This is not a title I invented myself. I recently saw a video about a man and his dog, and the message intended by the filmmaker has stayed with me. The main reason it still resonates is the emotion, the honesty and the depth of the bond between a simple man and his canine companion.
Pet owners know what I mean. Those of us who have pets, in my case Boyz Jones, the journalist dog, develop a dependence based on an unmistakable form of love. As many of you know, Boyz has become a regular contributor to this paper. We work together to combine humour, and sometimes pathos, in telling the story of our friendship. I interpret his actions, his penetrating gaze, his physical activity, his barks, whimpers, paw steps, dances and quivers. I venture into the mind of my dog to convey his unique place in the world.
I speak to him in English. I tell him many things. Sometimes I throw in some of my Wolastoqey language. Sometimes he barks back. But mostly he will sit there and smile, or run to get a ball, go to the door, glancing back at me to make sure I hear his request. There are also times when I play music for him on my guitar. But if only I could bark, I might be able to let him know how much I appreciate his companionship.
One afternoon, I thought I might sell my banjitar, a banjo with six strings. I took it out of its hefty case and wanted to strum it before selling it. Boyz came running down the hallway and sat in front of me, enraptured. Since I never have an audience, I carried on. He shimmied over to my foot and laid his chin on my bare foot. Soon he was asleep. That gesture put a lump in my throat and warmed my heart. If only I could bark.
I have not sold that banjitar.
On another occasion, I found my two harmonicas in the case of another guitar. Previously, I had located my harmonica holder. That is when I decided to conjure up my Neil Young repertoire. Boyz became my sole audience, but this time he did not sleep. Instead, he stared at my mouth, making the sounds I played when he was still a puppy.
I left the room to fill a glass of water. He stayed behind and watched me head down the hallway. I could hear a faint sound, as though someone was breathing into the reeds of the harp. When I walked back into my studio, there was Boyz Jones with the harmonica in his mouth. He looked up at me with that guilty expression we dog owners know well. He jumped up and ran down the hallway, but I was delighted that he wanted to take part in my musical journey. I picked up my harp, shook out the moisture and put it back in the holder to continue playing.
But there were bite marks and dents on the upper and lower sides of my harmonica. In his mind, he thought I was biting the marine band blues harp to make those cool sounds. I laughed so hard he came running back. If only I could bark.
When you love an animal and they love you back, the world knows no limits. He gives you mortality. He extends your life, to be sure. He wants you to exercise, to eat properly and regularly. He is dedicated to a fault.
He is an experienced TV documentary crew member. He has been with us for the filming and production of numerous projects. When he was young, he used to sit at my feet while I conducted interviews. One time we were interrupted, and Boyz displayed one of his greatest attributes, that of a guard dog, protector of the realm. He growled at the intruder, and when the man stepped closer, Boyz stood up and warned him. All 30 pounds of my black, furry friend made it known that if he stepped any closer, there would be hell to pay.
If only I could bark, I would howl an anthem.
