kato

a piece to appreciate to my best friend Kato

Just along the serene line of the Canadian border, among the trees and the rivers and the birds that sing in harmony, a dog wanders the land. He’s a small, golden-brown puppy, white in the chest and paws with two black eyes and a nose. No collar, no name. He simply ambles through the woods, walking farther away from the home he fled. His ears are short and they point towards the sky. At the fix of his forehead his fur is much darker brown than the rest in the quaint shape of a diamond. When he moves his ears back it smooths over but when they perk up, the creases in his fur fold into the little dark shape once more. Biologically this breed, the Shiba Inu, was bred for stealth large-game hunting in the mountainous regions of Japan. But, this Shiba is quite far from his breed origins. Yet, he feels that power in each stride as he pursues his next prey. He weaves through a forest of abounding trees with steady limbs. A deep hunger feuling him forward. An unconcerned rabbit sits in the shade of a towering oak tree. The eyes look at nothing in particular, they are the same eyes that seal shut when the shiba’s jaw clamps over its neck in the duration of one sly moment.

I can see him now, clear as the glistening mirror of the lake he stops to drink from, where he rolls his tongue against a source of life. The wind here breathes through the trees and exchanges whispers with the leaves, an echo of a mountain somewhere too far in the distance. Freedom is the open space, under the warm spray of the sun, that the Shiba runs through. An enticing scent wafts up from the earth and his nose follows until it leads him where he is meant to go.

  ***

Days pass, maybe weeks, months. His feet keep wandering, nose in the lead. He continues through deep woods until soon he walks over level earth, no ridges, no trees, and no mountains to feel in the distance. Eventually, he finds an open field where clusters of cows roam the dirt inside an endless wooden fence. The farmer who owns the property looks out his window to see the brown shape of fluff, pointy ears and a curly tail waltz underneath a gap in the wood rails, pleasantly sniffing away. The Shiba doesn’t seem to mind as the man begins to approach him. The dog skips a little forward in greeting. His frumpy tail wagging increasingly faster. A hand reaches for his head, and his ears pull back with a grin. 

What a sight he is with his muddy paws and rucked-up fur! Sticks and leaves poke haphazardly out of the golden brown of his coat. A tear runs down the farmer's cheek because he knows he can't take care of another dog. He holds the puppy in his arms, then carries him through the door of his aging farmhouse. The shiba stays overnight, eating bites of meat the man gives him. The next morning the puppy peers out a truck window as he is driven to a humane society. Humans mull about inside a gray, shabby building, trapped between four walls and a roof, it seemed. Directly adjacent to the gray building, a group of dogs huddle, cramped behind a chain-link fence. They put him behind it with the rest of them. His legs itch to move, to run and chase the flow of water along a creek or sniff out a rabbit to eat. Here, he only eats factory-spat balls of second-hand animal flesh. His ears jerk up every time a bird’s song rings out in the distance, his ancient hunting instincts urge him to flee this prison. 

***

Then I took him home. I named him Kato. He’d been alive for two years, and I for five. The spirit of his youth mingled with mine and together we were unbridled in direction. Everytime I fastened a leash to his collar, we began a sprint out the door. My feet crashed against concrete as his paws tapped the rhythm of a quick gallop. Often, when he returned from these walks, he became especially excitable due to the accomplishment that tends to happen when dogs go outside. (Rather than the world being his oyster, it's just one large bathroom.) Nearly every time, Kato ran with unrestrained speed throughout the house, dodging furniture and stationary feet. I once watched him dart full speed directly into my father. They both sprawled out on the carpet in a heap of limbs and laughter. 

He was usually more graceful than that occasion. On a good day, his elegance was that of a cat. Stealthiness is essential to hunting, and this is all he knew as he climbed the mountainous piles of snow gathered in the front of our driveway with assured ease. This was what he thought as he stopped before a puddle, backed up, then walked a wide circle around it so as not to make a sound. We’d seen the way he hunted when he was young as he chased field mice or when he offered a string of barks and at a flock of gulls who were just trying to relax on the sun-soaked surface of the water. Sometimes he’d chase a squirrel until it found a tree to climb its way into an escape. Though he never actually captured any of them. Years into Kato’s adult life, after never having killed an animal in front of us, he snatched a bird straight out of the air, locked it between his teeth, then sank them into the feather, skin, and spine. Crack. Drop. Barbaric. 

*** 

Now, Kato is thirteen. Slow, white, and stinky. A squirrel doesn't get a passing glance, a rabbit gets a short boof, the howl of another dog is the sole thing to invoke a bark. I pat his head, the little diamond shape is as vivid as it’s always been right at the center of his forehead. His steps are clumsy and his head often rests against a pillow, his eyes rest too. I’ve been by his side for eleven years and counting. We don’t really know where he came from, but we say he walked from the mountains and into our front door. 

 I hope he will go back when the time calls for it. I hope he will run with the wind and wander with the falling leaves. I hope he will drink from endless sources of cool, clean water. Eating birds, rabbits, or squirrels. Whatever it is he desires. Maybe he could finally reach the mountains that were calling his name. He could frolic in the brilliant green of the trees and soak against the rays of a yellow sun. He could hunt like his bones and teeth were made for. Kato is a wild heart beating below a mellow presence. He’ll return to the Earth where he was before. Golden in the light of the universe.