The Husky

A story about the neighbor's dog + a cover song + the record of the week

The large, wolf-like animals in the popular HBO show, Game of Thrones, were known as direwolves––mystical animals based on the real-life prehistoric species of the same name. Unfortunately, it’s not possible to domesticate a dire wolf because they have been extinct for 10,000 years. If you want to cosplay as Jon Snow and acquire the next best thing, your best bet would be to adopt a husky.

That’s precisely what people did, as 2019 saw a massive spike in huskies dumped at dog shelters in many southern California towns, with most people ultimately realizing they bit off more than they could chew, and that perhaps acquiring a dog that was initially bred for arctic sledding was not the brightest idea when residing in a place known for eternal summer. Unlike Game of Thrones, no matter how long you wait, winter is not coming.

The house around the corner from me had a husky. I know this because he was always outside, barking at my dog and me from behind a brown metal fence. There was no grass back there, only a 3-foot wide corridor of concrete between the house and the cinder-block wall that was shared with the neighbor’s property. I occasionally saw the owner, who was a gruff ape of a man, always in a white tank top with chest hair billowing out of the top. There was more hair on his arms and chest than on his head. He always seemed exhausted and angry. He was maybe a contractor, a plumber, or a bricklayer. Whatever he did, he was not happy to be doing it. His truck full of tools was immaculate despite his house being a terrifying and foreboding mess. In most situations that I saw him, he was either yelling at his child in Armenian or barking at his wife to move faster.

I didn’t like going down that block, but Forrest would tire of our more scenic routes and pull me in that direction from time to time. I had a good feeling the dog lived outside. So, it was unusual not to hear the dog barking on this particular day when Forrest decided we were breaking from our traditional path.

I looked over and saw his owner, the brute in his typical attire, holding a metal pipe that was about a foot long. The dog was at his feet, cowering, as the man tapped the dog’s head with the large pipe. He wasn’t beating him, but he wasn’t playing with him either. He grumbled, “No,” repeatedly, tapping him just hard enough to make me swallow hard and feel my body temperature rise. The tapping intensified just slightly as I stood there watching, so it felt like the type of thing that could escalate over time. Or maybe the pipe was a new prop, and if it was just his hand he was using, he’d have been swinging harder. In any case, I wasn’t having it, so I tied Forrest to the nearest tree, jumped the fence, grabbed the pipe and beat the man over the head until he was safely unconscious.

That’s one of many images I had as I walked away. There’s a scene in the movie, High Fidelity, where the main character, Rob Gordon (played by John Cusack) is confronted by his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend (played by Tim Robbins) at the record store that Gordon owns. The scene is a montage of different scenarios that Gordon plays out in his head, which range from telling the guy off to eventually beating the living shit out of him with the help of the store’s employees. That’s pretty much how it went for me, but instead of Tim Robbins, it was the barbarian, and instead of record store employees, it was Forrest going to town on the guy’s leg.

The closest I’ve come to a dire wolf encounter — an actual wolf at the Lakota wolf preserve in NJ.

For anyone reading and passing judgment, perhaps there are those who would have said something, but I had a hard time believing that I had any chance of educating the neanderthal on what he should and should not do on his own property. Instead, Forrest and I adjusted our morning route to make sure we passed by the house and kept an eye on the husky. I also submitted a detailed form at ASPCA to report potential animal abuse.

It was 2020 when I stopped hearing the husky bark. We’d gone 3 or 4 weeks without the sound when I was greeted by the wife and child of the caveman. The wife asked, in broken English, if her daughter could pet my dog, to which I said, “Of course.”

The mother explained that they had a dog who’d recently passed. He’d come down with a very rare illness, one that escalated quickly. She said he went peacefully, but that her husband would not allow them to have another dog, as he believed the illness was brought on by something in the home, and it wasn’t safe for them to have animals there. I wanted to tell her that I agreed with her husband, and that it likely was not safe for them to have animals there, but instead I just nodded. As she spoke to her daughter in Armenian, I felt a sense of relief that the dog had passed, and wondering if what she said was true, that perhaps whatever took that dog was a blessing. I looked down at the young girl, who showed no signs of mourning and instead smiled while looking up as she pet Forrest, knowing and accepting that this was the way it had to be.

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In case you missed it, I put out a cover yesterday. It’s video/recording that I dug off an old hard drive, but realized I’d never released the mixed/mastered version. Video is below on YouTube and full audio is available for paid subscribers via the music archive page.

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THE RECORD CLUB

Last week’s selection was My Morning Jacket - It Still Moves (2003)

You can find my ramblings on last week’s record in the comment section below.

This week’s selection is…

Week #11
Lucinda Williams - Car Wheels on a Gravel Road (1998)