Pure Joy Pure Joy
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Konstantin Somov, "Young Woman Sleeping in the Park", 1921, source: Wikiart (public domain)
The Other School

Pure Joy

Paulina Wilk
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time 6 minutes

Living with a dog is far better than living without one, and here is some anecdotal evidence to prove this. It may help you make the long overdue decision to move in with a pet, but let’s not kid ourselves: in the end, the dog will make all the decisions. 

No one will ever understand you like your dog—or any dog, for that matter. When things go south, it’ll be in your lap ready for a cuddle. When you’re crying, it will lick tears off your face. And when you feel like dancing with joy, your dog and its wagging tail will join your celebration. You don’t have to say or explain anything, but even if you choose complete honesty, there’s no need to fear rejection. A dog’s eyes see everything, ears hear the slightest change of tone, and nose sniffs out every mood. While we still don’t fully understand what makes dogs sad or what excites them, we know they are able to tune in to our feelings and simply share them with us. They won’t comment, offer advice, or get bored when we complain about the same thing for the seventh time. Hugging a dog takes away at least half of life’s burdens. Conversely, a wagging tail and a dog’s eyes make all misery go away and amplify all joy. Dogs are known as man’s best friends, because in friendship they never make the kind of mistakes that humans often make. They never ask stupid questions, they listen patiently, and their sheer presence eliminates the penetrating singularity of human fate: both immediately and in the long term. Dogs are also stable in their feelings; they are unlikely to suddenly file for divorce. 

But they also have their moods. An offended dog is a hundred times worse than an angry spouse. Instead of offering to play or offer a kilo of sausages, it’s best to just be your

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The Woman, the Dog, and the Forest The Woman, the Dog, and the Forest
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To protect Twitchell Lake (and herself!) from tourists, Anne LaBastille referred to it as Black Bear Lake; photo: Courtesy of the Adirondack Experience
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The Woman, the Dog, and the Forest

Ewa Pluta

Anne LaBastille spent most of her adult life in a forest cabin, far away from human settlements. By fulfilling her teenage dream, she has proved that it is possible to coexist with wildlife without trying to tame it at all costs. 

I look at the photographs: in the foreground there is a woman and a dog. The woman is standing by the jetty in the water, washing her fair hair, suds running down her face, her eyes closed. The dog stands over her, its shaggy body taking up almost half the frame. The caption to the photo reads, “Pitzi licks the shampoo from my head, savoring the suds.” A dark patch of the forest fills the background. In another photograph, the same fair-haired woman is chopping wood, axe in hand, a mountain of logs grows around the stump. A cabin can be seen in the background. More black and white photographs show the same person: carrying a large rucksack as she walks uphill, hugging a white tree trunk, bathing in a stream, cooking over an open fire, driving a snowmobile, sailing a canoe on a rough lake. 

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