Dog
From the moment of dogs birth there were signs that dog wasn't like the rest.
Plucked from the womb of a dying bitch, all but dog dead before their first breath. Dog was special. And the old indian made sure dog stayed that way.
How I first came to know dog was an interesting story. But it's one that comes much later. Much later than any dog should live. And to tell it now would lessen dog's story. Instead focusing on my own. And this is about dog. It isn't about me.
As I said dog was plucked from the dying body of it's mother. The old indian had found the dying dog laying on the new road the white man had recently layed across the reservation. No one would use the road but occasional indians or government agents, but the road had to be built or the funding would expire. So the road was built. After it was done and the last of the trucks and equipment were being hauled out, the old indian walked down to watch the last of the white men leave. It always gave him great pleasure to see them leaving. So there standing atop a dusty hill near the new road he watched as a mangy dog fat with litter went to cross the road towards the reservation. It didn't make it. The last truck in the line clipped the dog with a rear tire and faded into the horizon.
With a slow unhurried walk the indian carried himself gingerly down the incline to the roadway. When he reached the edge of the newly layed asphalt he cast a glance towards the dust kicked up by the last retreating trucks. A muttered curse and glob of spittle aimed casually at the retreating white men he stepped closer to the dying dog. It stared up at him with no signs of fear or anger. It accepted death as quietly as it accepted the presence of this strange human. It's sides rose and fell with a decreasing frequency, while it's belly seemed alive with a movement that seemed unwholesome considering it's nearness to death.
With a soft moaning that built in pitch the indian sang a death chant. It rose and fell and echoed off the walls of a nearby cliff. Late into the evening he chanted. As the stars crossed their half way point and the moon started to decline from it's heights in the heavens, the bitch died. A great sigh rocked her body followed by a shudder of simple relief. She died and the indians voice grew still.
Reaching his hand tenderly out he felt her flanks, the wind flicking her fur up tickling his fingertips. Still there was movement within so he quickly drew forth his knife and went about the grisly job he intended. A quick flick of his knife and a long drawn cut revealed the intestines. Carefully so as to not harm the contents he drew these aside with his hand until he felt the puppies trapped within the uterus. Working quickly he drew out the placenta that had protected them all this time and cut it open. Reaching inside he brought out one dead puppy after another until eight small bodies lay next to their mother. With a final thrust inside he drew forth one more motionless clump of fur. Grumbling he sat back on his heels shaking his head.
Raising his voice again to the darkend sky overhead he let forth a long wailing chant into the night sky, then fell silent. Quietly he sat after finsihing his song. Quiet with his head cocked to the side as if waiting some answer. Then when he looked as if about to give up, a coyote howled in the distance. A long low howl that fell into nothingness. With a smile crossing his wrinkled features he reached out the knife still covered in the bitch's blood and rapped each puppy on the head once, smartly. With each, one after another, there came not a sound. Not a whimper was heard. Until he rapped the last one. Then with a pitiful noise it opened it's mouth in a cry of pain. The cry sounded of grief and loss, it sounded of darkness coming to the sighted. It came and went.
As soon as it did the old man gathered his things and bundled the small dog inside his jacket for the walk home. Already on his mind was what to trade whom for the milk he would need to nurse the mongrel. Already on his mind was what to feed it when it outgrew milk. Already on his mind the puddles of piss he knew would soon be found in his house. And even though he grumbled aloud a smile played across his face. Up the hill he walked. Up the hill, towards his house, still smiling. The old indian looked especially happy with himself. As a matter of fact some would say he looked almost smug. But none could say this. Because the only ones who saw him were the animals of the night and the Great Spirit, and none of those were on talking terms with the rest of us.
Over time it is said the old man went about his duties and forever the dog would follow. He became quite old and quite famous for his knowledge of the old medicines and his uncanny knack of knowing just the right cures. Later reflection may not paint him in such a romantic light. He may have been but a charlatin who peddled native cures. But perhaps the history stands as is and shouldn't be questioned. Whatever the case he became well known. The things that happened around him talked about in hushed tones of reverance late at night.
But the story isn't about him. He is but the player in the story who birthed the subject. He is but the one who brought dog into the world. But again no one but he is said to know of that night. I again catch myself telling you the history speculatively. I again catch myself dissecting that history. It is because the history sounds so much better just heard. Then one can dissect it for each possibility. Then one can nay say the events described. So please bear with me as I relate the history. I shall try and stop fact checking as we go and leave that up to you the reader at a later date.
Dog became as known as the now ancient indian. Not only because he traveled everywhere with the old man, but because dog was also known to be ancient. At least in dog years. It also became known for having an uncanny grasp of speech. Hundreds of things the old indian could ask for and sure as not dog would bring them. If one saw the dog one could be sure within minutes one would see the old indian. And over time one learned that sometimes when you saw the black dog the indian would follow much slower. A sad look would play across a face cragged and seamed. And he would ask for someone by name. And off they would go for a private talk. They would all come back changed suddenly. They would all die within days.
