The boy is sleeping again.

The sun is out, and bright, and it makes Hunter’s coat sweaty and sticky. What he’d give for a dip in a pool of water! Even the cramped metal pool– which the humans call a bathtub– would suffice. (Only if the water were cold, though– once Hunter had bounded unsuspectingly into the inviting water, and had been overcome with blinding pain on realizing how hot it was. The long haired human had come rushing to him on hearing his calls for help, and Hunter had been unable to use his paws for a while.)

It forces him indoors, the shining sun– and it is then that he sees the sleeping boy.

Hunter had learnt early on in his new home that sleep was for the dark, when his two-legged cohabitants would climb their soft beds and cover themselves with white sheets that his paws weren’t allowed to touch. Before that he’d be put in a little cage and expected to close his eyes as well; they didn’t appreciate it much when he tried to talk to them in the dark. So he’d learnt.

Sleep is for the dark. Hunter knows this.

He does not understand, then, why the boy sleeps when the sun is bright.

.

Down the street from his home, there’s another big white house with big colorful humans living in it. In it also lives old Silky, and Silky is small but old, older than him, older than the boy, maybe even older than the big humans living in his own home. Silky’s humans are old, too– they walk slowly and talk slowly (in the same alien tongue as his humans– Hunter can tell) and they smile slowly when Hunter greets them.

Silky is old, Hunter knows, and he himself is young. Silky’s pups are older than him, too, he thinks, though they aren’t as slow as Silky or her humans. He plays with them sometimes, when the boy takes him out on walks through the neighbourhood.

When someone is old, be they dog or human, they know what to do. Silky never falls into the big hole on the road the way Hunter does, every time, and she doesn’t get muddy in the park either. Her coat is always sleek and shiny, even though she’s small, and Hunter’s own is always covered with dirt. (He’s much bigger, in his defense– much much bigger, so much that sometimes it doesn’t feel like Silky and he, despite both being dog, aren’t the same at all.)

So maybe if Hunter were older, he’d know how to wake the boy up.

The boy lies on the base of the winding brown stairs, and his legs are bent a bit strangely. His head rests near the bottom stair and his mouth is open, and– is that blood? As he approaches the boy, Hunter notes with alarm that the back of his head seems red, red, all too red.

Something is wrong. When Hunter nudges the boy with a paw, the boy doesn’t move.

If Hunter were older maybe he’d know what to do, but since he isn’t, he can only run to the big humans for help. (‘HELP’ is another word he understands. It means that someone needs him.) The big male human isn’t at home– he hardly ever is, during the day– but the lady is in another room, and Hunter hurries past the open invisible doors (he’s smacked right against them more times than he can count) and out into the colorful garden, and back in through the intimidating big brown front door. (In his haste he forgets to wipe his paws before he enters like a good dog, like he’s been given treats to do.)

She’s lying on the soft bouncy chairs, looking at some bound papers (the humans call it a ‘book’). He calls her to attention and she seems a bit annoyed, and he jerks his head towards the door. She says something– his ears prick up at the word ‘walk’ (one of his favorites in the human tongue) – but– but now doesn’t seem to be the right time. So he shakes his head and wags his tail and jerks his head again, and she exhales and puts down the papers and he knows she means to follow him, so he leads her into the garden and towards the invisible doors.

She’s been following him with a bit of annoyance, he can tell, but as soon as she realizes what he’s leading her to, her face turns even whiter than it usually is (Hunter’s is black, and Silky’s is golden, and her humans’ are brown, and the boy’s face is usually brown-ish, too, but seems whiter today, and the back of his head is red–)

The lady cries out. She dashes towards the boy, and if the invisible doors had been closed, Hunter can tell that she’d have banged into them too– and she drops to her knees beside the boy’s side.

Something is wrong.

.

The two legged creatures– humans, they call themselves– know much more than him. Hunter knows this. He has learnt it in his new home, seeing them go about their long days, talk in their alien tongue, give him food from hidden places far away that he never can find. He knows they know better, because things never turn out well for him when he does things they say ‘NO’ to. (‘No’ is the word in their alien tongue which he is most familiar with.)

They know more, they know better. So why can’t they make the boy wake up?

Oh well. Perhaps he can help.

Hunter trots towards his prone form, extending a paw, much as he’d done before. For once he ignores the lady when she says ‘NO’ (a softer ‘NO’ than usual, maybe a ‘no’) and he nudges the boy lightly on his upper limb. Nothing happens– the limb only moves in a floppy way.

Undeterred, Hunter moves closer and licks the length of the boy’s face, chin to forehead, and when the boy still doesn’t respond, Hunter is worried. They may know more than him but this he knows– the boy loves it when Hunter licks him like that.

Why is the boy ignoring him? Does he not like Hunter anymore?

Wounded, the dog turns to the lady with a whimper, not knowing what else to do. And then he notices that she’s still sitting on the floor, that water’s pouring out of her eyes, the way it did (annoyingly) for Hunter a while ago when he ran through a field of yellow flowers. But there are no flowers nearby, yellow or otherwise, so he doesn’t understand why her strange big human eyes would be watering–

But she’s whining, too, and that he understands. Maybe the woman needs him more than the boy does.

So he abandons the boy and bounds towards her, and he tries to tell her to be okay, the way he did for that sad little pup whose hind limb was lame. The pup had understood and given in to comfort, but she doesn’t; she only whines more. Hunter then licks her face too, puts his paws on her shoulders, but for once she is mindless of his affections. Does she not like Hunter anymore either?

He whines back at her and tries to lick the water from her face, but maybe he only makes her face wetter– and sometimes they hate that, when their strangely shaped faces get wet. But she gives out a cry and finally gives in to him as well, throwing her limbs around him and squeezing him hard enough that the breath is knocked out of him. He yelps in alarm and she releases a little, and he focuses once again on making her feel better, the boy forgotten behind them.

.

The boy doesn’t wake up again.

The woman picks him up and puts him on the soft white sheets. For once she doesn’t seem to mind Hunter putting his paws on them– or his entire body, when he curls up next to the boy.

But the boy gets cold and smelly some time later, much before the big male human comes home. Then there’s more whining, and more water, and Hunter tries his best to make him happy, too–

But Hunter feels that there won’t be happiness in his house again, either.

.

He misses the boy. The big humans are too busy to play with him, or maybe too sad, and Hunter gets gloomy when no one plays with him. The strange big humans took the boy away in a strange white sheet– different from the ones he’s not allowed to put his paws on– and after that, the boy doesn’t come back home, no matter how long Hunter waits for him at the door.

The humans are bigger than him. They are smarter, they know better. Hunter knows this.

He still doesn’t understand why they couldn’t make the boy wake up.