The condition of life

There are times when I become increasingly sensitive to the world and the nature of life, that I begin to worry about everything. For example, just now, as I was watching my dog sprawled on the sofa, chewing on her blanket, and wondered if she was not feeling restless from the lack of entertainment, I could not help but to feel a little sad. Throughout most of the day, she would be sleeping. Only those times where someone came home would she awaken and pounce around like an excited child. Then after awhile, she would go back to sleep. During the nights, after dinner, she would always follow either my mother or myself around, because she knew that it was time to go for a walk. Thinking about all this, I thought further that maybe she was feeling trapped all the time during the day, and how pitiable it must be to only have an hour’s worth of real enjoyment (that is, going out for a walk). Will she begin to feel depressed if this carries on – if she learns what enjoyment is and is most of the time bereft of it? These things trouble me in the midst of ordinary nights. And all I can do is to lie beside her, brushing my hand through her coat, and trying to tell her that we are really no different; that we are suffering all the same.


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