The Miraculous Death and Rebirth of Gita

In a little house in a little town outside of a little city in a little country in a forgotten part of the world there lives two dogs – one good, Gita, one bad, Tuzik -- two cats – one good, Marquiza, one bad, Bagheera-- and 20 chickens – half sick, no names, they’re chickens after all. And one night at this little house there is a party and all the family comes from miles around to say “Happy Birthday” to Big Sister and bring her gifts. But the animals are not invited to the party and they sit outside the door, looking in at the family. And the chickens begin to cluck to themselves. And the cats begin to meow. And the dogs begin to bark. But the family does not pay attention and continue to eat their cake and sheep liver and don’t see the animals are unhappy. The dogs chase the cats and the cats chase the chickens and the chickens chase themselves (they’re chickens after all) and they run round and round until the air is full of cycloning fur and feathers. And the family eats on, oblivious to the building chaos until there is a knock at the gate. A stranger has arrived, a stranger with a car. The family spills out of the house, yelling at the dogs to stop (the good dog, Gita, stops, the bad dog, Tuzik, does not) and the cats to go away (the good cat, Marquiza, runs away, the bad cat, Bagheera, stays crouched by the gate) and the chickens to settle (they ran away, they’re chickens after all).

The gate is spread wide and the car drives in to the yard, bright and shiny and the family gathers to pet its shiny hood and look inside at its gleaming whistles. All new, the stranger says. And the family crouches to look beneath at its metal workings and rolls down the windows to breath in its already cigarette-saturated smell. And the gate stands open to the wide world, a gaping hole in the animals’ previously so small world. The little house is suddenly not so little, but now includes a street, two trees, and lights shimmering out of the darkness promising new worlds, possibly better worlds, bigger worlds.

Bagheera runs out into the night, with Tuzik close behind, barking like mad. Now, everyone knows a bad cat and a bad dog will act bad, it is in their natures after all, but what about the good dog? Gita is a good dog, small and white and quiet. She never barks. She never growls. She is fond of children and had her own puppies two times (all born dead, their father was also their uncle, after all). She never fights for food and would let Tuzik take all the hand-outs if the family didn’t place it directly in front of her and shoo Tuzik away. She runs on only three legs and will roll over and cover her head when she hears shouting. She was born a runt in her pack and was fed with a rag and bottle from the time she fit in Big Sister’s hand. She is a beloved and welcomed part of the family. But even a good dog is a dog after all. Bagheera runs out into the night with Tuzik fast on his heels, and Gita follows, a quiet white shadow following her chaos-loving companions. A screech of tires and a Russian curse and Big Sister and Little Sister see two still shadows in the darkness beside the road. Tuzik whines and paws at one of the still shapes on the ground and then runs back into the gate. The big world is a scary place, where friends don’t get up to play. Bagheera slowly rises and follows Tuzik back, hiding beneath the wheel of the shiny white car, bad dog and bad cat unscathed by their mad-cap adventure. But one form remains still. Gita.

Late into the night Little Sister and Big Sister sit with Gita. In the night she rises once, and then falls over. Her legs kick and she paws the ground, but swelling beneath her legs and whites around her eyes show there is more damage than meets the eye. At 1:00AM her legs stop their kicking and she stops pawing the ground. She doesn’t rise.

For two days and two nights the family stands vigil. Big Sister cries and blames Little Sister for not closing the gate. Little Sister cries and blames God for taking their beloved dog from them. Tuzik sits in corners, his face in his paws, his nose occasionally sniffing the air for a friend who is not returning. The cats can not be found, expressing their grief in the same form they express joy and friendship – grudging slinking in corners and eyeing the chickens. The chickens remain unmoved, but they’re chickens after all.

On the third day an apparition appears in the yard of the house. Gita has returned! But wait, no it isn’t. This dog is a good dog, like Gita, small and white and quiet. She never barks. She never growls. She is fond of children, but has never had puppies of her own. She never fights for food and will let Tuzik take all the hand-outs if the family doesn’t place it directly in front of her and shoo Tuzik away. She runs on all her legs, but will roll over and cover her head when she hears shouting. Her ears are slightly longer, her eyes slightly wider and blacker, her ribs slightly narrower. She is slightly less neurotic. She is a different dog. And what is her name? Gita.

It’s a miracle! An almost-Halloween miracle! And how did this miracle occur, you ask? Grandmother heard Big Sister and Little Sister were crying about their poor dog, white and small and quiet, and she looked around the neighborhood and found a new one. Where exactly did she find this dog, so miraculously similar to their old one? You know, around. But this dog is so clean and affectionate and accustomed to people, it couldn’t have come from the streets. Oh no, it definitely didn’t come from the streets, it came from a family. And did the family know it was part of this great miracle to make Big Sister and Little Sister happy? No, not really. The dog was a donation of sorts, the kind of donation that people make when they lose something they didn’t mean to lose and are not getting back. So what was the dog’s name originally, when it was well beloved by someone else? Who knows? It’s just a dog, after all, one is the same as any other. And the chickens cluck to themselves, see? It’s not just us who are disposable and replaceable around here.