A Dog`s Biography
A dog approached me once. We were silent and looked straight into each other’s eyes and I saw an entire life there. Both happiness and sorrow.
Justice and injustice. Freedom and slavery.
-A man does not understand our language. We understand his. That is why I need someone who can read one’s eyes. Write it down, let them read about it, let them think at least, let them change their habits, restore the respect, let the Earth have another deep breath and let it breathe.
Write it down, it is your sacred duty, he said and went to his resting place.
Here it is, I have fulfilled my duty. I wrote down everything I read in his eyes.
Neither did I add nor take away anything. This is not my story. This is one dog’s biography.
I merely wrote it down.
Topics find authors. They are the ones that choose. The writer has no choice in the matter. They just appear in your mind, and say: Write it! And you write. What else. There is no other way to get rid of the burden overflowing. It would never leave you, until you turned it into a book.
That is how various topics found me. Sometimes I think I was chosen. If that is true, I’m grateful. It is a great honor to be chosen by a topic. Great honor.
And so I became a writer. Word got around the topics that I do not resist, that I come to grips with each one, and there was a queue. The more I write, the longer the queue. And so I write, having no other choice. Someone has to get it done. Never put off till tonight what you can do today. At times, they wake me up. Never put off till tomorrow what you can do tonight.
But for the readers, all of that would not exist. Sometimes it seems to me that some sort of magic had something to do with it. In a moment, a book is created out of the sad look of a dog. Who knows. Perhaps that’s precisely magic. I may find out one day when I get older, and that’s what I am afraid of.