Nu oferiti cadou un caine cui nu merita

„Cu cat cunosc mai bine oamenii iubesc mai mult cainii” – Lord Byron

Sunt tot mai multi caini. Cu cat e mai avansata societatea, spun statisticile, proportia cainilor fata de a oamenilor este mai mare. Atat de mare incat in unele tari exista mai putini copii decat animale de casa. Un caine nu se revolta (de regula) impotriva stapanului cand ajunge la adolescenta, nu-si otraveste trupul prosteste, nici nu reproseaza decrepitudinea sau nu sta ca o amoeba in intestine pana la 35 de ani in casa parinteasca.

Cainele nu va musca mana care il hraneste. Natura efemera a ciclului lor de viata ii face pe unii oameni sa-si doreasca sa mai aiba un animal astfel incat pierderea unuia sa nu aduca o suferinta atat de mare.

Este adevarat ca nu toti cainii sunt permisi, legali. Sunt rase considerate periculoase, posibil a fi folosite ca arme, dar chiar si in aceste cazuri problema principala este la stapan, nu la caine.

La noi vedem din ce in ce mai mult ca apar si caini de rasa pe strazi, nu doar vechii „maidanezi”. Pentru primii e mult mai greu in caldura, intinsi pe asfalt, in ploaie, pe sub masini, ratacind pe drumuri. Si desi toamna pare a fi una lunga si frumoasa, va veni din nou iarna. Este atrocitatea fiecarui an. Frumosul cadou de Craciun ce a venit cu o funda rosie la gat nu se mai potriveste toamna.

Un caine nu te paraseste niciodata, nici chiar cand e batut. Asa ca, n-ai incotro!, trebuie sa admiti ca in general cainele este mai bun decat omul. „El are maretia unui om mare si niciunul din defectele sale” spunea epitaful sensibil (al unui stapan iubitor) pentru cainele sau.

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  1. Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog

    When some proud son of man returns to earth,
    Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
    The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe
    And storied urns record who rest below:
    When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
    Not what he was, but what he should have been:
    But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
    The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
    Whose honest heart is still his master’s own,
    Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
    Unhonour’d falls, unnoticed all his worth
    Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
    While Man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
    And claims himself a sole exclusive Heaven.
    Oh Man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
    Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
    Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
    Degraded mass of animated dust!
    Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
    Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
    By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
    Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
    Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
    Pass on–it honours none you wish to mourn:
    To mark a Friend’s remains these stones arise;
    I never knew but one,–and here he lies.

    Newstead Abbey, October 30, 1808.

    This monument is placed in the garden of Newstead.
    A prose inscription precedes the verses:

    „Near this spot
    Are deposited the Remains of one
    Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
    Strength without Insolence,
    Courage without Ferocity,
    And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
    This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
    If inscribed over human ashes,
    Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
    BOATSWAIN, a Dog,
    Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
    And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.”

    Byron thus announced the death of his favourite to his friend Hodgson: „Boatswain is dead! he expired in a state of madness on the 18th after suffering much, yet retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last; never attempting to do the least injury to any one near him. I have now lost everything except old Murray.”

    In the will which the poet executed in 1811, he desired to be buried in the vault with his dog, and Joe Murray was to have the honour of making one of the party. When the poet was on his travels, a gentleman, to whom Murray showed the tomb, said, „Well, old boy, you will take your place here some twenty years hence.” „I don’t know that, sir,” replied Joe; „if I was sure his lordship would come here I should like it well enough, but I should not like to lie alone with the dog.”

    „I knew but one unchang’d and here he lies.”

    Lord Byron

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