Over time the people came to all know this. Some accepted it by preparing for death. Others went off the deep end, but the old man and dog were known to be batting a hundred, it was all the same, death found them all. Until a cool Autumn day.
The reservation encompassed alot of land. The ancient indian and dog walked much of it. The people knew of them if not by sight, then by reputation. So on this day when a young boy saw the ancient wrinkled spectre of death and his hell dog coming towards his house, he did what any sensible seven year old child would do. He bolted inside screaming at the top of his lungs, and shut the door against the approaching spectres.
His mother and father who were sitting inside stared at him startled even as the knock was heard on the door. The father got up to open it even as the child wrapped himself around his legs in an attempt to stop him. But his father being stronger and not understanding a bit of the gibberish coming out of his sons mouth opened the door. With a gasp he stepped back understanding his childs shock and fear. But overcoming this he invited the old man in. Dog as was known followed on his heels. An intake of breath behind him telling him his wife surely recognized the visitor as well. A stutter escaped him before he found the voice to ask the old man if he would like something to drink. To which the old man accepted. Dog sat obediently near the ancients feet and the whole family sat with hushed breath waiting to see who would be called out to speak in private.
But the old man sat quietly drinking. His eyes milky with age seemingly to be dancing with merriment. A hidden ghost of a smile coming across his lips periodically. He extended the cup to the small boy and ask for another drink. With great fear the small boy reached for the cup, but to give him credit he did reach out to take it, then ran off to dutifully fill it. Looking at the man and his wife barely concealing their terror and anticipation the old man cleared his throat loudly.
"I would bet you're wondering why I am here." He said.
His statement was met with nods from both. Neither could find their voice it would seem. And the small boy braver than both came back with the water. He walked directly to the old man and handed him the cup. He did not flinch. He did not move away.
He looked directly at the old man and asked him, "Why are you here?".
With a deep laugh that could not have possibly come from the whitered frame before them the old indian fell about, striking his sides. He looked to have tears welling up in his eyes at the great joke he found in the boys words, but regained his composure. He got himself in order and turned a serious face towards the parents.
"Sit down." He told them. "Sit and be quiet. Your boy and I have things to discuss."
Then with a stern eye to the boy he asked, "So you're no longer afraid of me?"
To which the boy replied, "Why should I be? If you come for me what can I do to stop it? If not the same."
And again a chuckle welled up in the old mans chest. This time not as loud. This time followed by a cough that sounded like old cornhusk being rubbed together.
When the coughing had passed the old man said, "Then you too sit and listen boy. I must tell you things this night. And you must remember. And tell your mother to stop her sniveling and get us all supper. None shall die in your household this night."
So the old man went on to introducing himself to the boy. He told him of where he came from and which tribe. He told him about the lands before the white men. He told him about the lands after the white men. He told him about the road into the reservation. He told him about dogs mother. He told him about dog. And he told him how they had come to be here.
First he asked the boy to name any object in the room. The boy would and dog would go find it. He then asked the parents. Dog would not get anything for them. He told the boy to feed dog the table scraps. The boy did and dog ate ravenously. He asked the parents to try and feed dog anything. Dog would take nothing from either of them. He showed the boy dog understood larger concepts. He told the boy ask where the sick were. Dog raised it's nose and sniffed the air. Then finding something unseen, a smell, a feeling, dog barked at a corner then looked towards the old man and the boy. Next the old man told the boy to ask dog where the dying were. To this dog walked slowly over to the ancient one and placed it's head upon his leg. A moaning cry that sounded strangely like a death song came from within dog. It was then the family understood.
With the dawning realization spreading around the room the old man turned a sad smile towards dog. He leaned forward as far as he could and reached his old arms out to encircle the dog. A long squeeze and he lifted himself from the chair and left. Dog cryed once then walked over to the boy where it sat back on it's haunches as if waiting expectantly. The boy reached down and gently rubbed one of dog's ears. To which dog walked behind the boy and pushed him to two large bags the old indian had left on the floor. Inside the boy found herbs and potions and powders and balms. An old flute. And a scrap of fur. There was a sleeping roll, and a few old clothes much to big for the boy.
The boy went to the door and opened it. Stepping out he looked around for the old one but he was already gone from sight. He glanced down at dog and again scracthed it's ear. He was rewarded the action by a full tail wag. So the boy went back inside followed by dog. And everyone soon knew of the boy. He took over the job of the old man. And dog still was. Ancient. And smart. But no one really knew how smart.
