A while back I watched this fascinating documentary on dog domestication. It centered around this Russian scientists experiments with domesticating foxes for the last fifty years. I thought the idea of having a domesticated fox would be awesome. The $8,000 price to import one from Siberia, we are talking true domestication not simply tame, is a bit steep.
When I was on the trail in Denali, I stopped in the fog to take a nap and watch the clouds at my feet. I through my pack down, munched on some trail-mix and slept for a bit. I don’t know how long, since the sun is always up, but it wasn’t very long. When I woke up I rolled to my right and saw a black fox sitting still as stone watching me. We recognized each other, startled one another, and it ran off. As quick as a…I’ll stop.
As long as we’ve had dogs, none have been Mine. Dog people know this sort of thing. Yes, dogs love everyone, but they do have a favorite. Bear, the Malamute has a preference for my little sister. Smidget, the Zen-master-Ewok-dog, is attached to my Step-dad. Samson, long gone now, adored Luke. The rest have always been attached to Mom, and we always thought it was who fed them or brought them home, until Smidget took to Rick. None of the dogs have ever chosen me.
As soon as I left Mom rescued five mutts from Tennessee after their mother had been shot. She did all of that shit like give them milk when they were smaller than a dollar bill. Three were adopted. She kept two: Simon, and Mia. Simon, a languid happy fellow is all black like a shrunken Labrador. Mia, pictured above, is rambunctious nimble and light footed almost like a feline. The second I came home, Mia took to me in a way that one just can’t articulate. I walked in the door, and it was like…Pure Recognition.
It reminds me of something I once told a friend, that I myself had forgotten. “The best, most profound things in your life are precisely those things that you did not set out to look for.”