Sugar is Enervated

Energy is one of the themes of the past week. That and violence. The energy we speak of is nature's energy to destroy unintentionally, as in Japan; and humans' energy to destroy with lust, as in Itamar.

We can't blame nature. It does what it must. And we don't want to enter the field of international politics in a blog pertaining to French Poodles. But we must say that though the destruction in Japan is far greater, the destruction in Itamar is far scarier. Think of plunging a knife into the heart of a sleeping three-month-old baby; think of then slashing her throat. Or that of a three-year-old toddler. Seriously, try to imagine doing that. I'm looking at Sugar lying at my feet, trying to imagine piercing her furry little body with a knife, and I recoil in utter disbelief that it can be done, and she's just a dog. No, those are not political acts and there is no excuse under the sun for them. None. That the victims were Jews living where they had no "right" to live? That they should have known better? That's twaddle. There are political ways to remove them, as from Gaza, which is where this family originally lived. They were human beings slaughtered savagely by monsters raised to hate; this is the energy of hatred, greater even than the energy of anger. There are no "buts." This is purest evil. That is all we will say.

Sugar, thank God, belongs to nature and not to humankind. She's no more capable of hate than an earthquake, though she is no stranger to destruction, to wit, the now-uneven fringe on my Pierre Deux slipper chair beside my desk. But our hearts aren't into blogging today. It's too soon after too many were killed, and so many others left homeless, orphaned and bereaved. Fortunately for Sugar, she has no sense of humor, and therefore will not turn to it for solace, and be wholly disappointed. She is affected only as my absorbent mirror. If I am sad, then Sugar stops racing about the house. If I have no energy, she has no energy. She lies curled on my Bennington College canvas tote bag with her bully stick and "road kill" toy, and snoozes and waits. She will doze until her Human emerges from the doldrums, then she will rise with her. This is the task given her by nature and breeding: companionship. Are there many more noble callings in life than that?