Maxi (above) has lived all of his 4+ years of life with us, initially sharing our home's pet-dom with a 8+ years old cat (Zari) and later, also with Maya, a 3+ years old mix of Shih-Tzu Havanese breeds, known for its people friendliness and therapeutic qualities. A poodle by breed, Maxi has cute looks and an intelligent mind, qualifying him for human therapy as well. Maxi is also hypoallergenic, meaning a harmless companion for humans with dog allergy, like me.
But we didn't adopt the trio for their therapeutic qualities or even looks. We adopted them because we just fell in love with them.
A phone call from home woke us up on Monday: Maxi is lost! He ran away from the clinic. How exactly, why, where, what, were the questions we bombarded the caller with.
Despite regular vaccination, Maxi had fallen ill and was taken to a small animal's clinic in Kabul for treatment. The vet had suggested admitting him for proper care. My family had agreed, only to later regret the decision. The small animal's clinic, also small in size, has a combined space of animal treatment and customer service. Two or three customers and a loud conversation between them had created sufficient noise, scaring the already ill Maxi, and making him find a hiding place. And where did he look for a place to hide from Vet's injections and noisy humans: outside, on one of Kabul's busiest streets in Shahr e Now.
What followed next was, at the least, one of the shocking most images to us: scared Maxi running down the crowded street, saving himself from human kids who chase him, cars that might crash him, and a totally new experience of being out in the wilderness on his own.
Poodles, fast and light, are hard to catch. Vet, as a result fails in catching him, makes the stupidest decision of returning to the clinic to get his bike, and thus totally loses track of Maxi. Maxi runs, and hides in the first place he finds: a basement barber shop next to the Etisalat Building in central Shahr e Now. A couple of young boys, who come to play snooker at the club nearby, run after him, lie to the barber, pretend to be Maxi's owner and take him away.
This narrative of course, emerged much later, towards the end of the day, after a series of investigations involving the Vet who ran after Maxi, the people on the street, the shopkeepers, the barber, owner of the snooker club and a travel agency owner, his son and his staff who happened to own a Lexus SUV, one that had carried Maxi away!
At the end of day one, all we had was this story and promises of shopkeepers and guards of that locality, to inform us at the first sight of those boys, and yes empty hands, tearful eyes and broken hearts.
Life had stopped for us. I couldn't remember how it felt when we had not lost Maxi. I was traumatized, unable to do anything. I cancelled meetings, called off everything, not a rational move perhaps, but I did.
But hope kept us going and friendship kept our friends going. Our friends came forward with whatever they could offer, from emotional support, to practical help in searching Maxi. Finally, at the end of day 2, Maxi was found. One of the guards, after several offers of a cash prize and an unresolved feeling of sympathy -"what is so special about this dog?" for a very concerned family, had made some calls, located those boys and had called us back with information.
I do not remember when was the last time that I had felt so thankful, to God, to humanity, to friendship, to the human capacity to support, to love. I was thankful. We were thankful. In tears but happiest.
The people of Afghanistan are not known for keeping animals as pets, as family members. Afghans, for the most, consider dogs to be good house guards, herd dogs, or mere animals used in dog fights. Pets or no pets, we seldom admit having emotional bonds with animals, publicly in particular. Many may consider an emotional bond with an animal to be a weakness, funny or just stupid. I was amazed at myself, and at the hesitance I have had in public expression of this bond with my trio, through Facebook posts, or blogs like this one. Loyalties and identities can be pretty strong.
Nonetheless, to some Afghans, animals are pets, loved members of family. And some families are extreme (according to the commonly held Afghan narrative) like us: we cannot bear losing them and this realization was confirmed in the past 3 days, not only to us, but also to some of our friends. If nothing, they associated themselves with the experience, by expressing feelings of sympathy or joy, either with Likes or Comments on public Facebook posts, or through private messages. In whatever form, those expressions have been precious.
Maxi has had a good night sleep, a good warm bath, home food and lots of love as I write this. He thanks everyone who helped reunite him with his family. He can only show that thankfulness with eyes full of love, and a companionship that has no boundaries, knows no differences, and only understands love.
To me, this experience, was a shock. I came close to losing a loved being that I consider my family and I could feel my pieces falling apart, one by one, as time passed by without any sign of him. The pain was overwhelming, paralyzing. But it was also a deep realization of the bond that had been in place between a group of humans and a voiceless animal, showcasing a level of communication that is literally, beyond words. And my heart melted as I saw my friends leave no stone unturned in finding him, friends who may or may not possess the capacity to bond, in an emotional way, with a voiceless animal, but friends who are parents themselves and could understand me, only in that capacity. Friends who cared for me, enough to spend 48 hours of their time, finding my dog, Maxi.
Maxi's Days Out was not fun, but Finding Maxi tested us, tested me and my capacity to bear pain, take loss, even for a few moments, learn to keep hope alive, to believe in the goodness of hearts, and rely on friendship, one of the most beautiful ways of human bonding.
Happy.
Blessed.
Thankful.
