Signifying symbols

In committing myself to writing every night (if I can find the time to), I have started to think about possible topics every so often when I'm free during the day. The problem with such a strategy, even though it was not consciously intentional, is that I feel very strongly about what I was thinking of, and by the time I get to the computer in the evening, the mood is gone. I could write about the same topic, but it wouldn't come out the same. Yet, I don't want to start blogging whenever during the day. I mean for this to be a ritual, a daily cleansing of sorts. Thus, should I write about what I thought of today? I think I do owe her that much, so here it goes.

Today, I thought of Lassie. She's the dog we adopted when I was 9, my one and only dog. I've always wanted a dog because of all the dog movies I watched. Somehow, my dad and my mom agreed to adopt this dog that would have been abandoned , and that's how Lassie first came into my life. My mom didn't want a pet; needless say, the dog wouldn't be allowed into the house. I have many memories of her, all tainted with guilt. I was not ready for the responsibility of pet ownership, although she brought me joy.

Sometime after she arrived, we finally got around to getting her a collar with her licence. Lassie wasn't trained, but she knew how to behave herself. She had a sort of class. When we finally put the collar around her neck, we took pictures to commemorate the event, a sort of mini-ceremony. The kids were as tall as the dog then, and we took turns standing beside her. When the entire fanfare was over, Lassie did the next logical thing: she tried to enter the house. My dad said "no", and she turned around, hesitated and tried to step in again. My dad repeated "no". She understood, but for a while after that, she was looking indoors ever so often. My dad was sort of chuckling about how smart she was, and how she thought that a collar was what it took to enter the house. The dog understood symbols. A discovery! Yet what sadness.

Eventually my mom learnt to respect Lassie as well. "She understands music," my mom would say. She used to hang out by the windows when the radio was turned on. But she was never allowed in. Things sorted themselves out, and we reached an understanding. She eventually moved to the UK with my neighbor. I can still see her blue-rimmed eyes.

Like so many symbols, a dog collar is only good for official reasons. It doesn't mean anything that wasn't there, but it has to be there. And that spoilt everything. She learnt to disregard the symbol, but it didn't mean that I didn't love her.