The greatest love is that of a mother, the second is that of a dog, the third is that of a mistress.
After moving out of my family home, my first dog was Dzida. As befits a German shorthaired pointer, she could do a hunting stand, freezing motionless and lifting one of her paws. Unfortunately, the only animal she could track were the pigeons occupying the playground in front of our apartment building in Warsaw's Stegny district, to which we moved in the mid-nineties, right after Mateusz was born.
Dzida was an exceptionally friendly dog. She loved all kinds of games, her favorite of which was chasing, i.e. following someone or something in order to catch that someone or something. She was lively and untamed. Left alone in a closed apartment, she could rip the upholstery off the front door and disassemble an armchair into its components in fifteen minutes. With a heavy heart, we had to give her to a hunter near the Belarusian border in exchange for a hare for a pate.
After moving out of town, Ciapek appeared in our home. He was a country stray. He moved in with us, not wanting to cross the threshold of our house for anything. He lived in the garage, to which we left the gate ajar, or in the kennel I built for him. When one day Julia carried him to her room in her arms, Ciapek felt uneasy, as if he wanted to make it clear that he was not born a couch potato, and that his duty was to look after the yard.
Ciapek had this rare human trait: I will give everything without expecting anything in return. He defended our territory, which he quickly recognized as his own, although his parents had not passed on to him any defensive dog trait in their genes: to be a small mongrel with short legs. And although there was no aggression in him, he barked at every car approaching our property, and once bit a neighbor who appeared on the terrace, considering her an intruder. Above all, however, he valued freedom and long walks in the countryside. Our faithful and free Ciapek did not return from one of these walks, leaving Julia in unspeakable despair.
Fina has been with us for eight years. When I asked my twenty-three-year-old Julia today if she remembered the day Fina appeared in our home, she reminded me of those circumstances without a moment's hesitation.
Julia had been pestering her parents for a long time about a dog. When her mother finally agreed, we were flying back from vacation. Julia thought that the plane would probably crash because it couldn't be true that she would have her own dog.
The next day they went with their mother to the shelter in Paluch. Fina immediately caught Julia's attention, but she turned out to be too big a dog for her mother to accept. Not finding a suitable candidate for adoption, they returned home empty-handed, and made another attempt the next day.
Dogs in the shelter, locked in their cages, behave differently. Some pay no attention to you at all, others bark at those approaching their cage in defense of their territory, and still others run around in circles, indicating that they would like to leave this place as soon as possible. Fina sat in a crouch, calmly, supported by her front paws, with her head slightly lowered, and uttered only one bark in Julia's direction, as if to tell her "you don't intend to leave me here again." And so, on August 18, 2014, she came to live with us.
Fina is a beautiful bitch. She is closest to a wolfhound with the head of a shepherd, but with floppy ears, husky eyes with multi-colored irises, a harmonious silhouette, a strong croup, a saber-like tail and a black and fawn coat.
She has her own playpen in the center of the house, where she spends a lot of time during the day. She sleeps most often in the "unconscious" position, stretched out, on her back with her belly exposed and paws spread wide, which most likely indicates a high sense of security and satisfaction. She also likes the side "dead" position, which manifests her inner peace and contentment, as well as the "fox ball" position with her paws tucked outside the outline of her body and her tail tucked under her nose. Often her muzzle or most of her body sticks out of the playpen.
Fina is a dog that doesn't bark. She only does this when a stranger appears at the door. She then makes a single, quiet "woof" and runs towards the door, and after a quick sniff of the guest, she usually loses interest in him. In this situation, it is difficult to count on her being able to protect the household from evil.
When she was younger, she liked to sneak out through the open gate and go on all-day trips around the village. She would come home alone, in the evening or the next day, or we would find her in her favorite places. As she grew older - she is now 10 years old - she became more responsible and disciplined. When the gate is open, but someone in the household is in sight, she will not run away. However, it is enough for the household members to disappear from her sight and she is gone.
He eats his meals in the garage. If he doesn't get an invitation for dinner at 6 p.m., he immediately asks for food, with a characteristic nod of the head. He knows that he can't count on being fed at the table and that reaching for food is unacceptable. Unless the household members leave some treat on the table and go somewhere. Out of sight, out of mind. Once Mateusz forgot about it and didn't keep an eye on the freshly baked croissants he had been working on for half a day. For Fina, that must have been one of the most beautiful days of her life.
She loves walks. She sniffs the entire route thoroughly, pees in the most important places with the grace of a lady, chases dogs from behind the fence and accosts other dogs on the walk, encouraging them to play. When someone leaves the house without taking her with them, she lowers her head and looks away, letting the householder know what she thinks of him. However, it is enough for her to hear the word "walk" and she immediately appears in front of the door with a wagging tail.
He greets every household member returning home with joy, the longer they have been away from home. And when it comes to Julka and a few days of separation, he can't do without joyful jumping, standing on two paws and kisses.
Fina was born to be cuddled, petted, scratched and stroked. She can do it all the time, in any position and it doesn't matter if it's her owner, a household member, a guest or a stranger she met on the street. A cuddly bitch.
The world would be a thousand times more beautiful if we were half as devoted and affectionate as dogs.
