Please remember to read the notes on contents and copyright if you have not.This article was last updated on: September 2019
Este artículo también está disponible en Español.Little Violeta is the doggy of my eyes, she’s been present in my life since around 2011.
She’s a white-chested black dog, white-tipped tail, and part white paws as well. She showed how loving she was from the times she was a little puppy (photo below).
She has soft hair, and little bear-like brown eyes. She has fat pads in her paws that are delicious to grab, and has black and white nails.
The little black baby in the beginning was just another doggy, in fact, she was not supposed to remain at home.
She was living with a friend of mom’s, and according to the story I’ve been told, she arrived there because some mister rescued her from somewhere.
But this mister have about 15 (or more) dogs already, and his wife told him one more and there was going to be a divorce, or something to that effect.
So she ended up at my mom’s friend’s place. Her friend got into some unfavourable circumstances at that time, and that meant the dog remained alone for most of the day.
Mom then offered to take care of her “while things improved”.
But obviously the black furry babe stayed forever at home, and that’s been one of the most fortunate events in my life.
I used to go pick her up, and I remember she fit in the floor of the co-pilot seat of the car asleep, lying, and stretched.
Ramírez.
Ramírez.
Little did we know about how big she was going to be, and how huggable and caressable. Now barely her buttock fits in that car.
In the beginning she was just another doggy, she seemed lovely to me as all of them. I pampered and took care of her, but she wasn’t nothing special within the whole lot of special that dogs are to me.
Besides, she wasn’t staying (in theory). But she began to stay, and in the end stayed forever.
When she was a puppy growing she had a very long tongue, it side-slipped from her mouth. She made me laugh a lot with that.
Being a puppy, she was obviously naughty and restless. Many sticks and brushes were damaged.
Not even paint was spared. Look at the blue stain in her beautiful white chest and in her little nose.
The other dogs loved me, but they loved my mom just like that. They didn’t have a preference.
Not Violeta. She grew attached to me, looked at me with a love the others didn’t. And she did that only with me, not with my mother, nor any other person. I don’t know what did I do to be deserving of that, but anyway…
And things being like that, the only thing I’ve done is reciprocate her preference with my best effort.
She clearly loves my mom as well, don’t believe she doesn’t. But the difference in the behaviour toward me is noticeable.
Sometimes she begins to wag her tail with just feeling me take a step, or just by me telling her “Tikon-Tikon-Tikon”, as in the video below.
She started to “take care of me”, and preferred to stay in the room with me even when the other dogs would just bolt away because of any noise or “situation”, as they do.
And so, she took over my room and my bed. They belong to her now (she’s even territorial about it).
She doesn’t care to hop on the bed with a dirty toy, or when she comes soaked after plunging into some creek or pool (she loves that).
Ramírez.
Ramírez.
Every now and then I discover what’s going to happen on time and I manage to leave her outside the room for a moment while she dries up.
Ramírez.
When that happens, she stays there looking after the door, and knocking to be let in.
Once in her kingdom (my room), she can lie at my feet, get closer to be pampered, or simply watch the rain through the window.
Ramírez.
Ramírez.
She loves going on outings and walks, but she isn’t particularly fond of the car as Nenorrita or Lina are (other doggy relatives I’ll write about later on).
Ramírez.
She couldn’t care less about the car, but loooves the outing once we reach whatever place we’re going.
Ramírez.
She also loves water, pools, creeks.
(Her leg can be seen underwater).
Ramírez.
Violeta is the name they gave her in the house of my mom’s friend where she was before, and we kept calling her that.
That’s her given name, but as all the doggy names here, it morphed into a myriad of nicknames.
Violeta > Leta > Eta > Eto > Etikon > Etiritikon > Tikon > Tikon-Tikon.
Tikon-Tikon is how I normally call her, accented in the “i”.
She sleeps with me, we watch movies together, she’s jealous, and she doesn’t go out if I don’t. Every now and then I’ve been studying, but she then moves to be between the book and me.
If she were human she’d be unbearable.
She even goes to the loo with me.
Ramírez.
Sometimes she gets bored with what I watch, normal.
But I couldn’t understand her that night that she fell asleep with her paws up and showing her teeth while watching Southpark, Southpark rules!
Ramírez.
I love to hug and caress her while I plunge my nose in her neck. There’s no better smell to me in life.
Ramírez.
Eventually, she’s the one to plunge her nose in my neck.
I don’t know what do I smell of to her (perhaps monkey eau), but when she does that I feel her warm breathing in my skin. There’s nothing in the world that comforts me more than that.
