人犬情未了
My dog Coffee is a little black-and-brown Australian terrier. He’s not a particularly bright or obedient dog. He’s not even especially loyal. He comes when I call him only if he feels like it or if I have food in my hand. He confuses every command I give him and has no inkling when I’l upset or injured, so there would be no chance of him ever rescuing me from a perilous situation like the smart dogs you often read about.
But I’l the first to admit that a big part of the problem with Coffee’s attitude is his upbringing: he’s spoilt rotten. My dad is the biggest culprit. While Dad can instil fear in my sister and me just by the tone of his voice, I have never heard him raise his voice at Coffee — no matter how naughty he is. In fact, one look from Coffee at the biscuit tin is enough to send my dad flying to get him a snack. Whenever we protest about the unfair treatment, a guilty smirk creeps across Dad’s face. It’s become a long-standing family joke that Coffee is the closest thing to a son Dad will ever have.
Then, five years ago, our lives were turned upside down when Dad suffered two major strokes in the space of a month, caused by a massive brain haemorrhage. At the time he was in Hong Kong on business and, luckily, my Mum and sister were with him. I was in Melbourne, studying at university, but left Coffee with a relative and hopped on the first plane as soon as I heard the news.
Unfortunately, the prognosis wasn’t good and the doctors told us that, most likely, Dad would not pull through. For four long months it was touch and go as he remained unconscious in intensive care. Mentally he was non-responsive. However, physically he was still able to move and would frequently thrash about trying to pull out the vital tubes that were keeping him alive. Within a 30-minute period, he would make an average of five attempts. His movements were often swift and strong and we had to take turns standing by his bedside, on guard, to protect him. We were exhausted after every “shift” but grateful, despite the doctor’s warning, that he was still alive.
As the months went by, I started to miss Coffee terribly. I couldn’t help but talk about him constantly, often recalling the silly little things he would do. Although this no doubt irritated the other visitors, Mum and my sister enjoyed the light relief immensely and any Coffee stories would always make them laugh. In fact, it was the only way we kept up our spirits during those tense four months, and the intensive care nurses often commented that we were the happiest family in one of the most serious situations they’ve ever seen.
In time, we became able to assist the nurses in conducting their routine check-ups on Dad. One way of testing whether there was any improvement in his mental state was to ask basic questions that would generate yes or no answers from him.“Is your name Francis?” “Are you a man?” “Do you know where you are?” These were some of the questions we would ask him daily. Sadly, we never got the answers we were hoping for.
Then one day, as I was reeling off the standard list of questions, my mind started to wander and, before I knew it, I was thinking about Coffee again. Without even realising it, I blurted out: “Is Coffee a tiger?” Thinking I was being silly, Mum turned to tell me off but stopped suddenly when she saw Dad move: slowly, the corner of his mouth began to turn up. Even under the tape that kept the oxygen tube in his mouth, it was unmistakable: he was smiling. It was the first sign in four months that Dad had showed any awareness of what we were saying.
After that, Dad’s condition stabilised and he was moved out of intensive care. However, there was still a long, hard road ahead. Over the next nine months, Dad had to go through extensive physiotherapy to relearn all the basic things we take for granted. Even sitting up for longer than five minutes was difficult for him. Dad, who was a fiercely independent man with a successful career before all this happened, found it increasingly frustrating and degrading. The only thing that ever bought a smile to his face was talk of Coffee.
Somehow, Coffee wriggled his way into most of our conversations.
I would remind him of how Coffee, for some reason, hates walking on grass. We had a massive backyard in Melbourne and every time we threw a ball, Coffee would run along the edge of the garden, on the brick pavers, to the closest point where the ball had landed, tip-toe onto the grass to pick it up, then run back along the pavers again.
When Mum, my sister and I would massage Dad’s arms and legs to prevent his muscles from weakening, Mum would often comment that he was the luckiest man alive to have three women massaging him, and I would always chime in:“Now all you need is Coffee to give you a ‘lick-lick’foot massage!” No matter how many times I repeated this comment, the whole family would laugh.
It took almost a full year of extensive physiotherapy and rehabilitation before Dad was finally well enough to return home to Australia —and it was a homecoming I’ll never forget. Naturally, Coffee was there waiting for Dad and, with no idea that he wasn’t as steady on his feet as before, Coffee promptly launched himself into Dad’s arms, almost bowling him over. But Dad didn’t seem to mind one bit: the smile on his face was the most beautiful I’ve ever seen and the tears in his eyes said it all.
It seems unbelievable now to look back and realise that, during the worst crisis my family ever faced, it was humorous stories about a silly little dog which kept us all sane, but that’s the truth. It’s not just smart dogs that save the day—Coffee is living proof of that.
