Once upon a time there was an old dog called Burger who lived in a beautiful house right beside the sea in Raumati. The house nestled low to the ground for shelter, letting the sea breezes slip past above the eaves, but was cleverly built so the windows looked out over the crest of the single dune at the ever-changing sea and sky. Kapiti Island was a familiar shape just to the north and on clear days the islands at the tip of the South Island could be seen straight out to the west, peeping over the horizon.
The house was jammed full of art: pottery, paintings and mosaics, collages, curios and carvings. Photos – of family, living and dead – covered the walls and whispered of happy memories, murmuring soft words of love to whomever happened to glance in their direction.
But Burger knew nothing of this. An outside dog, he was free to roam in the garden, snuffling beneath the aloes or dozing on the verandah in the afternoon sun.
Three times a day ranked as his absolute favourite moments. One of these was breakfast, served at the first sounds of stirring within the house. Sometimes he felt obliged to remind those indoors of his existence with a gentle ‘wuff’, but usually, to his satisfaction, the sound of footsteps led straight to the crunch of the mug measuring out his food. The whole exciting ritual of breakfast was repeated at dinner: received with a tail-wagging, body-squirming delight.
But it was the third highlight of his day for which Burger really lived. Every afternoon, rain or shine, hurricane or hail-storm, it was time for a walk on the beach. But ‘walk on the beach’ does not adequately convey the exquisite joy that Burger could extract from this rapturous outing. Mostly it was about the smells – on every post embedded in the beach, every tide-thrown log – fascinating, intoxicating smells. But also, it was about children, and – above all else (although Burger played it cool) – it was about other dogs. Large or small, eager or reluctant, the beach was a place to reconnect with all those other dogs in the world.
And for that sense of intensely-experienced pleasure, of pure joy in the moment, we have to say: Thanks Burger, for letting us share your life.
The house was jammed full of art: pottery, paintings and mosaics, collages, curios and carvings. Photos – of family, living and dead – covered the walls and whispered of happy memories, murmuring soft words of love to whomever happened to glance in their direction.
But Burger knew nothing of this. An outside dog, he was free to roam in the garden, snuffling beneath the aloes or dozing on the verandah in the afternoon sun.
Three times a day ranked as his absolute favourite moments. One of these was breakfast, served at the first sounds of stirring within the house. Sometimes he felt obliged to remind those indoors of his existence with a gentle ‘wuff’, but usually, to his satisfaction, the sound of footsteps led straight to the crunch of the mug measuring out his food. The whole exciting ritual of breakfast was repeated at dinner: received with a tail-wagging, body-squirming delight.
But it was the third highlight of his day for which Burger really lived. Every afternoon, rain or shine, hurricane or hail-storm, it was time for a walk on the beach. But ‘walk on the beach’ does not adequately convey the exquisite joy that Burger could extract from this rapturous outing. Mostly it was about the smells – on every post embedded in the beach, every tide-thrown log – fascinating, intoxicating smells. But also, it was about children, and – above all else (although Burger played it cool) – it was about other dogs. Large or small, eager or reluctant, the beach was a place to reconnect with all those other dogs in the world.
And for that sense of intensely-experienced pleasure, of pure joy in the moment, we have to say: Thanks Burger, for letting us share your life.