A Reminder to Humans ... from A Dog.

They may not be the champions of cleanliness, nor the knights of wisdom. Those were better suited for the cats and owls. Or so we were told, growing up. I never quite understood why owls were considered wise. If I had seen a wide eyed person perched on a tree and turning his head further than heads should go, I'd probably have thought him a lunatic. (Although, it must be said, any man perched on a tree might well be loopy anyway.) Alas, I am already straying off as I often do, so I'll have a deal with you to ensure you hear out the story that might not really beg to be told, but will be told anyway, because you are looking for a thing to ponder about and I have a newfound respect for dogs.

The deal is that if you want to know more and hear the point of this whole telling, just keep reading you impatient nut!
I went into a particularly defeating episode of depression in the fall of '91, as was expected for a recently appointed widower. The usual suspect. Cancer. 'Coz cancer does not simply stop snatching people away from us when it realizes the cliche. Within four months, pancreatic cancer had gulped down her life and farted out the dusty remains all over my empty house. And people who live in empty houses are told by other people to try and stock up those houses with more people. One person is not a complete person. One person is never complete. I didn't like any person. I only liked my wife. But I had already used that option for my house, so I decided to choose the next best thing. I bought a dog.
No, he wasn't cute. I don't seem to choose cute dogs. I chose one that looked like a furless rat that had rolled around in blue-grey paint. It had a look of permanent dejection wiped across its face - as though it understood who its owner was going to be for the rest of its life.

Oh, I'm so sorry canine huggers. "He", not "it". I dropped "him" into the box and onto my truck, ignoring his fruitless attempts to return to his whimpering mother. Dog mothers were raised to sell away their children. It was either sold children, or no children at all.
He swiftly took to the task of bathing my house in his piss and shit. God, puppies had the foulest looking shit! Don't take this in the wrong manner, but I've seen how normal shit looks. Normal shit is smooth and lovely brown, with a firm appearance, like a short soft cucumber. Or rather, a soft brown cucumber. Not this dog. He blasted out his gooey blue-brown explosions all over the living room, creating a work of art on my now ruined rug, leaving me with only one question in mind. What the hell did you eat for your shit to be blue?
He warmed up to me in time, and I soon had a shadow everywhere I went. There was nothing quite like taking a shower in the morning with an animal that sported small (yet developed) canines staring at you with your manhood exposed. I soon had a companion for my daily outings to the orchards and fields, at the foothills of the Alaskan forest. My stalker needed a name. So I called him Wolf, though he looked nothing like a wolf. If wolves were the cool kids, this one was the choir boy.
What he lacked for in menacing wolf manes and fur coats, he made up for in size. Within a year, the young rat-like shitting machine grew into a towering, athletic, grey monster, with complete sphincter control and yet, a persistent bravery of a squirrel. The simple thud of a ripe apple could jump start the mongrel into a frenzy, and it was quite entertaining and pathetic to watch.

Despite the lackluster performances he gave as guardian of the premises, he was quick to forget his fears and showcase his phony bravery whenever I stepped out of the house. A few words of greeting or encouragement were enough to thrust him into a display of sovereign arrogance, as he barked and announced to the world that I was about to pass through the area. Who he was talking to, I will never know, as there was no one within twenty miles of the farm. However, one does get a kick out of feeling like a supreme ruler with a thousand heavenly titles, as I was sure he was informing the world when I came about. I decided it was a feeling I could get used to and so, he was here to stay.
A few years passed and Wolf's habits became my routines. His age caught up to mine and he became a familiar face to my customers across the countryside.

On one such a trip, the truck broke down as trucks often do in this area when they are within walking distance of your house. After a few unsuccessful attempts to ignite it back into life, Wolf and I set off for the farm. It was an hour hike over the hill, and with dusk nearing I quickened the pace. We hadn't gotten very far when Wolf started showing signs of his usual fearful whimpers. He seemed distracted and after another mile stopped and slumped to the ground. I tried in vain to drag him to his feet, but the dog was heavy built and he knew it. I figured he might just need a rest, so I headed over to the stream to gather some water. He began barking behind me and I called him over to follow. He only barked louder and jumped up to run after me when I heard a dreaded thunderous roar bolster through my ears. I spun around to come face to face with the 9 feet of horror we in the countryside feared the most. A fully grown adult grizzly. I'm sure it isn't just country folk that shared this opinion.

The beast towered over me and its claws ripped through the air as it swung its paws at my face. It let out another bolstering roar, the pungent breath of the monster burrowing through my nose as its saliva flew over and slapped my face. What a disappointing smelly way to go, I thought.
No sooner had the bear stepped forward, than it had its head yanked backwards in a jerk that almost brought a look of shock to the animal's face. I watched as Wolf gnawed at the bear's nape, dangling around as the grizzly twisted and turned to catch hold of my once squirrel hearted saviour. He jumped off and jabbed at its feet, dodging and dancing in and out like a mongoose taunting a snake. He was too fast for the bear, and the bear swung out to grab hold of him. I used the time to reach for my bag and pulled out a lighter. Dashing for a stick close by, I tore off my shirt sleeve and wrapped it around the tip of the stick and lit it up. I turned just in time to hear a howl from Wolf, as the bear grabbed him by a foreleg and lifted him in the air. Wolf was brought crashing down to the ground and the bear reached for a bite to his throat. He jumped free just in time to avoid the fatal bite, but the bear instead bit into his injured leg. The sound of crunching bone filled the air as I lost control and ran at the monster, swinging the fire around in a frantic attempt to save my friend. The bear roared as it took note of me and Wolf bit into the bear's leg with such force that it jumped aside, in time for me to jab the fire at its face. The frightened giant backed off and limped away as I turned to attend to Wolf.

There was a pool of blood gathering around his leg as I reached down and comforted him.
"You stupid dog! What were you thinking? Idiot ... " , I found myself saying.
I put out the fire and used the wood to apply a makeshift splint to his leg, as he howled. I gently lifted him off and carried him back home as quickly as I could, lest the bear decide to turn around. I reached home and dialled the local veterinarian. No answer. One hardly gets answers in these areas. I stood there for a minute, watching as the blood poured out of his leg and gathered all I could find from the medicine cabinet. The rest of the night and the day after is not worth recounting. I tried to clean and keep his wounds dry. He lay whimpering. We both sat in silence, waiting for that darn vet. He finally came, and Wolf was taken to the local animal hospital.

He lost the leg. Infection would have spread, according to the doctor. I was almost relieved. Wolf was still alive and that was all that mattered. That retched young nuisance of a puppy that I almost considered giving away had saved my life. What's more, he would have died trying to save me, had I not gone back to save his.

I would have never risked my life for another person. Another person would never have jumped a bear to save me. But Wolf did and would probably do it again. That's the thing about dogs: they never learn...
They're wired to believe that you are worth everything to them and will protect that love with all they have. Even the ones that are still scared of falling apples. Why aren't people like that? When did we become so conditional in our love? Perhaps that's why we love dogs so much. They remind us of what we've forgotten. They remind us of what it really means to be human. Perhaps they remind us of a forgotten part of ourselves. So instead of trying to be a better person, maybe try instead to be a dog. Just bath more often.
I've gotta' go now. Wolf is getting a prosthesis today. Designed it myself. Fingers crossed.