Cooler Is Better

Luky was pretty calm this morning. I guess we went out late enough last night that he wasn't in a great hurry for anything more than breakfast this morning.

However, when we walked outside and into 65^ breezy, clear air, he got a predictable burst of energy.

Yes, Atlanta is finally getting a little cooler - at least for a day or two. September is traditionally no reprieve from the heat of July and August. Of course, Luky doesn't pay much attention to the calendar. I've noticed that he almost totally ignores the big holidays and family birthdays, etc. He acts like Saturday is just another workday . . . or, I guess I should say, he acts like everyday is Saturday! However, he does seem to pay close attention to the temperature.

This morning's cool breeze must have reminded him of one of my old stories because he asked me to retell it. It's the story of one of his distant cousins - my first Malamute, Piitok. "Piitok," which we pronounced, "pee-tawk," means something like "has-nothing" in the Inuit language. The name was chosen to be purposely, if modestly, ironic in that, at the very least, Piitok was in possession of much adoration. That said, I have to admit that Piitok was also bought and raised by a couple of naive, recently-graduated college kids . . . that would be me and my partner at that time (an otherwise very bright, Cuban-import, math major named Margarita).

We loved Piitok, of course, but like many young people we were not very good dog parents. Looking back I realize that we didn't even know HOW to be good dog parents - and that was the case even in spite of the fact that I grew up in a dog-oriented family. But, that's another story and Luky gets frustrated when I digress into such historical self-reflection. He says it's completely egotistical by which he means it takes time away from him.

So, the story he wanted to hear was about the time we drove over to Yosemite. Yosemite was slightly south and significantly east of Berkeley (where Piitok and we lived at the time). As anyone with geographical commonsense would surmise, east from Berkeley also means inland and coincidentally toward the mountains. It turns out that Yosemite is nearly a mile higher in elevation.

As I recall, it was late Summer or early Fall when we made this trip and Piitok was in the back seat, as travel-calm as any Malamute I've known. The nearly 4-hour drive, with occasional stops for water and perhaps a scenic view, did not phase him in the least. However, that sedate manner and contentment at watching the road and trees fly by (punctuated by his occasional squinting lean out the window to dose himself with a blast of onrushing air) all came to an abrupt halt when, just inside the Park boundary, we crossed over an elevation level above which the ground was completely covered with snow. And that put an end to Piitok's "travel cool."

He stood up in the back seat, tail banging us both in the head (ours was a small car), and he started talking to the snow. I say "talking" because, of course, Malamutes do not bark. His eagerness to touch it and play in it became so frenetic we were forced to locate the first snowplow-generated rest stop with enough room to safely park and exit. Forget facilities of any kind - this was not about taking care of business - this was about primal connections.

Later that year I was paging through a work by Carl Jung and was reminded of his theory on collective consciousness (more recent checking verifies that it is a theory that is not likely to be unique nor original to Jung, but at the time I associated it with Jung so . . .). And regardless of how I might mistake the theory's tenets, I recalled the hypothesis of there existing a sort of genetic-type of subconscious memory that would be passed down through generations. I'm not familiar with any studies done on this idea, but I can tell you in no uncertain terms that if you ever care to see an example of what might pass for evidence, then I suggest you take a Malamute that otherwise knows only Sun and blue skies and warm weather into cold, crisp, Wintry air and snow-covered ground.

For Piitok's part I might just as well have taken a child orphaned from a native land at an early age back to his parent's front door. His reaction can only be described as deep recognition and longing. He played and danced in that snow. He talked to it and rolled in it and acted as if he had finally found a close friend whom he'd lost - perhaps many lifetimes before.

I will never forget my vicarious experience of that dog's inner joy. And, as you can tell, Luky loves that story.