As I had imagined, the group got up quite late following yesterday's festive evening, celebrating their first full year in Canada at the restaurant. (HERE).

The forecast promised beautiful, albeit cool, weather. Leaving the club—late at night or early in the morning, depending on your perspective—they decided to meet at the chalet for a light brunch around eleven, then go for a leisurely stroll in the national park to get some fresh air.

As you can see, while the snow that fell again on Monday and Tuesday has almost completely melted on wind-exposed ground, that is not the case in the wooded areas.

The young French's group laughed as they recalled how, exactly a year ago, they had taken their first walk in the park and felt a bit lost; yet now, 365 days later, they recognize the trails and find their way around with ease.

Back at the chalet, they waited for Guylaine and Jasmine, who were due to join them after their classes, and then they all settled down for some refreshments.

That was when Wash spoke up.

"You remember what I explained last week (HERE)—that couples in love would sometimes seek privacy far from the camp? Well, on a beautiful day like today, I imagine my ancestor, Walks-at-Dawn, and his beloved, Many-Stars, would have taken advantage of the fact that Still-Water was staying in their tipi—since her husband still hasn't returned from his winter hunts. With her looking after the children, the two of them would likely have gone off alone to share an intimate moment in the woods."

Guylaine is taken aback.

"An intimate moment in the woods? On a day like this? Come on, Wash—it was only 3°C this afternoon!"

The whole group burst out laughing, thinking he was joking.

"It was far too cold to be getting ideas like that outdoors!" Jasmine chuckled.

Everyone nodded in agreement, and a few jokes flew about the effect the cold has on men!

"You underestimate the protective power of a bison hide against the cold—even extreme cold. Wrapped in one, you stay warm even at -35 degrees, because the coat is thick, woolly, and very dense; it traps body heat perfectly. So, imagine what it’s like to be *between* two bison hides!" Wash replied teasingly. "No doubt about it—I’m certain they would have taken advantage of that," he added.

It seemed to his companions that he was visualizing the scene he was describing: *Walks-at-Dawn* and *Many-Stars* quietly returning to their tipi, exchanging knowing, satisfied glances.

The adventurers listened as he described the scene. He was a gifted storyteller; they could almost see the couple walking through the grass, scorched by the cold of the departing winter.

But the mood was abruptly broken when Wash added that the dogs had started barking to welcome them back!

So much for intimacy! *Quiet-Water* and the children now knew they were back!

"They had dogs? In the forest?" Nabil asked in surprise.

There had always been dogs around the tipis. In fact, Native American dogs had lived there for over 15,000 years. They roamed freely around the tipis. They were respected because they were useful, serving as sentinels for the encampment. They were also used for hunting and hauling gear, as they pulled travois just like horses.

They all but vanished with the arrival of Europeans, who introduced numerous European dog breeds. Crossbreeding and previously unknown diseases—such as distemper—led to the near-total extinction of the original dogs.

On the Canadian West Coast, there was even a breed of woolly dog ​​raised like sheep by the Salish people; they would shear them and spin the wool into blankets (HERE).

Naturally, there were legends and myths surrounding them; one such myth held that dogs with heterochromia (eyes of different colors) could see both the physical world and the spirit world simultaneously.

That is where Oona comes in.

"Among your people, the Ojibwe, were dogs eaten, as they were among the Iroquois?"

"No! Not to my knowledge, anyway; I’ve never heard of that practice among my people," Wash replies.

Guylaine asks:

"The Mohawk Nation is an Iroquoian nation. So, did your ancestors eat dog, Oona?"

"Yes, the Kanien'kehà:ka (Mohawks) and other Iroquoian nations did sometimes consume dog meat, but it was primarily a ritual and ceremonial practice rather than a common food source. The dog was considered a noble animal and was often sacrificed during important festivals or war feasts to honor guests or seal alliances—with the sacrifice of a white dog being considered a special honor. Do you see why I am not at all proud of my people's ancestral traditions?!"

"But that sort of thing isn't done anymore, I suppose," Guylaine asks.

"No, of course not. But it *was* done."

Guylaine senses her discomfort regarding certain Mohawk traditions and replies gently:

"Many things were done in the past; the main thing is that they aren't done anymore."

