Bodhisattva

Run. Run. Run.

My breath is panting and my tongue is lolling out. My paws strike the ground as I bound forward.

I can see the darting shape ahead. It tugs at something in my chest, deeper than my pounding heart and more painfully than my straining lungs. I must chase, I must follow, I must run.

Run. Run. Run.

Around me, the pack surges ahead. They are my family. And my competition. I push myself harder, I strain for more speed. The lure is just ahead. Closer than ever before.

Just ahead.

I catch it in my jaws, tackle it, drag it down to the ground.

I know instinctively how this moment should feel. There should be elation, the soft suede feeling of fur on my tongue. I should taste salty blood and feel the crunch of bone between my teeth. I am already salivating in anticipation.

But instead my teeth rip through fabric that tastes like the blanket my master uses to rub the sweat from my body after a hard day of training. My teeth tear out the insides and my tongue is covered in disgusting, synthetic fuzz. I whine and back away, shaking my head as my companions close in, yelping and tugging at our prey like a new chew toy.

I spit and drool, trying to get the flavor out of my mouth.

The masters close in, shoving my packmates aside and yammering among themselves. They gather up the scattered pieces of our kill and drag us away by our collars.

The next day, my master takes me and my running mates to the track.

When the gates clang open and the rabbit screeches away, my pack can’t help themselves.

Run! shouts the voice inside. Chase!

And off they sprint.

Run! my body urges. Run! Run! Run!

But, while the craving is there, I know too much to chase. Instead, I sit and stare up at the sky. Apathy is all I can summon. There must be something more than this. But what? What do we do, when we reach the end of the hunt and find out that the rabbit is fake?

And then it dawns on me.

My pack is still tricked, still trapped. And they will be, until they know everything I do. Until they, too, have pounced on their prize at the end of a successful hunt and tasted only plastic innards and stuffed entrails.

So, the next time the gates clang open I spring forth among them. I’m no longer running after the rabbit. I’m running with my family, running harder than ever, hoping that my pace will inspire them to greater speed. Hoping that, one day, they will be fast enough to catch the rabbit and come to the same realization that struck me.

Run, I urge them silently.

Run. Run. Run.