Of Black Dogs and Black Moods.

ONE OF MY DOGS WAS ATTACKED TODAY. Returning from our morning walk, in front of a house that we routinely pass where we exchange a cordial “hello” between neighbours. They have one dog, a Pit Bull with a paint horse coat, who usually watches us pass through the front window; alert, tail wagging and unspeaking. Their second dog I had never seen, until it tore out of their garage a black mass of fangs, hackles and snarls. As we passed she pounced on Huck, her teeth disappearing into his scruff. His assailant quickly had him on the ground fixing to kill. Both of my dogs being on a tandem lead, a quick side-hop from Luna pulled him from under the other dog's hot breath just long enough for me to step in, with as much of a threat display as I could muster. My immune system and constitution still rattled from a chemo walloping, I couldn't risk a bite.

The dog stopped its onslaught. The owner rushed out of the house, drawn by the commotion. His dog paced the track, all growls and snarls, looking for an excuse. Huck remained visibly shaken, hackles up, a deflated look on his long face as I held him to me–checking him for wounds. Anyone who has ever met Huck knows his greatest ambition is to be a friend to the world. Every one he meets is soon showered with otherworldly howls of canine joy, wriggles and licks.

Fortunate that dog-fights sound worse than they are. Huck seemed unscathed. I regarded his owner, an affable Baby Boomer retiree, settling into golden years of fishing and fast muscle cars, searching his blanched face for an explanation; probably thinking I was going to kill him, grimacing through two days beard growth on my face.

"Maggie's never gone after another dog like that," he offered breathlessly, "I'm as shocked as you are!" Maggie. A quintessential name for a classic, All-American Black Labrador Retriever, that most celebrated of casual gun-dogs; not known for aggression (the Pit Bull was the calmer of the two). The everyman dog; good-natured and easygoing. Not today. I imagined this man with Maggie over the years; his steady companion through triumph and tragedy. Perhaps tension had settled into the home of late, becoming contagion. One to many arguments with his wife, leaving Maggie rattled and markedly vigilant around the perimeter.

"He seems okay," I manage to wheeze from sandpaper breath clipped from months of chemo. I keep my condition under wraps unless it's relevant. I just want to feel like any other guy–unfazed by the mundane, "of course, you understand if I notice anything over the next few days I will have to be in touch?" Not a threat. A Gentleman's agreement. Understanding never, in-and-of-itself absolves anyone of accountability.

"Of course. I understand."

"Ok then," I rose, patting Huck on his flummoxed head, "No grudges held. Not my style. Try to have a nice day in spite of all this."

He nodded a reply, tipping his Oregon Ducks ball-cap in an old fashioned but appreciated gesture of civility. We continued down the street, off home.

No one would have blamed me for a more heated reaction. If I had demanded Maggie be hauled off and destroyed. What would have been served, apart from a petty thirst for vengeance over something that could happen to anyone? The vagaries of canine politics can fly under the radar of even the most attentive and experienced master.

As we walked back I reflected: How to position ourselves against the inevitable–that which cannot be expected? Such a frightening brush with potential loss, my dogs being the only continuity I have left after the diagnosis and all its associated carnage; the undoing of a love, a home, a raison d'etre? A mundane occurrence on a random Sunday morning, brought forth understandings that have been with me throughout radiation, chemo and the sea of uncertainty undulating inside:

Murphy's Law. What can happen, will. All one can do is prepare for life's episodes as best as one can. When life cracks up, act; don't react!
Nature is change. Life is what the mind dictates. Keep your head clear.
Take nothing for granted; people, pets, situations. It can all be taken away from you.
Never start a fight. If one does start, be prepared to finish it quickly and decisively.
No one goes to bed alone. Every other person sleeps beside disquiet you will never know.
Civility and understanding, especially in the face of tragedy and upset, is the glue that holds civilization together. It's critically important to give people the opportunity to save face.
We cannot control the actions of others, but we can own ours.
You can tell everything you need to know about who a man is by observing him in a state of calamity.

In my dreams I am always running, through deserts, over snowy Caradhras mountains, through fields set ablaze by some ignus fatuus from deepest id; on and on I go, up the battlements and down the track and my dogs are always with me, leading me from one waypost to the next. In that field of dreams, I surrender to their guidance. Just as it's important to recognize where we do not hold power, it's just as important not to surrender what little power we do have to whatever fallacies would have us become passive objects commanded by externalities; addicted to that which, at any moment, can be taken away.