“But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as a man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called — called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come.” – Jack London, The Call Of The Wild.

I love Tina; this brave, wild, fiercely independent dog moves me deeply. More than any other dog I’ve known, she lives the life of a dog; she might be living a thousand years ago, watching over her humans huddled in a cave.

She is a Call Of The Wild Dog, brave, devoted, utterly independent. She reminds me of the dogs that lived freely and mostly on their own, but served people, watched over them, and led them to food.

Tina and I have made a strong connection with one another; we are good friends. Tina is not like any other dog I know; the Amish don’t train their dogs, they live with them and let them watch and learn and love themselves.

She is a wild dog in some ways, yet a guardian dog in other ways. The Amish do not domesticate their dogs or shower them with treats and toys. They let them figure out how to live. They believe God watches over them.

Tina comes in and out of the house at will; she follows the children wherever they go. When it is hot, she finds a stream in the woods to drink from; when it is raining, she finds a barn door from which she can keep an eye on her world.

She often disappears into the words, limping furiously on her three good legs, but has never runoff; she would never leave her children or her family behind.

The Amish get their dogs for utilitarian reasons – to let them know when strangers come, guard their children, and sound the alarm if there is smoke or fire. She has never been to a vet, not even when most of her right front left was sawn off in a lumber yard saw.

She rested for a few days and came back to work.

When she sees me, she comes limping quickly across the pasture or field, no matter how far off she is, and throws herself into my arms, looking almost pleadingly into my eyes to have her back or belly scratched.

She must know the sound of my car, as she always appears soon after I pull into the farm and turn the engine off.

She is much loved by her Amish family. But she is rarely touched, scratched, spoken to, or cuddled.

The Amish do love their animals, but not in the way the English do. No baby talk, treats, declarations of life, training with hand signals, and high talk. No vet visits, (I bring her the best dog food, her coat now shines like the moon, but that is our secret.)

I don’t know if Tina needs attention, but I do think she enjoys it.  She and I connected from the first time I met her. It’s a beautiful thing when she comes running and flings herself into my arms, certain that I will catch her before she falls.

She is savvy about the forest, always listening for its many sounds, none of which I can hear. Now and then, she hears something in the woods and hobbles out quietly, only to come back licking her chops or spitting bones; she is apparently a skilled hunter.

No one in the family has ever seen her eliminate; she always goes out to the woods.

Like Jack London’s Buck, there is something wild about her, something that never gives herself away, even to the people she loves. Clearly, the farm is hers; she is often found at its highest point, where she can watch her people, especially the children, who she follows everywhere.

She is always watching, always guarding, always listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as many may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that calls out to her – called, walking or sleeping at all times, for her to come.

If a child falls or cries out, she hobbles like lightning, arriving in seconds to see what happened.

Now and then, she decides to boss around one of the big horses to show them who is in charge of the farm. She will rush out and bark and nip at their heels until they move back. Then she will sit down proudly and gloat.

She sleeps where she wants to sleep, and few family members know where that is on a given night.

I sometimes fantasize about Tina, wondering if she would end up on my farm, exhausted. I know they would never give her up, and she would never give them up. And I can visit whenever I want.

Tina is where she should be, with the people she ought to be with. Much as I love her, I know my farm is not big enough for her to live on; she needs a big slice of the world for her to roam.

And I am very happy with my threesome.

She belongs to her own special world.