Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘The Navajo Dog Takes Care Of Her Own’

by Larry Brody


Another true life adventure with the Navajo Dog, better known during her time on this planet in this particular form as D’neh. How much did D’neh mean to me? Let me put it this way. Without her, I would never have been able to become myself:

The Navajo Dog Takes Care Of Her Own

The Navajo dog takes care of her own.

She hates other dogs, thinks they’re stupid and obnoxious,

Won’t let one within ten feet of her. She snarls,

And growls, and snaps, and even the dumbest

And most obnoxious canine backs off. One day,

Though, we were walking with Boomer, the Golden

Retriever who had come to live with us,

And he went bounding forward in search, I suppose,

Of hunting dog adventure. The Navajo dog shook

Her head with disgust. “Dogs!” she muttered,

As if that explained all.

But then we heard a bark from the stand of

Trees Boomer had run to, and a series of

Sharp, doggy cries. The Navajo dog didn’t

Hesitate. She ran forward, and vanished into the woods.

I ran after her, and when I reached the trees

I saw Boomer being attacked by

A Doberman and a St. Bernard.

He didn’t know what to do.

The Navajo dog’s ears went back,

Her tail swung from side to side

And with a howl that only could have

Come from years of Indian suffering,

Of agony and rage,

She launched herself into the air.

I swear that little dog made a forty foot leap,

Flying right to the head of the Doberman.

She was still howling as her jaws clamped onto him,

The sound rising like that of a jet engine as his ear ripped

From her foe’s head. The Navajo dog hit the ground,

Still holding her prize, and the Doberman gave

Her a startled look, then squealed, and fled

As though chased by an entire Navajo Nation of

Small red and white dogs. The St. Bernard followed,

And only the Navajo dog, Boomer, and I were left.

The Navajo dog ran back to me, covered with blood,

And spat the ear at my feet, while Boomer came to

Nuzzle her in dog thanks. The Navajo dog snarled, and

Growled, and snapped, and, Boomer, neither dumb

No obnoxious, slunk away. I knelt down to get a better

Look at the Doberman’s lost and ruined part.

“Why?” I said to the Navajo dog.

The Navajo dog rubbed her wet muzzle with a paw,

Trying to wipe off the blood.

She looked over at where Boomer

Had hunkered down to lick his wounds.

“He isn’t much,” she said, “but he’s mine.”

Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.