Sunday, February 5, 2012
Funter Bay, Alaska
Deb walked down the pebbled beach in front of Bob’s house. The water lapped onto the shore, the air smelled briny and warmer. She had just tucked Moira into bed and was taking Tonka for his nightly potty run. He ran ahead, occasionally glancing back to make sure she was following, and then bounding onward.
His favorite poop place was just ahead in some high grass up the beach. He was so particular – and shy. Every time he went he cast a sad glance her way, begging her not to look.
He scratched off when done and then raced her way. Deb braced herself for the impact as he flew her way. At the last instant he swerved, then spun around and play growled at her. He spied a piece of driftwood – really a log-- grabbed it and trotted around with it, daring her to chase him. She laughed until she cried at the sight of the massive dog carrying a tree like most dogs would a stick.
She indulged him and ran at him as if to grab his ”stick” and he play growled again. Then he stopped abruptly. He turned his head and stood stock still – his cropped ears raised to the max.
“What is it, boy?” she half whispered.
A sub sonic-growl emanated from his chest. He turned and faced up the hill on stiff legs. He walked a few small steps and began to boom his monstrous bark.
Deb stepped over and quickly attached his leash. She tried to drag him back towards the cabin, but she might as well have attempted to drag a pickup truck. His neck strained as he let go with more barks, each more ferocious than the previous.
He stopped, looked back up the hill, sub-woofed and reluctantly allowed her to lead him. She strained at the leash as he continued to toss a random bark over his back. She used her knees into his shoulder to urge him to come with her.
“I know, I know, you’re protecting me old boy. Probably just an old black bear.”
He woofed once more, then slow wagged his stumpy tail as she continued to compliment him.
“Good boy. You did a good job.” She patted his flank as she continued to move him back to the cabin.
“Nothing will get us with you around.”
But she still used her elbow to feel for her pistol. It lay snug in its holster on her right hip.
Posted by Jake at 2:31 PM