Franck is uncomfortable too, knowing that it took a great effort for Oona to speak about the traditions of this warrior people—traditions she had tried to distance herself from as soon as she could (by enlisting in the Canadian Army at sixteen)—so he interrupts her.

"How about we ask Wash to tell us a legend about dogs, if he knows one?"

Wash is relieved too and says he knows a pretty good one, though it is long. All his friends tell him that doesn't matter and that they want to hear it.

So the young man begins to tell the story in his fine, deep voice:

"It was a long, long time ago. The one we call Nanabozo—the first being to take human form—was wandering among the people. This was before humans had arrived on Earth.

One of the missions the Creator entrusted to Nanabozo was to improve the lot of humans upon their arrival.

So he said to himself: 'I wonder how the animals will react when they see a human being for the first time.'" "I had better ask them."

So, Nanabozo summoned a great council of all the animals. Then, standing before them, he said: "I want each of you to step forward, and when I say the word for 'human being,' tell me what you would do."

The first to step forward was the bear. In those days, the bear was so huge that he towered over the tallest trees.

His mouth was so vast that he could swallow an entire tipi.

And when Nanabozo spoke the word "Anishinaabe" (which means "human being" but is also the name of my people, the Ojibwe), the bear cried out: "I will swallow every human being I see!"

Nanabozo thought about this. He said to himself: "I don't think humans would appreciate being swallowed by one of our own kind; I had better do something about it."

So, he decided to use one of the powers the Creator had given him—the power to change things—a power that we humans also possess, and often misuse.

Nanabozo said to the bear: "You have dandruff stuck in your fur; "Let me remove them with my fingers."

The bear sat down in front of him, and Nanabozo began running his fingers over its back. As he did so, removing the flakes, he made the bear smaller and smaller, until it reached the size of the bears we see today.

And when Nanabozo asked, "Now, what will you do when you see a human?", the bear looked at itself and replied, "I will run away!"

That is what bears generally do to this day.

The next to appear was the one we call "mooz," the moose. It was so massive that its antlers were taller than the highest pines and sharper than the keenest spears.

When Nanabozo spoke the word "anishinaabe," the moose replied: "I will hurl spears at every human I encounter; I will toss them with my antlers, fling them over the treetops, and trample them with my hooves until they are as flat as your hand!"

And Nanabozo thought to himself, "I don't think humans would enjoy being pierced and flattened by the moose; I had better do something."

So he said to the moose, "Nidoba—my friend—you seem very strong. Let us have a contest;" "I'll raise my arms, and you try to push me back." The moose agreed, leaned forward, placed his muzzle in one of Nanabozo's hands and his massive antlers in the other, and began to push with all his might. But Nanabozo didn't budge. And the moose's antlers grew smaller and rounder, and the moose himself became much, much smaller than before, and his nose was flattened.

The moose looked at himself when Nanabozo asked, "And now, what will you do when you see a human being?" The moose replied, "Um, I'll run away."

Nanabozo then spoke to many animals, one after another. There was almost a different story for each one, though some weren't dangerous at all.

For instance, the rabbit said, "When I see a human being, I'll run around foolishly and be terrified!" That is what the rabbit still does today.

The little mice said, "We'll sneak into their tipis and eat their food!" And Nanabozo replied, "Well, that won't really hurt them; you can do that."

But in the end, only one animal remained. It sat there before him, wagging its tail. It was, of course, the dog. Nanabozo said to him, "Nidoba, my friend, will you harm the humans when they arrive?"

The dog shook his head and replied, "No, I am eagerly awaiting the humans! I want to be their best friend, play with their children, hunt with them, live in their tipis, share their food, and even snuggle into their beds. I want to be their best, best, best, best friend!"

Nanabozo looked at the dog and saw that he had a good heart.

He said, "Nidoba, my friend, you will be the best friend humans have ever had—a friend even better than some will deserve."

They all applauded the person who had just shared this beautiful legend, then began to talk—some about a childhood dog, others about a beloved dog from their past, or the dog they dreamed of having.

Afterward, they prepared a light supper, and the evening came to an early close as everyone began to yawn. It was time to turn in and catch up on the sleep lost during the previous day's festivities.

Have a nice day :-)

♥♥♥