Don’t We All Need a Friend? On the Meaning of Dogs [View all]

[Judi Lynn]

Don’t We All Need a Friend? On the Meaning of Dogs
November 2, 2016
by Stephen Cooper


“Friend” is a reddish-brown submarine of a dog not unlike a cross between a miniature Jersey cow and tan Easter Bunny. His extra long hash-brown colored ears, silkier than satin, frame his stoic, bovine face. Friend cuts an imposing figure based on bulk — but he’s a gentle giant — and that’s why my wife and I decided to call him “Friend” not “Frank,” as he was named by the rescue organization from which we adopted him.

Dog people (“people of the dog,” dog lovers — whatever you want to call them — they’re a large cross-section of humanity in this country) smile when they see Friend lumbering down the street, taking my wife, or me, or both of us, for a walk. Passersby on foot and in cars often stare in admiration and point at Friend — especially when they hear him hound. Friend’s distinctive bay comes from deep in his diaphragm and his throat is thick with muscles capable of producing a high-decibel type “whoop-whooping” that provokes droll imitation by children and adults (who really are too old for that kind of thing, especially leaning out their car windows).

Friend is a red-tick coonhound who, not long before we adopted him, was found wandering all alone in a field in Pennsylvania. The rescue organization speculated he was two years old, and the abandoned hunting dog of an obviously abusive owner. Sadly, Friend bears telltale signs of maltreatment. A white scar circles his massive head like a misshapen ivory necklace — the outline of a dog collar once allowed (or worse, forced) to embed in the loose folds of skin that hang about Friend’s massive neck. Also, Friend’s back right leg, once fractured — perhaps chasing prey while hunting — healed improperly and without proper care, resulting in Friend’s early development of arthritis and a permanent limp when he walks. Sometimes Friend forgets his leg is hurt and suddenly, when the spirit moves him, he’ll hop when he barks, punctuating his howl. And amazingly, even now, at the stately age of about 9, there are times Friend will unexpectedly jolt forward at Olympic speed triggered by an odiferous whiff in the air, a fire hydrant, a trashcan, or any communal point of canine urinary correspondence.

Despite an inauspicious start in life, like all dogs, Friend doesn’t dwell on past misfortunes.

More:
http://www.counterpunch.org/2016/11/02/dont-we-all-need-a-friend-on-the-meaning-of-dogs/

Also posted at Good Reads:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/1016169531