And We Danced

An original short story by Karen McGovern

"The dogs are sad because they no longer dance." She said this with certainty, staring at my two 3-year old shepherds lying on the grass. She noticed my puzzled expression and smiled. "In the old times-before dogs were bound to man--they danced. They danced and they sang and they were free." "You mean like wolves howling?" I asked. She shook her head, "No, no, wolves sing, they never howl. They sing to the moon that lights the night sky, they sing to one another--stories of the hunt. And long ago, on special nights when the moon was full and so were their bellies--when the owl moths flew by starlight, they danced." It was hard for me to picture a pack of wolves dancing, and I told her so. She laughed, her face a map of fine lines in tribute to time. Her snow-white braid snaked down her back as she tilted her head to the sky. The moon was almost full and in the drowsy light of the fire she was beautiful. "See there?" She pointed to the fringe of the cracking blaze, just outside the ring of firestones. Large moths flit in and out of the light, their wings dotted with large "eye" spots-like the face of an owl. From beneath her shawl she retrieved a bright, silver whistle on a long chain. The head of the whistle was carved to resemble a dog, or perhaps a wolf. Softly she blew into the instrument, and a sweet, high and mournful sound rose into the night like the fire's smoke. Ears that were soft with sleep immediately stood straight as my two dogs shot to their feet. Both turned inquisitive faces to our fireside musician, eyes bright with surprise and, dare I say, pleasure! In no time both had their noses to the air and began to softly sing along with the whistle. No--they were not howling--they were indeed singing. As the tempo of the whistle increased, both dogs began to pace around the player, tails aloft--their feet lifting in perfect time with her swaying shoulders. My mouth fell open in wonder and disbelief. I don't know how long she played--or how long the dogs danced, for it seemed like time had stopped, or perhaps we were transported back in time. All I know is that for those thrilling moments I was an audience of one to a sacred performance between man and animal, nature and spirit.

The next morning I went in search of her, to again thank her for such a magical night. She was gone, almost as if she had never been there. By the remains of the fire, sparkling in the early light, I found the whistle and a hand-written note:

"You must call your own dances now. Remember to invite all the wisdom and dreams of the past into your spirit and you too will dance with the dogs--dance and be free."