Dog by Michael Czyzniejewski
- 6 days ago
- 3 min read
Updated: 2 days ago
If the only way that I can exist is to make sure that I take the dog on his walk and feed the dog and then feed the cats and make sure the dog doesn’t eat the cat food, or the cats, for that matter, and then get into bed so the dog gets into bed and then falls asleep with me or thinks he does, meaning that I need to sneak out of my own bed just to get downstairs and actually do the things that I need to do, so many things that a normal person should do without having to worry about a dog or dog eating habits or dog sleeping habits or maybe the self-conscious feelings of a dog, like how this is going to affect the dog the next day, in terms of doggy happiness, like if that’s even a thing, not that we’re ever going to take the dog to a dog therapist, though it’s been suggested by more than one person on more than one social media, and I have to start asking myself: What is it that I really have to do to separate myself from the will of this dog, this dog that I love more than anything that I can think of in the world, this my best friend …
… then maybe I need to consider making a serious change, not only for myself, but for the dog, consider a forced separation, some sort of situation where the dog doesn’t depend on me or my presence in the bedroom or a food schedule that is completely based on human notions such as clocks and portions, because not only would I be giving myself those opportunities that I’ve been missing, I would also be making the dog a better dog, though I ask the question now whether that’s a more human desire than it is a dog desire, to have mental well-being, to have self-worth, to have independence, the kind of independence that lets you do things like sleep in a very soft bed that was constructed downstairs between the couches and eat the fancy food that was bought specifically for a dog, or to not bark for hours at fireflies and to go to the bathroom outside during disproportionately long walks that have been administered, because if that is not a value that my dog, any dog, values, then what are we really talking about here, why are we worried about what a dog thinks, and why am I not doing the things I need to make me happy, and better yet, now that I think of it, why am I not just a dog?
Seems like a pretty good deal.
Author's Note:
My self-care happens on the treadmill. I run every day, and while that contributes to
physical health, it’s equally important for my mental well-being. I can’t meditate, not how
most people do it, sitting silently with my eyes closed, as I’ll fall asleep almost instantly.
But on the treadmill—as opposed to running outside, on the streets—I can turn off my
brain, use muscle memory to propel me, and focus entirely on the liminal, without falling
asleep or running into traffic. If I miss a day? I’m off, uncentered, and won’t be right until
I get back at it.
Michael Czyzniejewski is the author of four collections of stories, most recently The Amnesiac in the Maze (Braddock Avenue Books, 2023). He serves as Editor-in-Chief of Moon City Press and Moon City Review, as well as Interviews Editor of SmokeLong Quarterly. He has had work anthologized in the Best Small Fiction series and 40 Stories: A Portable Anthology, and has received a fellowship from the National Endowment of the Arts and two Pushcart Prizes.
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