我的小狗名字叫“咖啡”，是一隻黑棕相間的澳洲狗。它算不上特別聰明，也不怎麽聽話，甚至對我們也不是特別忠心。隻有它樂意的時候，或是我手裏拿著食物的時候，它才會聽到我叫它後跑過來。它從來不會準確理解我的意思，我不高興或受傷的時候，它也絲毫沒有察覺。因此，你經常聽說的那些聰明的小狗的故事，從來不會發生在它身上，它根本不可能在危急時刻拯救我。
但是，我不得不承認咖啡養成這個毛病在很大程度上要歸結於它的成長經曆：它被寵壞了，而父親就是“罪魁禍首”。盡管父親會提高嗓門說話讓我和妹妹感到害怕，但是，無論咖啡有多淘氣，我從來沒聽到他對咖啡大喊大叫過。事實上，隻要咖啡朝餅幹盒子看一眼，父親立馬就會給它拿餅幹。我們抗議這種不公平待遇的時候，父親臉上總會心虛地傻笑。很長時間以來，我們都開玩笑說如果父親有兒子的話，咖啡是最合適不過了。
五年以前，我們的生活發生了翻天覆地的變化。僅一個月的工夫，父親就遭遇了兩次腦溢血的重創。那時他正在香港出差，不過所幸母親和妹妹陪在他身邊。我當時正在墨爾本念大學，一得到消息，我就把咖啡委托給一位親戚照看，登上第一班飛往香港的飛機。
非常不幸，父親的病情預後不樂觀，醫生通知我們，父親很可能無法康複。在四個月漫長的時間裏，父親毫無知覺，一直在接受重症護理，病情一觸即發、十分危險。盡管父親精神上沒什麽反應，但是他的身體卻能動，他經常會掙紮著試圖拔掉那些維係他生命的管子。僅半小時之內，他平均就會作出五次這樣的努力。他的動作迅速有力，這樣，我們不得不輪流站在他的床邊守護他。盡管每次“輪崗”之後我們都很疲憊，但是，我們卻很高興，因為父親還活著，雖然醫生已經做出了那樣的診斷。
幾個月過去了，我開始瘋狂地想念咖啡。我會忍不住經常談到咖啡，回想起它做的那些蠢事。無疑這會使其他的探訪者感到厭煩，但是母親和妹妹卻非常喜歡這短暫的放鬆，任何關於咖啡的故事都會逗得她們捧腹大笑。事實上，這是我們在那艱難的四個月裏，保持良好精神狀態的惟一方法。重病護理中心的護士常說我們是她們所見過的在最糟糕的環境中卻最樂觀的一個家庭。
經過一段時間以後，我們還能協助護士給父親做常規檢查。測試父親精神狀態是否有所改善的一種方法是問一些基本的問題，能用“是”或“不是”回答。例如：“你是叫弗朗西斯嗎？”“你是男性嗎？”“你知道你在哪裏嗎？”這些是我們每天都要問的一些問題。但是結果很讓人沮喪，我們從來沒有聽到過我們想要的答案。
後來有一天，在不斷地重複問那些例行的問題時，我走神了，在我意識到這一點之前，我一直都在想念咖啡。甚至在我還沒有意識到這點時我就脫口而出：“咖啡是隻老虎嗎？”母親覺得我這樣很傻，轉過身來正要數落我，卻突然停住了，因為她看到父親動了，父親的嘴角開始慢慢地在動。雖然間隔著將輸氧管固定在父親口中的膠帶，但是我們絕對不會看錯：父親在微笑！這是四個月以來，父親對我們的談話第一次做出反應。
後來，父親的狀況開始穩定下來，他搬出了重症護理中心。但是，前麵的路依然特別漫長，特別艱難。隨後的九個月裏，父親不得不接受全麵物理治療來重新學習所有我們認為是輕而易舉的事情。對父親來說，持續坐五分鍾以上都是一件非常困難的事情。發病之前，父親是一位成功人士，非常獨立。但是現在，他覺得這些讓他灰心失望、倍感受挫。惟一能夠讓他露出一絲微笑的事情就是跟他談論咖啡。
不知怎的，咖啡就這樣悄悄成為了我們談論的主題。
我會提醒父親咖啡是怎樣不喜歡在草地上走。我們在墨爾本有個大院子，每次我們扔完球，咖啡就會沿著園子邊緣的磚路跑向最接近球的那個位置，然後輕手輕腳地踏著草坪去撿球，最後又跑回到磚路上。
母親、妹妹和我按摩父親的胳膊和腿來防止他的肌肉萎縮時，媽媽經常會說父親有三個女人為他按摩，因此他是世上最幸運的男人。這時，我總會插一句：“現在你所需要的就是咖啡來舔你的腳，來一個腳部按摩！”無論我重複說過多少遍，我們全家都會捧腹大笑。
父親能回澳洲之前，差不多接受了整整一年的全麵物理治療和康複練習，那次回家的情形讓我終生難忘。咖啡自然是在那兒等待父親，但是，咖啡不知道父親已經不如以前站得穩當了。一看到父親，它就迅速跳入父親的懷抱，這幾乎把父親撞倒。父親似乎並不介意這些：他臉上的微笑是我所見過的最燦爛的笑容，他眼眶裏的淚水表達了他所有的感情。
如今，回想起來簡直是不可思議，在我家最艱難的時刻，居然是一隻笨小狗的滑稽故事使大家免於精神崩潰。但是，這就是事實。並不是隻有聰明的狗才能拯救主人，咖啡就是一個活生生的例子。