數(shù)萬年前，在人類漫長的進(jìn)化過程中，狗決定放棄大自然，讓項(xiàng)圈束縛住自己，丟失了自己的狼性，陪伴在人類左右。

Whether or not you spell their name backwards, or consider that they may in fact be the species with nine lives as the number itself is fully spelled out within their very name, dogs (aka: canines) are indeed sublime, perhaps even divine critters.

不管你將它們的名字反著拼(dog——god)，還是根據(jù)它們的物種名字(canine)認(rèn)為它們實(shí)際上有九條命，狗(犬科動(dòng)物)確實(shí)是崇高的，甚至是神圣的動(dòng)物。

As luck would have it, Canis domesticus has for some reason decided to hitch its waggly-tailed wagon to we upright-walking—though hardly upright—schmucks.

幸好，出于某種原因，它們決定被人類馴化，搖擺著尾巴做直立行走(雖然極少品行正直之輩)的愚蠢人類的跟班。

At some point tens of thousands of years ago in the evolution of mankind, dogs decided to throw nature for a loop and lose their lupus tendencies, preferring long walks by our side and dry bones for snacks instead of the loose flesh of our necks as appetizers, as wolfpacks are wont to do.

數(shù)萬年前，在人類漫長的進(jìn)化過程中，狗決定放棄大自然，讓項(xiàng)圈束縛住自己，丟失了自己的狼性，陪伴在人類左右，吃著人類給的骨頭，而不是和群狼一樣，咬斷人類的脖頸，將其當(dāng)作開胃菜。

As for their loyalty to we wayward folk, you may well ask what’s in it for domesticated dogs?

你可能會(huì)問，馴化后的犬類為何會(huì)對(duì)任性的人類忠心耿耿?

I for one have no idea, but having said that, perhaps it’s a good thing they remain speechless – having been stuck with a single-word vocabulary (woof! bow-wow! wan!... pick your patois) since we ditched the trees and hit the savanna standing.

這我不知道，但是不得不說，在我們砍伐森林、破壞熱帶草原的時(shí)候，它們沒法兒說話——只能發(fā)出一個(gè)詞(嗚!嗷嗚!汪!……隨便選個(gè)調(diào)調(diào))也許是一件好事。

What if they were suddenly gifted with intelligible speech, and admitted they were only with us for the free lunch and protection from coyotes?

如果它們突然能夠說話了，承認(rèn)和我們一起只是為了享用免費(fèi)的吃食和免受土狼攻擊的保護(hù)，那該怎么辦?

How depressing.

那這得多叫人郁悶啊。

Let’s see what the ancients have to say.

再讓我們來看看古人是怎么說的。

The Tang Dynasty’s (618–907) leading poetic rivals made a few references to man’s best friend in their copious body of work.

在唐朝(公元618-907)時(shí)期，文人墨客各領(lǐng)風(fēng)騷，揮灑華章無數(shù)，其中部分作品曾提到這位人類最好的朋友。

“A dog’s bark amid the water’s sound; Peach blossom that’s made thicker by the rain…” said Li Bai (701–762) in his Visiting the Taoist Priest Dai Tianshan But Not Finding Him.

“犬吠水聲中，桃花帶雨濃。”李白在(701–762)《訪戴天山道士不遇》中吟詠道。

The mention evokes a sense of longing and melancholia, associated with a common background din that forms an aural construct around our memories.

詩中“犬吠”一詞，與我們記憶中建立了聽覺概念的一種常見的喧鬧背景融在一起，令人讀罷心馳神往，略帶憂傷。

And Du Fu (712-770), in his A Song of War Chariots, perhaps unwittingly revealed that we often take our barking brothers for granted.

而杜甫(712-770)在他的《兵車行》中不經(jīng)意間透露出，我們經(jīng)常把我們的狗兄弟不當(dāng)回事兒。

“Men of China are able to face the stiffest battle; But theirofficers drive them like chickens and dogs.”

“況復(fù)秦兵耐苦戰(zhàn)，被驅(qū)不異犬與雞。”

Moving back to modernity, the staying power of the popular pet is testament to its adaptability.

說回現(xiàn)代，狗狗的忍耐力也證明了它們良好的適應(yīng)性。

Several millennia ago, during the pastoral stage of social organization, dogs were bred for their ability to keep sheep and other vegetarians from running beyond the shepherd’s ken – while eagerly awaiting their “masters” to slaughter these same ruminants and then throw them a bone.

幾千年前，當(dāng)社會(huì)組織還處于畜牧階段的時(shí)候，人們飼養(yǎng)狗是因?yàn)樗麄兡芸词鼐d羊和其他草食動(dòng)物，避免它們跑出牧羊人的視線——同時(shí)，它們也急切地渴望著“主人”去宰殺這些反芻動(dòng)物，然后扔塊骨頭給它們。

As if a loyal pup’s wagging tail and playful pouncing when we arrive home each night isn’t enough to cement their friendship with us forever – let’s not forget that when buildings crumble in quakes or the sightless try and negotiate a busy intersection, it’s not the cats and goldfish that are called to duty.

每天晚上當(dāng)我們回到家時(shí)，忠誠的小狗崽都會(huì)搖著尾巴歡快地?fù)溥^來，如果這還不夠鞏固人犬之間永恒的友誼的話，別忘了，房屋建筑在地震中倒塌，盲人試圖穿過繁忙的十字路口時(shí)，來幫忙的可不是貓和金魚。