KAZBEK, THE KING
Kazbek was born in 1998, and came into my life when he was 9 weeks old. Although he was born in the good old U.S. of A., his sire was from Hungary and his dam was from Georgia (the Asian country, not the state). He was an old-fashioned type of dog, very athletic, very peppery in character, noble, violent, devoted, of high intelligence and an even higher intuition. He also spoke to me, not only with his body language, his eyes, his signals, but also heart-to-heart. Straight across - like an arrow.
Kazbek was in my life at a time of great change for me, more mental than physical. I had moved to the high desert at the northeastern tip of greater Los Angeles County - an area then of few people, and much wildlife - coyotes, snakes of all types including about five kinds of rattlesnake, many small desert creatures on endangered lists. There were great deep canyons and miles of hills where the only human you might see would be an occasional horseback rider, a wandering sheepherder, an off-road motorcyclist (though they were only permitted in certain areas), and a very occasional hiker.
It was wonderful to have the big dog to wander with, night or day, under the sun and under the moon, a bodyguard, a friend, a faithful companion in adventures and in peace. At that time, my sister and I were roommates. She had her own pack, two dogs and a cat, and I had mine, which at times numbered 8, 9, 10 dogs and several cats. Due to road traffic and coyotes, the cats remained indoors at all times. The dogs had a huge fenced yard and a barn. Kazbek was part of all this noise, fun, and fur.
But some of our best times were spent alone, or with one of the two top females in our pack: Zoe, my German Shepherd, and Raksha, a second C.O., young and female.
KAZBEK (back)
During my years with Kazbek, I wrote many little stories - diary entries really - about our days and nights together. All my dogs have been my teachers - they have taught patience, humanity, responsibility, acceptance, and what unconditional love means. But they also taught me about one of my favorite subjects in the world: dogs.
Below I offer one of my older Kaz Tales.
A Walk on the Wild Side
The van shudders along the muddy, rutted track that leads to our secluded hiking area.
Few enter this isolated area of California national forest, and today it is completely deserted. Low scrub and sage roll west and north, where mist partially obscures the snow-ridged mountain peaks. The air, damp from the rain that has been our constant companion for weeks, is fresh and fragrant - sometimes so chill it makes the ears and nose sting.
We park off-track on a frozen, red mud shoulder. I release the German Shepherd, Zoe, from the confines of the van, sure that she will stay close and come when called. The Russian Sheepdog, Kazbek, eagerly awaits his own invitation to fly from the van side door. I give the nod, and, free at last, the two friends dash up a crumbling fire trail and out of sight. Zoe gallops in long, liquid bounds, easily outdistancing the bigger dog. But Kazbek flattens out to run down his smaller companion who, feeling him closing in, leaps lightly aside at the last moment to avoid collision.
Coyote, rabbit, deer and squirrel wander these hills under cover of darkness, as does the occasional bobcat or mountain lion; but the wild creatures have learned to remain hidden during daylight. Only their scat betrays their presence. The caw of a wheeling raven taps the sky like a crystal bell. Below, the silence of the land is broken only by a dancing wind that plays across these canyons like a harp.
Our hiking trail falls away on either side where barely visible game trails meander amid the blue, green and gray of new growth. For a hiker, the descent is treacherous in gravel soaked mud, so I call Kazbek to me. He returns to patiently pace beside me and I lean on him to navigate the steep and deeply eroded trail. We eventually arrive at Bat Rock where white guano stripes the ledges and caverns dot the stony face. The bats that ride warm summer updrafts, chirping and swooping in the June twilight, live here. They are at rest now, and, although lovely to watch in the scented evenings to come, the idea of their leathery little bodies hanging upside down asleep is not attractive. I won t go in the caves. The dogs, of course, have different ideas and dash forward noses to the ground, to the rock, to the sky, and back again.
I call out to them, but my voice echoes, careening off the rock and the dogs cock their heads, listening to the sound bounce back and forth. Zoe is overcome with curiosity and takes off into the black holes that riddle the granite. Kazbek quickly follows.
I shout and wave my arms to catch their attention, to call them back. But my voice continues to bounce and they move outward, the wrong way. They can no longer hear me so I start away, up the path, confident that my back will call to them in a way my voice cannot. Zoe dashes toward then past me, always leading out and then rushing back to herd us forward. The Ovcharka waits until the last minute, then with deceptive speed, sprints toward us, leaping over 2-foot high brush as if it wasn t there. He is beautiful in a collected trot, and suddenly aware of a deep cleft in the road, he hurdles it and descends at last to a huge granite outcrop. Despite the inclement weather, we hike down. The dogs slake their eager thirst in potholes, which gleam with fresh rainwater.
Our ascent back is steep and I decide to take a rest halfway up to enjoy the view while the dogs reconnoiter. The rubbery outer shell of my rain gear makes a great ground cover and I lie back on it, the well drained gravel beneath is not uncomfortable on my back. I cross my arms beneath my head, and fall upwards into the gray clouds that skitter across the tumultuous spring sky. The dogs, concerned to see me down, gallop over to check on me. I hear the thud of their paws and cover my face while dirt kicks up around me. Zoe gives me a sniff, realizes I am fine, and wanders back into the brush to explore. But Kazbek, vigilant and quiet, sits upright beside me where I rest. Eventually, he becomes restive and I get up, using his collar and back as a kind of safety railing; then he totes me back up the hill, making the rough terrain easy to negotiate.
Zoe follows immediately, then dashes in advance of us, then falls behind again. Kazbek remains at my side, a kind of large, furry hiking stick. When we are safely back on the high trail, I release him to play and he finds a fresh ground squirrel hole, which he begins to dig into furiously. For the squirrels' peace of mind, I tell him to leave it and he does, trotting after Zoe instead. The two dogs jog down the path before me. I let them go. When they realize they have let me fall behind, they will return.
Soon our van becomes visible in the distance. The sun has now sunk deep in the west, where bright pink clouds fade. We hike on down to the car and climb in, tired, happy, content. For once, Zoe is quiet, relaxing into a cat-tight curl on the sheepskins that line her little crate. Kazbek's head is visible in the rear view mirror. He has taken up his back seat vigil over us all and will remain on duty until we are home.
The key turns in the ignition, the engine fires, and three travelers leave these darkening purple hills to the tender embrace of the new moon.
by Deborah O Brien
©2014
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