Thursday, 29 May 2014
A Woman’s Best Friend is Her Dog
By Flora Davis
Until recently, I would have said a woman’s best friend is her computer, not her dog, because a computer has some definite advantages. You don’t have to walk it three times a day. There aren’t any vet bills to pay. It doesn’t stare at you reproachfully if you leave it alone for an hour or so and if you accidentally drop its leash outdoors, it doesn’t head for the hills.
In other words, it’s there for you.
A couple of things have happened lately that have changed my mind. I would now list my dog as my very best friend and the computer isn’t even a close second.
The first mind-altering event occurred when I was out after dark walking my dog, Korku. We were having a dispute. I wanted to cross the road so I was pulling in that direction while Korku, who had found something he wanted to sniff, was pulling in the other.
I started to step up onto the curb on the far side of the road but I didn’t lift my foot high enough. My toe caught on the concrete and I sprawled across the sidewalk making a three-point landing on my knees and my forehead.
I yelled and then began to whimper. My head and knees hurt like mad and the fall had knocked the wind out of me. I thought I might have broken my glasses but then I realized there was something else that was a more immediate worry: I’d dropped the dog’s leash.
Pushing myself up onto my battered knees, I turned around and there was Korku, standing close behind me looking anxious.
All his life, any time he’d found himself free, he had run away but this time he didn’t. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d run. I was in no shape to track him in the dark through the woods across the way.
Nobody ever had a better dog.
The second event that taught me who my friends are happened about a day later. I was sitting at my computer trying to ignore the swelling on my forehead and my two black eyes when a message popped up on the screen. It reported a problem with my device driver (whatever that is), which had developed an infinite loop. Please reboot.
I complied with the instructions and the computer did its best but then it up and died on me. I hadn’t done anything illegal, as we used to say in computereze. I hadn’t made a fatal error, yet there I was, staring at the black screen of death.
I called my computer guru and described what had happened. He suggested last rites and offered to come and help me set up my late husband’s computer so that I could work on that.
Were my files backed up? Mostly, but I may have lost my address book, my datebook, my checkbook records and my online bookmarks.
In the end, I’ve drawn the only possible conclusion: a woman’s best friend is definitely not her computer.
It’s her dog.
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