Man’s best friend.

​I read a fantasy novel in which a wolf befriended a young blind boy. They were joined together by the Great Spirit. The boy could see through the wolf’s eyes. 

I have always liked wolves. I’ve seen them at the zoo, and the way they move fascinates me. They are basically raw power on four legs. What amazes me the most is this little bundle of fur on my lap is descended from the same ancestors. Would that ancestor be proud of Louie?  I don’t know, but I am. 

Some people call their dogs fur babies. Some people call themselves the dog’s mom or dad. I guess I’m one of those people. My dogs are my kids with paws. If you don’t understand that, then you’ve probably never had a dog when you needed one. 

After going to my great uncle’s funeral in 1988, I was depressed. I watched the men who worked at the funeral home close his casket. I’d never seen a casket being closed before. The first time they tried, it wouldn’t close. They opened it up, repositioned my uncle, and closed it again. 

When I got home I sat down on the front porch steps with my head down on the brink of tears. I felt a nudge from beside me. The family dog was a big white mixed breed goofball. When I turned towards him, he laid his head on my shoulder. 

The tears came with a vengeance as I put my arms around his neck and held him. He didn’t move. He didn’t complain. He just sat there and let me cry. I let him go after a few minutes, and he came up the steps and sat beside me. He knew I needed a friend and maybe he needed one too. We just sat there staring at the street. 

Now I have three little goofballs, but Louie is the one that seeks me out. When the world gets too tough to take on alone, he finds me and lets me know it’s going to be alright.