Last year at this time, little Black Bean, the little dog who died protecting its owner from aggressive dogs, is still remembered.
I'm someone who loves dogs to the bone, a love that surpasses even my own kind in many ways. I often feel that all betrayal can bring a person to their demise, while dogs remain steadfastly loyal to their owners.
I've lost count of how many dogs I've owned over the years, but these fleeting passersby in my life leave a profound impression, so much so that I can still remember fragments of their images even years after they've passed away. However, it's often difficult to fully understand how they vanished, but it's undeniable that they didn't simply die of old age; rather, they disappeared mysteriously, sometimes stolen by unscrupulous dog traders, particularly during the winter nights when people indulged in dog meat and spicy wine. Several dogs were lost during the summer, often disappearing right under my eyes – one of them, a yellow-skinned dog named Huang Pi, simply vanished after my mother scolded him briefly.
My purpose in owning dogs is simply to love them, not to raise them solely for slaughter or sale. Before the age of thirty, I'd eaten dog meat a few times, but after thirty, I stopped completely, and I deeply regretted my past transgressions. Given my love for them, why would I consume their flesh? It goes against the very nature of humanity. From then on, I vowed never to touch the blood of dog meat or the stimulating effects of spicy wine. Only by observing dogs with genuine kindness can one truly grasp their essence of existence.
This piece was written by one of my former dogs, named Dou Dou. Last year at this time, it was Dou Dou's anniversary. He died after being bitten by a fierce dog while protecting me.
