Dialogue: Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to lead a dog's life

If you despise sentimentality, read no further. If you sneer at anthropomorphism, the following is not for you. If you consider animals to be of no moral interest, go to the editorial to find serious news of serious matters.

Don't bother to write to the management. You have been warned.

This is a true story but it's just the story of a dog. It's as mawkish as Disney.

Zeek was born on a farm and was destined for life as a sheepdog but he was sent away because he was scared of sheep. He went to live at an orchard where he spent his time chasing rabbits, of which he was not at all scared.

One day he disappeared. When the owners found him he was a mess. Though he showed no sign of injury, he was blind and he couldn't stand. It seemed that he had been poisoned. Effectively he was a dead dog.

Most people would have taken him to the vet to be put down but Zeek's owners took him to the vet to be cured. The vet failed to cure him so the owners brought him home to do it themselves.

That was three years ago. Today Zeek is no longer blind. When I arrived at the orchard this afternoon, he was lying at the back door in late winter sunshine, and though he had never seen me before, my arrival clearly pleased him.

Most dogs are like that, whatever the propagandists may say. Dogs delight in novelty, be it of people or places. At the same time, they delight in familiarity. It seems a sensible way to be happy.

Zeek stood up. It took a while. He swivelled on his rump a bit before finally he made it, then his back legs slid and he collapsed again. But as he struggled back up, his muzzle and ears told a story of excited happiness.

Finally he gained his feet and fussed around his owner and me. When we set off towards the orchard, Zeek bumbled along in front of us, like an affable stage drunk. His skittery rear legs often veered south-west while his head aimed north. His spine writhed.

When he greeted another dog, he fell on his side. Zeek falls often because his legs betray him. He can't jump. His owners have had to replace some steps in the garden with a little brick ramp.

We crossed a bridge over a creek. Zeek knew he couldn't climb the steps on to the bridge so he staggered along the bank at his highest speed to the next bridge, a flatter affair, then staggered back along the far bank.

When he rejoined us his joy was unconfined. He squirmed and whined and collapsed several times and revelled in praise.

At first I didn't like to look at Zeek. The suffering of animals distresses me more than the suffering of people. I don't pretend that's admirable but it's how it is.

But Zeek was not in pain. It was just that something had gone wrong with his coordination.

Perhaps it was poison, perhaps concussion from hitting a car or a fence, but whatever the cause the result is that messages from mission control get distorted as they travel down his spine. They emerge as impulses of gibberish which make his back legs totter.

Nevertheless, such happiness as is within reach he seizes with all paws and he seems not to see or regret what is beyond his reach. His world has shrunk to what he can manage and he finds it a fine, exciting world.

Of course I shouldn't call Zeek Zeek. I should call him the dog. And I shouldn't call him him. I should call him it. But I won't.

Once I knew that Zeek didn't suffer, my distress turned to a form of admiration. For Zeek, who is comic to watch and deeply affectionate and grateful for all attention and who takes the pleasures of the present as a surprise and delight, seems happier than any person I have met this year.

Self-pity is not part of his emotional vocabulary, nor envy, nor regret, nor vengeance, nor any sense of grievance. But affection is, and gratitude and excitement.

And though he may very well be terrified of sheep, he shows a courage and resilience that I can only dream of.

Not, of course, that Zeek knows anything of his virtues. He has no image of himself nor any choice in how he behaves. Zeek acts merely by instinct.

That's all. Just a dog - and a crippled one at that. Sorry. It wasn't worth reading. Turn swiftly to the happy news of people.