A Portrait of a Dog as an Older Guy

A Portrait of a Dog as an Older Guy

BY KATIA KAPOVICH

When his owner died in 2000 and a new family

moved into their Moscow apartment,

he went to live with mongrels in the park.

In summer there was plenty of food, kids

often left behind sandwiches, hotdogs and other stuff.

He didn't have a big appetite,

still missing his old guy.

He too was old, the ladies no longer excited him,

and he didn't burn calories chasing them around.

Then winter came and the little folk abandoned the park.

The idea of eating from the trash occurred to him

but the minute he started rummaging in the

overturned garbage container, a voice

in his head said: "No, Rex!"

The remnants of a good upbringing lower

our natural survival skills.

I met him again in the early spring of 2001.

He looked terrific. Turning gray became him.

His dark shepherd eyes were perfectly bright,

like those of a puppy.

I asked him how he sustained himself

in this new free-market situation

when even the human species suffered from malnutrition.

In response he told me his story;

how at first he thought that life without his man

wasn't worth it, how those

who petted him when he was a pet

then turned away from him, and how one night

he had a revelation.

His man came to him in his sleep,

tapped him on his skinny neck and said:

"Let's go shopping!" So the next morning he took the subway

and went to the street market

where they used to go together every Sunday and where

vendors recognized him and fed him

to his heart's content.

"Perhaps you should move closer to that area?"

I ventured.—"No, I'll stay here," he sighed,

"oldies shouldn't change their topography. That's

what my man said."

Indeed, he sounded like one himself.