Over time dog became restless. Dog would distract the boy luring him further and further into the desert daily. Dog would stop and dig up roots and bring them to the boy. It seemed dog knew what medicines to get. And the boy soon discovered, when to get them. He looked into the bag and found the pouches needing refreshing were the ones dog came back with. He learned to trust dog's judgement in what to save. He learned to follow dog.
Then came the day he took up the bags the old man had left and walked outside. With a hurried look around he waved to his father who had seen him leave the house. His father understanding waved back. Then motioned for the boy to go on before his mother came out. So off the boy went following dog who seemed to know exactly where they were going.
Later the same day the boy became thirsty. He told dog he needed more water. Dog trotted off the path, down an incline, into a dry river bed. A few quick smells here and there and he dug a small hole near a large boulder, then lay down. The boy walked forward. Looking into the small hole dog had dug he saw what looked like wet mud. Thanking dog he widened the hole until a small pool of water started to well up at the bottom. Then he moved a few feet and repeated the process. By the time he finished the second hole the first had cleared of sediment and was ready to drink. They both drank their fill and the boy filled his canteen. Looking down he chuckled and asked dog what they would eat this fine day. Dog in an instant shot up the riverbank and stood waiting at the top for the boy. With a laugh the boy followed as quickly as possible.
Leading the boy a bit, dog stopped by a prickly pear cactus. Dog eyed the purple fruit shining in the sun then eyed the boy. Eyed the fruit eyed the boy. The boy chuckling to himself said he knew about these, he was wanting to know if dog was going to get some meat. Dog again raced off, but this time not waiting for the boy. It shot into the underbrush. The boy picked some of the prickly pears and was placing them in the bag when dog shot around the corner with a dead rattlesnake in it's mouth. Slightly taken aback by the sight of a rattler the boy wondered if it was dead. It hung loose and limp as if dead. So the boy leaned closer and examined the carcass. A few holes as if from teeth, but it looked fresh. The boy decided he could live without meat while out and about for awhile but skinned and cleaned the rattlesnake anyways. He looked to dog and asked where they were going when dog again headed off. This time dog waited until he got close then would shoot off again ahead a bit to only turn and again wait. This same continued on for a few days.
Now much of this is being reported from memory. No where have I seen any writings describing these things and feel I may be the first to put them to paper. The story has been until now handed down from person to person. The spoken story enough and serving it's purpose. But there are fewer now and the story needs be told. But in the sake of moving along I shall skip the many days and nights that followed up to dog leading the boy to his new house. The ancient ones old house. I will save you the trouble of hearing how the boy found new things and learned much from the old ones drawings. Because this story isn't about the boy. This story is about dog. Suffice it to say that the boy grew into a man. He fulfilled the duties layed on him by the ancient indian wonderfully. Over time he became as old as the ancient one, and still there was dog.
My father had finished medical school and looked for an appointment to take up practice. His original plan had been to return home to his mother and fathers town but their early deaths left him with a very small bit of cash and no real need to go anywhere at all. But having become a doctor after years of study one couldn't expect him to go off and become a laborer or gardener. He followed his vocation and instead of returning East to his birth place, traveled West towards the Northern parts of Texas or Southern Oklahoma. It was there in a small town he had set up practice in that he met my mother.
He was not penniless. Nor was he a rich man. So my mothers parents who I had always been told were grandly rich disapproved of the relationship everyone in town saw blooming between the new young doctor and the pretty rich girl from the large house on the hill. And like any rumour it became larger with each telling. By the time my mother's father heard the tales one would think her honor had been desecrated by a shipload of pirates sailing from the East. And he not being a man to be trifled with forbid the two from seeing each other ever again. But as anyone who has ever watched the goings and comings of humans, or read the famous books of years gone by, knows that to forbid a young girl a thing is to ensure she shall chase it with her full heart and soul. Such it was with her and my father. Such the reason they found themselves hiding out on a reservation working for nearly nothing .
But my father told me many times life was good to them. They wanted for nothing because they had each other. They both found great joy in the large emptiness and grand beauty that is the desert. Days were filled with fixing and cleaning, tending the indians who would actually visit a white doctor and planning for the next day. They loved each other deeply and wanted no more than they had. But fate has a way of taking from those who want and giving to those who don't doesn't it? My mother soon told my father she was with child. That'd be me.
Now again this story is about dog. It isn't about my mother, or father, or myself. Nor about the joy they both felt finding my mother pregnant. But for the need of filling out some of the history as it had passed I must tell you of them so I can then tell you what came next. My father a man of science had few superstitions, and tended to smile secretly at those who did have them. He would often listen politely but seldom took much to heart. So he had heard tales of the old indian and the now ancient dog, but discredited them as storys told around fires to scare children. He had dismissed them into the same places he did away with the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. And once dismissed they were never again dredged up. Until he came home that day.
