Happy Humpday Haiku #26

Sensory Overload

There's a dog I know

That goes comatose when I

Scratch behind her ear.

            Physical contact might be one of the most visceral forms of communication. A punch packs fury. A hug can mean hello or farewell. A kiss creates passion. Nothing is negligence. A caress expresses understanding. 

            I've encountered a dog in my time here. She's old, and she looks it. Her fur is generally unkept and damp. I assume that she is blind in at least one eye, if only because that it's cloudier than the night sky. The skin on her stomach sags to a point just before it touches the ground. When I come back from eating downtown during the week, I see her lying in her doghouse along the sidewalk, leashed to her owners scooter. There's no indication that she's abused. Just old. 

            I stopped one day and knelt over to see what she might do if I tried to pet her. She sniffed my extended hand for a good long while before she finally urged me to scratch her head by nuzzling my palm. I obliged. She let out a sound a dog makes when they've woken up from a really long and uncomfortable nap. So I stopped. She became full of energy and begged to be scratched again. I obliged again. We sat there for fifteen minutes. She wasn't happy as I turned to walk to rest of my way home. When I come back from downtown in that direction I make it a point to stop at her doghouse. She gets so lively after sniffing off the identity from my hand. 

            Touch is a wonderful thing to share between to beings, whether it be between two people, pet and owner, between animals, whatever. The knowledge gained from the experience between two complete strangers transcends time and space, national boundaries and ethnic backgrounds. It reminds us that some things cannot be described with words; that our language is inadequate to relate these feelings.