The Native Iowan

Thinking about dogs.

Or, as I would say it, “Dawgs”. 

Dawgs’ are important to mankind. Your hand on a Dawg lowers your blood pressure.

Three Dawg Night.

To Build a Fire.

Human Erectus and Canis Lupas… what a magical union.

And such great movies… Old Yeller. A Long Way Home. Hiatchi. A good Dawg movie will make you cry.

Dawg and Man… Perhaps of such, monumental proportion that – without Human Erectis- Canis would be much better off. But he chose to be faithful. To share the fire. And with Canis by his side, Human was a force to be reckoned with.

Dawgs are noble and true. Some have a thievery-streak. Some are lazy. Some hyper… but man and dawg, what a partnership!

It must have been a terribly cold night, the worse night in generations, that drove Canis to Human’s fire. And after uncountable generations, we’re still a winning team. 

I have soooo mannny dawg-tales… Let’s starts at the middle-early-beginning:

I was quite young. Maybe 4-5yrsold. I recall a fourth of July celebration on the farm where we lived south of Knoxville, Iowa. I have vivid images… Fireworks, bbqs’, lots of people. Bottles of cola cola. Fresh, crank-made ice cream by the gallons. A long weekend of excitement and marvels for a young child. 

There I was… The back stoop of the small white Farm-House… My Father and other males, I recall my favoured uncle, Jimmy, sitting by back door, near the large earthen mound that was the “root-cellar”.  The two-hole “long-drop” out by the clothesline. A large steel bell with a huge clapper hung from the clothesline-pole, near the two-holer. It was an old farm. Big front lawn. My family rented the house and the farmer/ owner managed the farm. 

It must have been a long weekend. Celebrations had been ongoing and everyone was relaxed. It was the decompression side of the weekend… Things were almost over. Everyone was hapi. Relaxed.

The Men are smoking, sitting on beer crates. Talking in low tones. 

A couple of mongrel dogs that belonged to the farm, sunning themselves on the walk way. 

I sat near. 

Listening to the cadence of the speech. Not fully understanding but enjoying the sensation of listening to these men, as they smoked. I enjoyed the smell of thier tobacco. So did the dogs… The dawgs were my friends. We spent a lot of time together. 

I recall Jimmy picking up a dog near him and holding his ear open. My father, without a word, stuck a match and burnt a tick. Jimmy turned the dog a bit more, a few more ticks were summarily incinerated by a succession of Ohio Blue Tips.

I was fascinated. Another Man had grabbed another dog and as the first de-ticked Canis ran off whimpering, more matches and more ticks were used and abused. 

I elbowed in as only a child can do. I got close. Watched the sizzling ticks. Saw the dogs squirm and fight, ineffectively, as a parasite was burnt from their skin.

That’s when Jimmy grabbed me. He held me across his knee as my father sizzled ticks in both my ears. I do believe I had more ticks than the Dawgs.

When Jimmy’s grip relaxed, I scurried away, whimpering, to where the dogs were. Under the close line. 

We sat there, the dawgs and I, licking our wounds. Staring warily toward the men and their cigarette smoke. Wondering what we had done wrong to be so sorely treated.

Big Smiles…