Dogs

When I look out of the window in my studio in Hamburg, my gaze falls on an urban dog park. If I didn’t have so much work to do, I could spend whole days watching the dogs jumping around and sniffing each other. 

They are typical city dogs, most are tiny: pinschers, chihuahuas, pugs, dachshunds. They live in apartments, and when they’re outside, they’re not allowed to run without a leash. The sight of dogs like these, tied up, waiting outside a supermarket, makes my heart beat in sympathy. Sympathy with the prisoner. This penned-in-by-four-walls existence is emphatically not suitable for dogs. 

To be able to make at least a few leaps and bounds is an elementary need, even for lapdogs. I see how much spirit they have when they romp with each other in this limited space under my studio window and how they relish being able to move freely. Their sheer joy and eagerness when their humans throw sticks and balls for them knows no bounds. Then there are the attractive potential partners. As far as that goes, the dog park reminds me of a gigantic casting. Except that with dogs, it’s not the appearance that counts, but the smell. 

I grew up with dogs, cats and pigs, and had a close relationship with animals, closer than with many of the people around me. That came much later. I still feel a great affection for animals. A domestic cat still has the freedom to run around and catch mice. The wolf hunts for a sheep. For the dog this freedom is over. He is dependent on humans since he no longer has to look for his food independently. In exchange for this dependence, ideally he receives our affection.

Extract from
Walter Schels. Hundstage
Modularer Werkkatalog Band 05
German/English