Dog Cafe

It feels fitting that “Baby Come Back” is playing over the speaker as I begin to write this piece in Bamboo Surf Cafe. Because my heart longs for the dogs, whose presence is as essential to preserving the vibe of this place as the wallpaper that lines the interior. And by “wallpaper”, I mean bamboo trunks, bamboo fans, and the windows that extend from the floor to the ceiling to let the day’s light in. FROM THE WINDOW TO THE WALL!!! Anyways… at present, there are no dogs hanging out in the cafe. This feels irregular, as it hasn’t been my usual experience, as one of the cafe’s regulars. Seeing as it’s an especially hot day here on the island and the pups rock their coats year-round, I imagine they’ve gone to take refuge in the ocean. Or maybe they’ve gone to chill under a palm tree’s shade. After all, the beach is only steps away. So, if I were one of these dogs, I wouldn’t feel constrained to living my life solely in a place that served lattes. I would roam freely. I would move with ease. An effortless, limitless existence. I’d stroll into the cafe when I got hungry. I’d tune up my whimpers to drown out the growling of my tummy. I’d load up the heaviness of my most-lovable eyes when the weight of my desires asked to be lifted. I would saunter into the cafe as I stalked my prey. Like a heat love-seeking missile, I’d lock on to a compassionate-looking traveler. Someone who appears to be on a solo journey of discovery. Someone who looks like they could use a friend. I’d know that I could be their companion. I’d make the offer to be the object of their love. Because I’d know and they’d know, deep-down, that they don’t really need another’s love. What they really need is to share their love with another. They need this because, however their pain is presently manifesting, be it anxiety, depression, or an unexamined, thus non-descript, suffering, their pain would request that they make this love offering. Their pain would ask it, just to reinforce the knowledge that they are, indeed, capable of it. So, I, as a dog in the cafe, would head their way. I would play my most essential part in this grand dance of the Universe. I would offer up the lil spot behind my ears, that sacred place that is simply unreachable by my own jaw and paws. The spot that relies upon the goodwill of a stranger to get a good scratchin’ up there. My invitation to receive this stranger’s giving would undoubtedly be met, at first, with reluctance. Their initial reaction would be to preserve the story of their misery. The espresso-sipper’s ego would ask that they continue to sit in their suffering, sulking into the couch, slumping into their chair, wrapped in their beach towel of despair. But this, this would be my time to shine. In this precise instance, I’d light the fire of my persistence. I’d sit there, undeterred, unrelenting, welcoming this confusion-ridden cafe-goer to get rid of all the residual itches that have planted their seed in the soil of that fertile plot of acreage resting just-out-of-reach behind my perked-up hearing-receivers. I’d double down on my humble offering with a subtle whimper. Enough to capture their attention, but not enough to disrupt their narrative. They can continue to inhabit their shame-filled story if they so choose. I will not go so far as to impose. Their free will is theirs to own. My role is to merely offer them another option. An option to choose love. The choice to share love with one of their fellow companions. Inherent in my offering to them is the offer to give them a sense of purpose. A momentary remembrance of their critical significance. Granted, a seemingly insignificant moment. But, one that also carries a profound sense of purpose. A just-in-this-moment, just-in-time remembrance that they, too, have something to contribute to this grand dance of the Universe. As they’d teeter on the edge of a belief in the meaninglessness of their God-forsaken existence, I would be their reminder that I need them here. As the banana-bread eater would be stuffed with questions like, “Is this life worth living anymore? Was it ever worth living in the first place? I mean, my word, will I always be this exhausted? When will I be done climbing the mountain of this experience? When will I finally deserve peace? Where is peace to be found on this Earth? Can a peaceful rest only be found in death? Do I have anything left to give? How can I summon the courage to carry on? Will I always be this exhausted? Why is my life so meaningless?” I would walk on stage at that exact moment. I would saunter on to the scene, tail waggin’, ears in need of a scratchin’. I’d announce my presence with one of my signature whimpers. It wouldn’t be one of those annoyingly-entitled “Rawr rawr RUFF!”, but one of those whimpers that softly cries out, “I just want to be loved.” If that doesn’t work, then I’ll put into action my final act of seduction. It tends to work on you humans with absolute perfection. My eyes will meet the gaze of this patron. My eyes signaling to them that I long for nothing more than to stare into the blacks of their pupils forever. What used to be a melancholy morning for this sad human will be transformed into a joyous meeting of two beings locked into a word-less conversation.  My look will be my form of expression. My unspoken contribution, “I want to ease the pain of your soul. To let you know that you’re not alone. To remind you that you matter in this life. To remind you that I need you here. Otherwise, who’s gonna scratch behind my ears?” This will typically work. Following this stare, love will tend to be shared. But, in the event that it isn’t, I will remain steadfast in my convictions. Sometimes the pain is too deep to allow the light of love to burst through the barriers. Sometimes my companion is wrapped far too tight in their beach towel of misery. If this happens, then I will lean on my penchant for patience and propensity for persistence. The profundity of my action will be this: I’ll simply stay sittin’. Sittin’ & starin’. My presence, again, speechlessly communicatin’: “I’m here to remind you of your Wholeness. The perfection that you were born with. I’m here to remind you that freedom waits for you just outside these cafe doors. I come here, sending you my most important of invitations and patiently awaiting your RSVP, to remind you that you don’t have to stay. You don’t have to stay sat in your same spot on the couch, encased in your misery, in this place that serves cappuccinos and matcha lattes. You’re free to go run on the beach. Free to go jump in the ocean. You’re free to read, write, converse, think, or do whatever it is that you do on those black-mirrored bricks that are always gripped by your hands or stored in your pockets under the shade of a palm tree. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to stay in one place. But, while we’re both here, do you mind giving me a scratch behind the ears or a piece of crepe off your plate?”This is what I would communicate to them, non-verbally, of course, because I’m a puppy. I wouldn’t need to speak to you in English or Tagalog for you to know what I meant. Because I’d also be here to remind you that we speak the same language. The Universal Language. The one that doesn’t rely on words. The one that’s spoken through smiles and stares. Tail wagging. Belly rubbing. Belly laughing. Eyes crying. A drive-by brush against your leg would show you everything I would ever hope to tell you. “I want you to be here with me. I want you here. I need you here. I need you to scratch behind my ears. If you give to me, it’ll be a gift to yourself, so I’ll happily be the recipient of your generosity. I’ll happily be your reminder amidst your lapse in memory.” That’s what I’d most likely say if I were one of the dogs in the cafe. Two of the pups returned as I was writing this piece, sitting on this lil couch, enveloped not in misery, but in joy. Joy because I was in conversation with a force greater than me. I was on the receiving end of love from the Source. It started as a subtle scratch behind my ears. Two words — “Dog Cafe” — whispered into my awareness. When were these seeds planted in the fertile soil of my subconscious? I don’t know. But, in heeding the call to begin writing, what followed was a profound realization of purpose: “I have something to give. I have something to give… at least in this moment.” This gift of inspiration made no promises of future contributions. Because it never does. It only shows up when it’s really needed. But, while it’s here, it serves as a faint reminder of all those things that I’d forgotten before. It gives a brief glimpse of the truths buried within the Universal Language. Two of the pups returned as I was writing this piece, but now, they’re gone again. Their duty was done. Their message fully communicated. Now, they were free to return to the peace of the beach, the energy of the ocean, and the shade of the palm trees. I’m tempted to belt out “Baby Come Back”, but that song already played. And I trust that the puppers will come back eventually. They’ll come back when they’re hungry. They’ll return when they need a scratch behind the ears. They’ll reappear when they sense that I, once again, need that all-important reminder.