Day of the Dog

Today is World Dog’s Day.

A few years ago I had for the first time a revolving dream. It was about a dog. It went on for about three weeks until I went for a tooth treatment to my friends dentist practice. The appointment after mine had cancelled, so he asked me to have a coffee afterwards in his back room. There he was, sitting in the corner, bound with the leach and hidden. He actually wasn’t supposed to be there. My friend told his wife and mother of their new born (human) baby, that the dog was already handed over to the animal shelter. A dog in transit, a ghost dog.

Of course I wished he was more friendly. He wasn’t at all. We looked at each other. He was distorted, aggressive, distrustful, anxious, terrifying, powerful, wild, untamed, a beautiful beast. It sounds so pathetic, but he really was like that, and sometimes, rarely though, he still is. I wanted to adopt him, came back the next morning and took him with me. His first message, the first thing he did was to bite my leg.

The first night in my apartment I bound him to the radiator. When I woke up in the night, walking down the stairs towards the bath room I looked into the eyes of a wild animal in my home. It was probably the strangest thing I ever experienced. I asked myself whether I’m Siegfried & Roy or something. Next morning I slowly approached him with a piece of minced liver, he skeptically grabbed it out of my hand, piece by piece. Everything was piece by piece, step by step, every day, on and on. It was like Jane dancing for King Kong or way to pale BBC nature photographers patiently waiting, in a way too hot and humid forrest, to gain trust of rare jungle creatures.

Looking back I’m grateful about my partners’ and colleagues’ tolerance. Back in 2009 for instance we were developing the zero issue of Traffic, a monthly publication, that we launched later that year. We didn’t have an office yet and were using my apartment to work and meet. Every time someone was making an attempt to go the the kitchen or bathroom it was as if you would need to pass a wild lions cage or so. It was indescribable.

He did a mess in our label and recording studio, he ripped cables and strings, and it was embarrassing that he didn’t like guitar and saxophone players. Fortunately he likes the piano and feels comfortable lying underneath the grand.

It took a long, long time, a lot of patience and help of my girl friend, many friends, colleagues, cafe, deli or restaurant owners who bared with me, who fed him, who accepted that there was a little beast with me while working, eating, going out, sleeping. I can’t tell how many ups and downs there were, how many times he turned from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hide and vice versa.

Now, Mocca is six years old. He still has his moments, but he has friends that gave him shelter when he ran away in the middle of the night, he has his favorite deli and pet shop who feed him with his favorite snacks, he has a black sheep, he has a girl friend whom he loves more than anything, and believe it or not, he makes almost everyone smile who would pass by on the street.

And sometimes, when the ambulance crosses Rosenthaler Platz on Torstraße, he listens for a moment to get the tune, waiting at the pedestrian light, he begins to howl. Everyone becomes silent, some smile. As if he reminded everyone that we’re longing for someone, something or somewhere. May be that was what I saw in my dream.

Currently Mocca is waiting for Nikita to recuperate from her operation.

Happy day, Mocca. Thank you, friends.

Mocca sitting on a bridge over the Spree.

His favorite deli and TV channel Luigi Zuckermann

Mocca with his black sheep. A bipolar relationship: he rips it and licks it.

Nikita, found in the Spanish mountains, the love of his life. Her ears are always like this.

Nikita recuperating from her operation. Still beautiful.

Mocca waiting for Nikita to come out of her house.