We Come Back As Dogs
What if the truth is we come back as dogs who can’t tell us who they really are, which is why they act crazy — spinning in circles, chasing their own tails, licking our faces like they’re made of quickly melting ice cream. Maybe there’s a little carryover from their previous lives, which is why they nap all day like Nana or Poppy used to when their eyelids became as heavy as the slow decline of afternoon light. Maybe when we reenter the world we return to our prehistoric state when early man could only say: I’m hungry. I need to go outside. I love you more than you’ll ever know. By barking. Which was once upon a time the official language. Back when we said so much with our eyes, the way all dogs do when they stare into our souls, which they see as clearly as a CAT scan. Or try to signal us with their tails and jiggling butts like they’re desperate to win a game of charades no one at the party can figure out. Playing fetch? The message is clear: I will always return to you. Sleeping at...