by Larry Brody
NOTE FROM LB
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.
