OK. I swore I would never get political. But I don’t know why all the dogs in America are mad — barking with no meaningful message. The M.A.G.A. (Make America Growl Again) is running amok. Treats, food, Milk-Bones — everything is getting crazy expensive. Are we supposed to resort to crab shells?
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child. Yesterday, everything seemed so far away. Purple haze was in my brain. I am becoming a mumbling, growling fool whose voice is heard in the wind — blind and blinder from the strobing lights on the big screen in the sky.
I hear it all the time. “Calm down, Boyz, it’ll soon be over.”
A few weeks ago, the new council was elected in Skidegate. I heard they had new rules — like no talking in the polling station. What? Not letting my human halves talk is like tying up my legs when I hear the Red River Jig. Like, who wouldn’t want to dance the Jig when the fiddle is playing?
By the time you read this column, the crazy Canadians will be voting too. Are they quiet when voters arrive at the polls, followed by cameras, TV crews clamouring for the cutaway? Reporters standing close by, calling out their bingo numbers — are they quiet? The CBC (Colonial Barking Corporation) is giddy with all the political actions that don’t take us anywhere. Am I bitter? Grrr. I’m just a dumb old dog. Jeff says I only have six coffee beans for brains. He has no idea they are espresso beans. And there are twelve!
Canadian elections are just plain weird. They like to say we are not as weird as Americans, but that’s a long shot. Up here, everybody is afraid of that guy — Peter Pepper is what my humans call him. They say he is a clone of the American cultural sniper recently elected as leader of M.A.G.A. Pepper is running from the guy who looks like an aging Rin Tin Tin with a haircut. It’s neck and neck — or jowl to jowl.
Maybe they will Make Canucks Growl Again.
But who am I to complain? I am a dog non grata. They took away my rights to vote. Heck, they never gave us the right! When will K-9s be emancipated? If I had the right to vote, I may elect not to be a democratic citizen. Who said I couldn’t be dogmatic?
I’m not complaining. But dang, I sure sound political.
On a brighter note, summer is just around the corner. Tourists will be stopping on the Gwaii for better or worse. I bark at them when they stop in front of the house, but up on the Spirit Lake trail we usually run into friendly ones. The old ladies love to feel my fur. I am a rather soft and gentle fellow who thrives on attention from the soft, pliable old hands of yore.
I have heard stories that our Elders can bark without making a sound. You can only hear them if you are a dog. Humans think we can’t hear them either. When we are young, we just don’t listen to them. When we are older — yes, we can’t hear them. By the time we are in our teenage years, our hearing is almost gone. But we have learned their body language. And we begin to see all things in a blue haze. But I have witnessed the same quality in humans.
I find it fascinating when brown and beautiful humans talk their mother language, always without moving their lips. I can relate to that.
There is a young raven in my backyard. Jeff calls him Ringo. I swear that the raven is barking. He sounds just like my neighbour’s dog, Taan. But Ringo’s beak usually cackles. Sometimes Jeff cackles too — but I understand him. Ringo seems lost, almost crying for something. Jeff says he is from the Conservative Party, sent here to cackle on behalf of Mr. Pepper. Just then I began to understand the bark and the cackle. But I can’t vote, and I tell Ringo. Poof. Ringo has flown to greener pastures, only to bark at the open air.
“Maybe he is talking to the tree,” Jeff suggests.
Another day. Another hoof. A Milk-Bone capped off with a calm, nightly stroll down the seashore of our amazing Skidegate Inlet.
I didn’t break a paw writing this column. I didn’t have to move my jaws or utter a single bark. Jeff didn’t have to cackle — but he laughed lots. You won’t hear us growling after witnessing an uplifting and beautiful sight. And the smell of spring. Despite the sneezing, we know that we are blessed to be witnesses to life on the Gwaii.