I've always been attached to dogs, especially my own dog Hunter, who passed away this morning. My memories of him are many and fond. For each of us who live with or have lived with dogs know the strength of the bond between us and our animals. Others may not understand, may say we are anthropomorphizing, being sentimental, irrational.
It seems that since the beginning, we humans have ascribed thoughts and emotions to animals and the elements as a way to make sense of the world. This is the basis of metaphor and to my mind, serves as the moral foundation of all the arts if not our daily lives. Joseph Campbell explained metaphor succinctly as saying not that "Bill runs like a deer" but that "Bill is a deer." This transference of meaning from our minds to the world around us not only helps us live, it puts us in touch with life, forming the basis of empathy.
Hunter was, like many dogs, a special being. He had a proud carriage and, unlike many Basenji, was intensely interested in people. He would often trot up to a stranger, look up at them, and if they knelt down to meet his gaze, he would stare at them intently, taking in their scent. I have no idea what was going through his mind at times like these, but I often imagined him saying to the stranger "My name is Hunter, perhaps you've heard of me?"
Hunter had little time for people who praised him for being handsome, though he was a handsome dog. He seemed to be able to sense insincerity and would avoid people who didn't understand or respect the human-dog bond. With people like this, he would snort briskly and simply trot away as if to say "I'm not interested in having you touch my head or pet me, thank you very much."
Hunter's full name was Ch. Arubmec's Red October, though I was not into the show dog scene. Hunter stood tall for a Basenji and had a deep brisket. Though he was a champion, he didn't conform exactly to the perfect breed standard. In point of fact, he was more handsome than most of his breed. Seldom could we complete a walk around our neighborhood without someone stopping us and asking "What breed is your dog?" Some people knew the breed and some didn't. He was sometimes mistaken as a Jack Russell terrier and one person even asked me "Is he one of those Jack Daniels dogs?"
Hunter was born in December of 1990. He lived a long predominantly healthy, happy life. He died this morning in my lap at the age of 17 years and a few months. Life without him is going to be lonely, but I like to imagine him flying solo now. And as his spirit approaches its final destination, I imagine him greeting those who are there to meet him with "Hello, my name is Hunter. Perhaps you have heard of me?"
