bad dog

I killed myself in 2008.

My father made all my aunts and uncles and cousins take time off their daily routines to come to the funeral. Most of them had to fly in from Sudan.

I woke up as an American Pitbull in my neighbor’s garden and missed the whole affair so I’m not sure how it went or if anyone cried.

My new family / owners did not get an invitation.

My master is a stay-at-home-dad named Toby who is usually in a bad mood. He has a drinking problem and stands underneath my father’s window smoking at night, sometimes for hours.

He cleans his car three times a week.

He’s a strange man.

He named me Gustav.

It has been six years and I am an older dog now. I have learned a lot about myself. The grass is nice on my feet in the summer when the sun shines but sometimes I still just want to be let back inside.

I like it when I am running and there are lots of things to smell.

I have two young human friends I play with. They are Toby’s sons. They like to play tennis in front of the house. I watch them from the window in the living room.

When the boys were little, they used to like to pretend with toy swords in the garden. They were slower then but they had more energy.

Now one of them has a real sword.

He swings it around in the backyard and makes noises while his brother and I watch. Sometimes he chases me. I am a fast dog and he can’t catch me with the sword.

My old family doesn’t go outside that often. I am actually not sure if they still live their anymore or not.

There is still pain. I can see fewer colors than I could before.

I do not understand why a lot of things are happening and it bothers me sometimes. When I am confused I get frightened and bark a lot. When I am barking, Toby yells at me to stop. If I don’t stop, I get put outside.

I get upset. It passes. I wait to be let in.

I am a bad dog.

I want things very badly at certain moments. I want things so badly I react with all the energy I have without reserve. I feel like I am almost constantly reacting or desiring something I cannot have.

I need a lot of things. I struggle through a fast haze. I lust in a dull blur.

It is draining and sometimes I just want to be told what to do.

Sometimes I am a Good Dog. Sometimes I am a Bad Dog.

I don’t really get it. I don’t know how these things work.

There have been at least two films made about people who have died and then became dogs, at least that I was aware of when I watched films. In both of these stories, the person-turned-dog tries to go back and fix their old human life.

I am not that kind of dog.

I think that if you are trying to fix your human life when you are a dog that you are not doing a very good job at being a dog at all.

I think that I like it when I am running.

There are not so many colors to see but there are a lot of things to smell.