They call it puppy love…

As a black person born and raised in rural Bushbuckridge, Mpumalanga, my love for pets, especially dogs, was minimal until recently, when a puppy stole my heart.

It was last month when the painful story unfolded of the puppy that drew my attention and fuelled my love for dogs.

Every day after work my friends and I spend a few hours at a chilling spot near the road.

As we were talking I saw a brown puppy crossing the road to the nearby dumping site.

She went back to the residential area and came back again, which was strange and tempted me to follow it to see what was happening.

When she arrived at the dumping site there was a carcass of a female dog. The puppy sat nearby and looked at the body for more than an hour.

After looking at the dead dog, which I suspect was her mother, she crossed the road to the houses on the other side of the road, which is the action she repeated for the next three days.

There were times where she was chasing away the rats that wanted to eat the carcass.

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The situation really touched my heart and I decided to call the SPCA to see how we can assist the poor animal.

But on day four, she disappeared after the carcass was removed from the dumping site.

When growing up, we had a dog named Jock of The Bushveld.

She was named after the famous dog featured in a 1907 book titled Jock of The Bushveld, who was also a bitch.

I did not have a problem with Jock but my interaction with her failed to make me fall in love with dogs.

I remember my family, especially my then seven-year-old younger brother, were all good friends with Jock.

A few years later our parents gave the dog to a family friend and she stayed there for a few months, until she died after being poisoned.

Her death shocked everyone in the family, especially the children, because the decision to give her away was not communicated with us, although she was our friend.

Be that as it may, none of us confronted our parents because, in African culture, we were taught not to question our elders’ decisions, even if we are not happy about it.

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Two years after Jock’s death I came across a diary belonging to my younger brother.

I was tempted to scan through its pages just to have a glimpse of what was going on in little brother’s mind.

I know going through the then nine year old’s diary was unethical but I continued until I came across a page where he wrote about how he lost his favourite friend – referring to Jock.

Most people know me as one of the strongest people who don’t cry, no matter how hard the situation may be.

But that day I failed to hold back the tears… He wrote about the first day he met her and how they became friends and then concluded by writing how he felt when he heard about her death.

After all my interactions with dogs, it never made me decide to own a pet – until my recent experience, when that puppy was mourning the death of her loved one.

The incident made me realise how much I love animals.

And yes, I’m willing to own one as I realise they need us – as much as we need them.