Ramírez.
She’s very expressive, and wags her tail a lot. She gives me horrible kisses with that pink tongue.
Ramírez.
Ramírez.
She gets along quite along with all her doggy brothers, but it’s very protective of her room (the one that in theory is mine), or of wherever I may be.
From time to time she has to share the bed, she’s not too fond of that.
Ramírez.
But when she’s not in jealous and protective mode, she plays with her brothers crazily.
When I’m away for several days (or months, or even more time), when I come back she literally screams, and then she bites my arm driven by excitement.
In the video below those levels of excitement are not evident, but it’s only because I had left only for one hour or so.
When I’m not home, she seeks someone else to “take care of”, even if it’s just a visiting person.
On the other hand, she’s quite scared of medicine. And she has an arachnid sixth sense to realise when I’m getting close with evil (that is, medicinal) intentions.
When that happens, she hides the tail and runs to some place where she can hide. It’s harder to give medicine to her than to a cat.
Fortunately she has very good health. Nonetheless, she’s getting old and has white hair all over her face.
She has some dysplasia in the hip, we give supplements for that. It’s all apparently under control as far as quality of life goes, but she’s complained at times when standing up.
And when I’ve heard her moan I’ve shivered.
I hope I never feel she’s suffering, ever.
Anyway, this little animal is the best thing that’s happened in my life, the most pure and beautiful love I’ve received.
Granted, there have been many humans that have loved and love me, like my mom for example.
But human love has other dynamics and variables that besmirch it, even if one does not want.
Ramírez.
I do not know what did I do to earn her presence in my life, but as Carl Sagan’s wife said when he died, every moment I’ve been beside my doggy has been miraculous. Not in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural.
Simply in the sense that I’ve been a beneficiary of pure randomness, and it has been so generous and benevolent that has allowed for us to meet.
I still think it’s incredible that just for pampering her, something that comes easy for me with the living beings that I love, she would give back so much to me.
Since she’s present in my life the good has been a thousand times better when I come home to share it with her (even if she doesn’t speak).
And the bad, as fuckingly bad as it has been, has been a thousand times more bearable when I whine about life with her (even if she doesn’t speak).
Ramírez.
Anyone would say she was rescued because she has a home where she is very much loved, where she is fed, and where her health is seen to.
Evidently something very different to what many good furry souls (if that even exists -the soul-) experience, wandering around being mistreated in this shitty towns of this shitty country with this shitty society.
But the reality of it is that she rescued me, even though I’ve never had anything nominal to be rescued of.
She didn’t rescue me from any drug crisis (I’ve never used), nor cured me from any depression (because I’ve never been depressed -I’ve been very low and with low hope, though-), nor has she given me money, nor has she released me from jail (I’ve never been there), nor anything of the like.
But she has rescued me more than anything or anyone in life, in a sense I can’t explain with words.
It’s true what says that who hasn’t loved an animal has a part of the soul asleep (again, if that even exists).
And in the same vein, to me it’s true what a Spanish writer called Arturo Pérez-Reverte says:
“La muerte de ciertos seres humanos me tiene a veces sin cuidado, pero la de un perro no me deja nunca indiferente. Siempre sostuve que los animales son mejores que las personas y que cuando algún humano desaparece del mapa, el mundo no pierde gran cosa, incluso se libera de un verdugo o de un imbécil, pero cada vez que muere un perro, todo se vuelve mas desleal y sombrío”.
(“I do not care about the death of certain human beings at times, but the death of a dog never leaves me indifferent. I always held the view that animals are better than people, and that when some human disappears from the map, the world doesn’t lose much, it can even rid itself of an executioner or an imbecile, but every time a dog dies, everything turns more disloyal and sombre”.)
If your god did exist, and had given me some special power to create a best friend in any way I could imagine, I don’t think I could have done one as well done and beautiful as little Violeta, regardless of how much effort I put on the endeavour.
Again, she’s getting old, and every time I see her white hair I think it’s beautiful.
But on the other hand, I know what naturally will come after old age. And I refuse… At times it distresses me just to think it (and then she gives me a kiss and I forget everything).
When she dies I’m going to rot inside (if I don’t die first, that is). But for now, I live beside a furry blessing.
A real blessing, not that poppycock of imaginary friends sons of a pigeon.
I love my doggy, as much as her own effect of waking my soul (if I indeed have and if that indeed exists) has made possible.
I cherish and love you my old beautiful, big black furry bear of my love. Don’t ever die.
Este artículo también está disponible en Español.