To the Dogs

Three years ago, on vacation here at our cabin in Minnesota, Jessi and I stopped by to visit Ike, the local man who watches our cabin when we are gone. It just so happened that his dog, Molly, a pure bred yellow Labrador Retriever, had given birth to several pups.
Do I really need to tell you the rest of the story? Even I wanted one of those pups. Especially one that could be trained to hunt quail in Arizona and pheasants in North Dakota.

Now, I still find it hard to believe that I was the one who decided not only that Kira should be trained, but that I would be the one to do it. I got a few books from a friend, enrolled her in a several- week class, and took her there with treats in my pocket on Monday nights, sacrificing my Monday Night Football.

I guess I am truly the Alpha, because Kira knows better than to mess around with me. But you should see her with the kids. And anyone else who wants to play with her. Jump and roll and tumble they go.

But what I appreciate most about Kira is that she is an example of pure grace. By that I mean she is totally accepting, and filled with love and fun at all times. Never once, when I have told her to “come,” does she not come. In fact, she comes running full speed and jumps into your arms if you want her to. Never have I suggested we play, or go for a walk, and she has refused. Even if no one else in the house wants to play, I know Kira will.

She is always ready to sit at my feet, lick my face, snuggle on the couch. In October of 2005, when I stepped into a hole while quail hunting and broke my leg, guess who was there licking my face as I lay on a bed of cactus needles. Not that it was a pleasant experience, given it was 107 degrees out, my left knee tendon was nearly torn through, and—then those cactus needles. But there she was, “man’s best friend,” licking me and encouraging me to get up, which, of course, I couldn’t.

We have so much fun at the cabin. All I have to say is, “Kira, let’s go,” and off she and I go on our long walks, down the gravel roads, or in the back meadow.

I have come to understand over the years why humans love dogs. It may be a pejorative expression to say everything is going “to the dogs,” but if all dogs were like Kira, it could only be a good thing.