The Stray Dog ~ Part 3


The Stray Dog

By: Sadeq Hedayat

Translated by: Firuz Akhtar Mohamad Bohari

StrayDog3

Source: Wikimedia taken by David Trawin

All of his attention was on his search for a piece of food in the trash; he trembled and was afraid; he was beaten and howled—his only defense. Before, he was courageous, fearless, clean, and lively, but now he was timid and downtrodden. When he heard a sound or something moved near him, he would tremble and was even terrified of his own voice. He was used to the filth and his body itched, but he had no desire to get rid of his fleas or lick himself. He felt that he was a part of the trash and something inside him was already dead and gone.

Since the time he fell into this hell, it had been two winters since his stomach had felt full, and he had not even had a comfortable place to sleep. His feelings and lust had been smothered. There was no person who patted his head or looked into his eyes. Although the people looked similar to his master, their feelings, attitude, and treatment were far apart, like the earth and the sky. It seemed that the people in his previous life were closer to his world, were more understanding of his feelings and pains, and always protected him.

Among the many smells that affected him, there was a smell that made him more dizzy than the others: the smell of rice pudding that sometimes made him go numb. The white liquid was so similar to his mother’s milk that the memories of his puppyhood became visible. He remembered how, when he was a puppy, he had sucked the warm, nutritious liquid from his mother’s breast, and her soft, strong tongue cleaned his body. He smelled the stinging aroma in his mother’s embrace and his brother’s presence. The sharp and heavy smell of his mother and the milk was revived in his nose.

Once he became full from the milk, his body turned warm and relaxed. Flowing warmth ran through all of his veins. He released his mother’s breast and a deep sleep came after he felt an intoxicant tremble through his whole body. There was no better pleasure than the effortless flowing milk from his mother’s breast each time he unconsciously pressed it. His brother’s fuzzy body and his mother’s bark were full of excitement. He remembered his previous wooden house and the games he played with his brother in the green grassland.