Walking through the front door of the house he looked around for my mother. Not seeing her in the front rooms he headed to the back towards the kitchen where she was found washing some vegetables. A tender kiss on her cheek advised her he was home, and smiling she leaned back into him as if asking for another. My father being both a gentleman and generous was glad to comply. He asked about the office, and if there were many patients. She told him there were none, but there was an old indian waiting outside. She had asked if he was a patient or needed a doctor, to which he replied he would wait for the husband. And as far as she knew he still waited. My father leaned forward and peered through the blinds and saw a very old indian sitting out back in front of his office. And there at his feet sat a very old black dog.
My mother watched through the window as my father walked out to meet the old indian. She saw them shake hands and father reach down to pat the dogs head, before she lost interest and returned to planning dinner. Had she watched a bit longer she would have seen dog doing the most amazing tricks, and father's mouth hang loosely open. Some time later she could have seen anger in his eyes and a saddness he would never explain. Never could explain. If she had watched a bit longer she could have seen the man she loved walking the old black dog into his office as an ancient and wise indian became as smoke in the desert night. But she never saw these things. Instead she happily hummed to herself as she fixed dinner and planned where to get cloth for my basinet.
My father never told mother what the indian had said or why he was now the proud owner of a old black dog. He instead made her as comfortable as possible and showered her with even more love if that could be possible. The old black dog once introduced to her would not leave her side. Where she went it followed as if guarding her against all the fiercest creatures of the world. Father seemed a bit more upset than usual about something and didn't want her far from the house. But she being a woman, well she didn't take to being closeted away not tending to something that needed to be tended to. After all she was going to have a baby and if she didn't get everything ready who would? Father? Men. As if they knew what a baby would need. He may be a doctor but he probably would forget a soft warm blanket. Instead supplying a fine warm one that was itchy. So she went on with her chores despite his admonisions to stay in the house. Feeding the chickens and hanging the laundry. Beating out the rugs and airing the windows. And my wasn't it it beautiful sunny day.
On this day Dog lay in the sunshine of the front yard watching mother hang clothes. He had stayed with her for days, pestering and begging and making a nuisance of itself. Mother enjoyed every bit of it since Father's days had grown longer with the reservations population. Most those who needed to see him came to his office, but there were always emergencys large and small, and the reservation was spread out. So she was glad for dogs company. But today dog seemed a bit removed. As if something was bothering it. See gave it little mind as she bent to pick up another shirt to hang when a small jab made her think she had bumped into a cactus by mistake. Looking down at her hand she saw two small red spots just starting to leak small droplets of blood. That is when she saw the rattler scrurry under a rock next to her basket. With a shock she realized she had been bitten. Carefully so as not to get excited she gathered her basket and set off to the front porch. She only made it to the front steps before collapsing. Dog came to lay beside her whimpering. That is where father found them both later that day when he made it home.
The muscle contractions of the venom working through her body induced labor. I was born a month early barely holding onto life. She having to deal with both the venom and my birth was not as lucky. Sometime after my birth her heart gave out. Though father never believed the old indian he knew he was right. All but the way had been outlined and there was really nothing father could have done to save her. But from that moment on he was a sadder quiet man. His face smiled seldom and he never took another. Instead pouring out his love and knowledge on me. He brought me up to understand the laws of science, and to know those laws could and had been broken for ages by the old ways. He taught me not to ignore the old ways, or to discount science. He told me about my mother, the old indian, and the story of the ancient indian. He told me and taught me about dog. Dog who became my constant companion in everything I did. Then one day dog came to me and led me outside. Sitting in a chair was my father. I was an older man now and he a grizzled piece of weather over leather. Dog lay his head on fathers knee and whined a bit while looking up at me. We all knew. And father actually seemed to smile. A smile of relief. A smile of waiting reached it's end. And I sat next to him watching the sky until his breathing passed with his soul. Dog and I buried him next to mother on a small hill overlooking our home. And then there were but us two. Dog and I.
But even that comes to an end. I did no more or less than dog taught me to. Much as the indians before me I followed dog and performed the services he thought I must on any given day. And I found great joy in the helping and beauty of the land. And learned many liked knowing they were soon to part. It allowed them to stop worrying about this time and worry more about the next. So even as deaths messenger we performed a service. One that at times no one would ever seek to do we also did. Because it had to be done. Which brings me to the reason of telling you this history. Dog lay his head in my lap today and whined. His eyes looked both sad and happy. Sad to see me go but happy to let me in on a bigger secret. And I accept it for all it is worth.
But I tell this to you because you need know the history. You must learn it and remember it. Because when the box I sent you arrives you will need to know so you understand why my last parting gift to you in this life was a mangy black dog that seems to know more than you. It's name is dog. It likes scratched behind the ears. Will bark to get in and out. And really isn't alot of trouble if you learn to enjoy long walks.
