Burying Puccini

August 7, 2006

Puccini was my father’s doberman. Beautiful, dim and terribly friendly. Sort of like a supermodel but with more heart and less conciet. A dog who was easily confused. Daily, in fact, by humans doing such unexpected things as walking around, standing still or (providing particular confusion) saying “green” to him with no discernable reason.

Not that any reason for anything was really discernable to Puccini. It struck me, though, that the human amusement and compassion for dumb animals also extends to humans these days. We seem very tolerant and even interested when moronic opinions are expressed by super-famous and pointlessly rich. The likes of Britney Spears, Jessica Simpson or George Bush. Where the difference lies is, I believe, we spare less affection for them and fail to mourn their passing. In my case it’s probably to do with contact. If either Britney or Jessica had nuzzled up to me the way Puccini did I am sure I would have been better disposed to them.

Can’t say the same for old George, though. I think it would take a bigger effort in his case. Perhaps a comprehensive plan to deal with poverty in Africa, a solution to the middle east crises which didn’t involve selling missiles to Israel for them to massacre the Palestinians and Lebanese or he could do what he does in government and buy me off. I’m not terribly expensive. A couple of million would do. If he made it a yearly stipend only for the period of his lifetime I would be sure to mourn his passing.

Puccini will be missed. He was a beautiful, loving animal. With that loyalty and heart you can only trust a dog to give.

Bye Pucci. Love you.


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