Tipu's Tiger Was a Dog

I often lie flat on my back on the floor of the living room after a run, exhausted and sore. This is Emma’s cue. She comes running from wherever she is in the house to thoroughly lick my face. Whining in pleasure at the easy access, she works over every inch, inserting her tongue deep in each nostril, lapping my closed eyes and mouth, exploring my ears.

When I blow a raspberry, she jumps back startled, eyes wide and ears pointing straight up in shock, and then she resumes licking with renewed vigor as if to say, “Stop goofing around, this is serious stuff.” Finally satisfied, she flops down on the floor next to me with a big sigh and we both lie there for a bit. I absent-mindedly scritch her side and breathe in her doggy scent, yeasty and warm. Then I press my nose to her toes because they smell like Fritos.

Standing in front of this automaton, my family all agreed that Tipu’s tiger was giving the British soldier a good face lick. The resigned and slightly alarmed expression on the soldier’s face was familiar to me. Most likely, a tongue had just been inserted into the nose. The complete delight and focus on the tiger’s face was also familiar. Perhaps some leftover lunch had been discovered on the soldier’s face, a bit of salted pork or a speck of boiled beef, an unexpected bonus.