I wonder over my dogs. I find it amazing to have in my backyard a
piece of
history that is thousands of years old. There are times when I look
into
their eyes, that I am taken to another place and time. I know they are
something that I will never fully understand. I wonder how they know
not to
eat my chickens, but to kill the skunks, possums, and other creatures
that
have erred in going under the fence. I wonder how they can be so smart,
so
intuitive. I am a lousy teacher. but they are incredible observers and
learners.
They saw me feed the chickens. The saw me gather the eggs. They
watched as
I worked in the yard around the birds. They saw that I was not upset by
their presence. I was teaching them. I just was too stupid to realize
it.
So, one day, when the chickens decided to fly over the fence, they were
greeted by my dogs. I thought I was having chicken and dumplings for
dinner
for the next few nights. The dogs had other plans. They nestled them
briefly with their noses, Tira even cleaned them lovingly, then walked
away
and laid down elsewhere.
The dogs watched me with my kids. And here I thought they were always
sleeping. Tira knew that my son should not be laying down on the
trampoline
when no one else was in the yard. HOW did she know? WHY did she sound
the
alarm? A dog cannot possibly understand a trampoline and the risks that
are
created when you add to it a reckless 5-year-old boy ... can she?? But ... she did. And the alarm wasn't shut off till I came out AND
till I
discovered the source of her anxiety. She would NOT let it rest. How
can I
not be mystified? How can I not love her, and be grateful beyond
measure to
a people that I don't even know for this wonderful dog? TWICE she has
"saved" THAT particular son. twice that I know of, anyway.
I value the breed's history. I value the amount of time that Turkish
people
invested in perfecting a breed. I value the mystery of my dogs.
I cannot duplicate the lifestyle of a Turkish shepherd from two thousand years
ago. And I also cannot bring back an animal that becomes extinct. I
value the breed too much to change it, even if I thought it would "suit
me
better" than the way they are now. Sometimes the bigger picture is
really
bigger than me, or my farm, or my house, MY wants, or my wallet.
I wish I knew Anatolians would be around (in their original form) two
thousand years from now to save someone else's children, and to guard
someone
else's sheep. And I wish I knew that the mother of those children would
stare into
her dog's eyes and think about us and our dogs ... and thank us for the
mystery of it all.
