A lady is leaning over the dog, and in all likelihood, she is inviting it to contemplate the sunset, to marvel at the shades of red that have ignited the sky and sea.

From a distance, I imagine that the lady is whispering to the dog, as if afraid that her voice might disturb the magic of this moment. Her whisper conveys both intimacy and a desire to feel as close as possible to her companion.

But in this case, the "other" is a dog—some of my friends would say with bitter cynicism.

What harm is there in imagining the dog as a companion, bonding with it not only by serving and feeding it, but also by cultivating feelings of compassion and love? Moreover, the desire to not experience a beautiful moment alone, but to share it with another, to invite them to be just as happy as you are, is, ultimately, an effort—however modest—to make the world better and more beautiful.

While I admire the lady, I notice that the dog is not looking at the sunset, but at something to the left. This reminds me that a dog's gaze differs from that of a human. A dog can distinguish deep blue and yellow shades, but cannot perceive the shades of red so prominent in this sunset. Moreover, a dog's eye is more inclined to detect movement, especially peripheral movements, rather than capturing the calmness of nature and color gradients.

"How to Be Animal?" is the book I am reading these days, written by Melanie Challenger.

A book that intrigues me even more than its title. The book's a whole long thing—I'm saving that story for later. Maybe I'll write a review once I finish it.