Durant Diary: Entry #9

For a while last week, Durant would refuse to come in the house.

One of us thought the cat had spooked him. The other one thought maybe he was homesick for Alaska, that he felt better curling up on the straw in his doghouse than he did on the carpet in the living room.

Either way for a while we had to cajole him to come in the house, work at it for a good while. He seemed distant that whole time, all in himself. My husband said he was being ’emotional.’ It felt like he was withdrawing. Choosing a kennel life instead of a family one. In the morning when we did our sit on the porch, he’d head for his doghouse, no interest in being petted or fussed over.

It was disconcerting and depressing.

But then he turned around. Tail wagging. Wanting to be where I was. Standing still while I brushed him. Burrowing his head under my arm while I pet him. Here he is lying on the floor in my office, something he’s not done before.

He’s a dog that has had a very big life before coming here. Thousands of miles running, nights camped out in the snow, mountains and rivers and hairpin turns with a dozen other dogs. Other people who buried their heads in his wild forest fur and smelled his massive doggedness. Maybe he misses all that. Maybe he doesn’t. There is no way of knowing.

I know this, though. He carries around his history. You can see it in his face.