Post by Paul on Jul 27, 2009 11:07:42 GMT 9.5
Joy found in a bone and a mudbath
Arun Raghu
July 27, 2009
IT IS only recently that I realised my 18-month-old chocolate labrador can teach many of us a thing or two about how to live life to the fullest.
I'm not referring to his extraordinary aptitude for flatulence while producing long drools from his mouth as he devours a meal. Nor do I refer to his recently discovered fondness for mounting the leg of the nearest individual and gyrating his pelvis at ultrasonic speed.
As extraordinary as these talents may seem, it's his zest for the simple things in life that makes many of us humans look like glorified zombies in comparison. This is apparent from the moment I wake up to prepare for another spiritually rewarding day staring at a computer in the cozy confines of a two-metre by two-metre cubicle.
As I hand my dog his daily bone, I am in no mood to reciprocate his expression of delight. However, I can't help but laugh in admiration when I return nine hours later to see the same crazed look as he continues to savour the scarce remnants of his snack. It's especially amusing when, taking my daily stroll at lunch, I see hundreds of people who appear to be practising their didgeridoo-playing skills as they gobble down their meals while talking on their phones. Nary a hint of satisfaction is evident on their faces.
Stepping on to a crowded rush-hour train for the journey to and from the city, I would swear I am enclosed in a simultaneously overheated, semi-frozen tin of expired sardines. Except that most sardines I have seen seem downright sociable in comparison to the dreary and insipid expressions that surround me (has CityRail made frown evasion a crime?).
In contrast, when I arrive home and take the mutt for a walk to the park, it's a matter of seconds before he finds a new friend to play with in the muddy puddles left by recent rains. As he jumps on to the bed every night and lies at my feet, he lets out a contented belch and begins snoring within seconds. Meanwhile, I turn on the television to be confronted with the latest reports of sackings, disease and death, waiting for a skerrick of positive news, which is rarely forthcoming.
Now, I'm not suggesting we all strip to our underwear and roll in the mud to cure the ills of human-ity. But when it takes a slightly deranged, smelly and slobbering dog to remind us what is truly important in life, what point has our society reached?
Arun Raghu
July 27, 2009
IT IS only recently that I realised my 18-month-old chocolate labrador can teach many of us a thing or two about how to live life to the fullest.
I'm not referring to his extraordinary aptitude for flatulence while producing long drools from his mouth as he devours a meal. Nor do I refer to his recently discovered fondness for mounting the leg of the nearest individual and gyrating his pelvis at ultrasonic speed.
As extraordinary as these talents may seem, it's his zest for the simple things in life that makes many of us humans look like glorified zombies in comparison. This is apparent from the moment I wake up to prepare for another spiritually rewarding day staring at a computer in the cozy confines of a two-metre by two-metre cubicle.
As I hand my dog his daily bone, I am in no mood to reciprocate his expression of delight. However, I can't help but laugh in admiration when I return nine hours later to see the same crazed look as he continues to savour the scarce remnants of his snack. It's especially amusing when, taking my daily stroll at lunch, I see hundreds of people who appear to be practising their didgeridoo-playing skills as they gobble down their meals while talking on their phones. Nary a hint of satisfaction is evident on their faces.
Stepping on to a crowded rush-hour train for the journey to and from the city, I would swear I am enclosed in a simultaneously overheated, semi-frozen tin of expired sardines. Except that most sardines I have seen seem downright sociable in comparison to the dreary and insipid expressions that surround me (has CityRail made frown evasion a crime?).
In contrast, when I arrive home and take the mutt for a walk to the park, it's a matter of seconds before he finds a new friend to play with in the muddy puddles left by recent rains. As he jumps on to the bed every night and lies at my feet, he lets out a contented belch and begins snoring within seconds. Meanwhile, I turn on the television to be confronted with the latest reports of sackings, disease and death, waiting for a skerrick of positive news, which is rarely forthcoming.
Now, I'm not suggesting we all strip to our underwear and roll in the mud to cure the ills of human-ity. But when it takes a slightly deranged, smelly and slobbering dog to remind us what is truly important in life, what point has our society reached?
