The Native Iowan

Friday January 8, 1pm. Rains are here for a few days. Temps are cool to chilly.

Great summer weather.

I have told a number of Dawg Tales. Ive been lucky to have had some GREAT DAWGs.

But then, I am a DawgPerson. I speak fluent Dawg.

My good buddy, Kuma, didn’t wake up this morning.

What can I say about a great, great pain-in-the-arse, strong headed, often incontinent 50kg canine?

He seldom listened. Hated rules. Got old way too soon. For about half his life he suffered from nasty big-dog arthritis. In the end he hobbled around like an old man, I think of my old Compadre DonV, walks like a puppet, takes small steps and does all slowly. Mechanically.

In his prima Kuma was a dancer. He loved to run and jump and play rough. One day in maybe 2015, I was playing rough with Kuma, he’d run and jump and try to rough me up and knock me over, and I’d try to knock him off balance. Wrestle him down. We’re in the back yard, both scratched n dirty and sweating, when a neighbour walks up. She asks, “Who is winning?”.

Not all people are DawgFolks. Just like not all people are into motorcycles, or fishing, or knitting… But I believe most all my faithful readers appreciate the bond between man and canine. It’s a primordial bond. Forged by fire’s-side, and tested by eons of trials, tribulations and adventures. The bond between canine and man is a huge part of what has made both so dominant in our modern world.

An old Greek Uncle, when asked about his religious beliefs was known to say… “I hope reincarnation is true so I can come back as a dog in America”.

Smiles all around