He’s a full-blood Alaskan Malamute. 

The way I recall, we flew him in from Indiana to Wichita as a little pup, some eight or so weeks old.  We could hear him before we saw him, and we could also hear the airport folks, as they oohed and aahed over him. 

The plan was to let him have the back half of the car, seats folded down and a couple of towels there for him to relax on. 

We hadn’t made it a mile from the airport before I found my vision obscured and driving downright hazardous because of a happy pup who had taken residence in my lap. 

He stayed there most of the way home, much to the sweet daughter’s disgust.  She had purchased him for $1,100 to use as breeding stock for a puppy raising project. 

I can’t help it that he chose me over her.  I know for a fact she smells better than I do.  I think he knew he was safe with me; I’m quite sure he wasn’t the type that was in for all the cooing and lovey dovey phrases that were even then dropping all around him like gumdrops from the other side of the car.  He wanted to be treated as a man and I obliged.

Anyway, the little fellow is all grown up now, and has fathered some 24 pups, 21 of which lived.  They are scattered all over, mostly west of here, a couple as far as California.  It’s fun to see snap shots the folks send us of their dogs that they got from us.

Someday, I want to write about the journey we took in raising those dogs, but that is for another time.

Today, Taz is without a mate; but Austin’s have purchased two little girls that they hope to resume the project with, in a year or so. 

His personality has changed a bit over the last year.  He is still very jealous of attention and will fight rapaciously for it.  Blood isn’t an issue with him; he’ll shed it if he needs to, to get what he wants.

His eyes have changed though.  They have gone from hard brown eyes, flecked with wolf glints of gold, to a deeper, softer amber shade.  Oh sure, they can snap right back to what they were, hard and unblinking, if he gets fierce about something. 

But I think I know the reason for the change. 

He’s kinder now.  Definitely has a heart for those who are hurting.

*****

This fall has been a rough one for the calves, with all the ups and downs in temperature. 

We’ve lost four now, which isn’t anything to complain about.  I’ve had it a lot worse.  Each time, though, that one of these calves started going down the tubes, Taz would take up his station in the corral alongside them, licking their nose, lying right up against them. 

All night and into the next day, until they died.  And even after they died, he stayed right by them, until I got them loaded up and hauled off.

It is the next part of the day that has intrigued me. 

He has been visibly sad each time.   It usually lasts for 5 or 6 hours and then he perks back up.

I suppose you think I’m getting a little too out of hand here.

I’m not.

I haven’t been the only one to notice it.

Now I don’t subscribe to the theory that animals go to Heaven, or that they are part human in their intellect or thought process.

But I will say that the dog has taught me something, and, if life gives me the opportunity, I hope to show a bit of kindness and empathy to those who need it, especially this Christmas season.

I won’t go so far as to say my eyes have changed, though.