A Dog`s Biography

By Olivera Olja Jelkić

"NATURE has its laws. 

DOG has its mood and habits.

MAN would create after his own measure. 

MEASURE OF FREEDOM is reflected in mutual respect."

"NATURE has its laws. 

DOG has its mood and habits.

MAN would create after his own measure. 

MEASURE OF FREEDOM is reflected in mutual respe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9789361729980

Book preview

A Dog`s Biography

Olivera Olja Jelkić

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2023

Content Copyright © Olivera Olja Jelkić

Cover Illustration by Maja Milinić Bogdanović

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

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Contents

Part 1 - Eighth

Eighth

Eagle

The First Hunt

Moving Day

Gabrrriel

Squirrely

Mother

Hunters

Part 2 - Lucky

Lucky

Captivity

The Beating

Poop

An Old Pal

Redundant

Guests

Part 3 - Felix

Posh

A House In The Clouds

The Parrot Cira

At The Groomer’s

A Little Suit

A Cat

Goldy

The Exhibition Of Dogs  Of All Breeds

Stray Dogs

Gabriel Gavranovich The Mustachioed

Fire

Part 4 - A Stray

A Stray

My Bitch

The Hamburger

Hope

About the Author

Part 1 - Eighth

Eighth

I

remember, I remember every moment of my childhood. My mother was a bitch called Yellow. She gave birth to me in a field, in a hole, which she carefully prepared for the event. The hole was well tucked in behind some shrubbery and weeds, next to an old fence, where there used to be a farm.

When my mother gave birth to me, I was the eighth in a row, the smallest and the last of all. She named me Eighth. That’s how she named and told us apart. As she gave birth to each one, she would lick us. As she would lick each one, we would start to wobble and look for a teat. We still couldn’t see anything, but we would easily find our place on our mother’s warm belly. 

We crawled around the hole and all over our mother, while she was lying on her back, so that we would all be close to milk and so that she could feel all of us. Some of us would slip and squeal, but we would climb quickly and return to our spot. 

She didn’t leave the hole for a couple of days, so that she could keep us warm and fed. When we got a little bit stronger and started to sniff and lick each other, mother got up. She let out a gentle sound. We understood everything she wanted to say to us. We didn’t need to learn the language we could communicate with. We were born with it. 

The first time mother went hunting was so that she would have more milk. We understood that we were staying alone in the hole and that we had to be quiet, until she came back, so that some predator wouldn’t find us. 

We still squealed when we were left alone. We piled up on top of each other. That’s how we felt more protected. We would push into the pile until we fell asleep. 

Our mother would wake us up when she returned, and then she would lie, placing her body around us so that all eight of us could easily find a teat on her belly. We rolled around, so that we could seize a better spot. What we didn’t know was that all the spots were the same. The one beside you would always seem better, more plentiful and sweet-smelling. Occasionally, mother would only help me climb onto her belly with her paw, because I was the smallest and the weakest one. When she licked me, I thought I was her favorite. When she licked the others, I would push under her long and wet tongue. 

I was very happy. Actually, I wasn’t aware that I was happy. I simply took it all for granted: warmth, love, milk, and playing around with other puppies. And what more could someone like me need to be happy. 

When we grew up a bit and were able to see, we started getting out of the hole. Mother warned us that the world was full of danger. We heard all those warnings, but we were so young that we could not even imagine all the things that could pose danger, because our entire world was the hole and the shrubbery around it. Each shrub seemed a tree to us, and the old fence next to our home was a wall insurmountable in strength and height, but that’s why it was the biggest challenge. It was not long before we noticed that some of the boards were separated because they were worn out, and that through those cracks, some new lands, absolutely amazing and enticing could be seen. 

As we grew up, we became more playful. As the sun rose in the sky and drove away the dark, we would wake up, stretch and grab our spot on mother’s belly, so that we could all get our portion of warm milk. 

As soon as we were fed, we would start on an adventure. Each day we would cover more and more territory. Mother watched us in her way and called us if we went too far in our mischief. When we heard our mother’s voice, we ran back to our hole as fast as we could, knowing it was the best option.

Sometimes mother would lie on her side, and we would lie on her soft yellow fur. Then she would tell us stories of long ago. 

We listened attentively and happily. 

First, she would tell us about our great, great grandfather, who was a wolf, an actual grey wolf. He had two sons. When they grew up, the first one said:

- The woods are my home. I am going to rule over the woods and hang out with the Moon. 

And so it happened. And the other one said:

- You stay in the woods. You never needed anyone else but yourself. I wish you all the happiness. I am going to go into the world. There is life outside the woods, too. 

He went near settlements and people. They never met again, though they remained brothers.

Our ancestor was the one who approached people. 

So, our great, great grandfather was a global traveler. His brother, grumpy, stayed in the woods and is still there. He doesn’t hang out with anyone. As alone as a leper. He remains a symbol of loneliness, distrust, but not strength. He wanders the woods, meadows, and says hello to the Moon. He isn’t afraid of anyone. He doesn’t mind snow, nor wind, nor the sun. He hunts alone. He eats what he catches. If he catches more, he eats what he can. The rest he gives to birds. In that way, he and birds live in mutual respect. I can’t tell you what he knew of love, because I don’t know. But, that he knows the rules Nature laid out – he does. 

When I think about him, I feel proud of both him and his courage, but also the principles he lived by. However, the thing I am most proud of is his freedom. It is precisely the freedom he designed for himself which is the concept of freedom. The freedom above all freedoms, limited only by your own desires and capabilities. 

During one harsh winter, when there was no food, my grandfather, choosing between survival and going near, was forced by circumstances to go near people, whose surroundings boasted a lot more prey than there was in the woods. For a long period of time, he lived near man.

They would fight whenever my grandfather caught something. Man considered it his, while grandfather believed that all the prey belongs to the hunter according to the laws of Nature. The conflict hasn’t been solved till the present day. 

Man fences, encloses, appropriates, files. And we only act in the way Nature created us. We hunt. Someone is a hunter, and someone is the prey. It has always been that way. And most often, you are