Dogs – they have been living with people for thousands of years, even among wild tribes in the middle of the jungle. And they are fully domesticated just as our dogs.

But Wild Indians – unlike us – never pet their dogs, they’re never friends with them and don’t give them names. They just let them live nearby.

They even don’t feed them – Indian dogs have to make it on their own. They’re like a sanitary corpse that cleans up the eatable leftovers thrown out near the shelter (it’s very useful, because the rotting leftovers could attract a hungry predator or cause a disease known by the Indians as the Sorrow).

The dogs of wild tribes are usually poor: skinny, suppurated, often sick. But Indians usually look poor too. You don’t see fat people among them. They’re regularly undernourished and the life in the jungle requires a lot of effort. An Indian doesn’t have much time to rest because he’s fighting to survive every day. So if he doesn’t eat and rest enough, he doesn’t have time to grow fat. So Indian dogs are skinny just like their owners.

With the exception of the shaman’s dog.

No one refuses to give food to the shaman’s dog. It’s wiser to deny oneself and give this dog a piece of meat, bone or at least a baked fish as soon as he comes – SO HE WOULD GO AWAY. Because when he’s standing at the threshold of the shelter… and is looking searchingly… people feel uncomfortable. And if he growled… children would start crying of fear.

The shaman’s dog isn’t a welcomed guest, just like a witch’s cat. Never and nowhere.

It’s mainly because this animal is trained to deliver special messages and it usually turns out that when the message is good, the shaman comes personally. But when there’s a more nasty case, he sends his dog. A dog that’s wiser than some people. He’s as cunning as the shaman himself. And he’s trained, which is an unknown and distressing thing in the jungle.

It’s very easy to recognize it (not only because of the overweight) – the shaman’s dog carries a characteristic pouch with “sanctities” around his neck.

These “sanctities” can be used for the protection of the dog. So we would say that they’re his good luck charms. But it could be that the dog got a task to drag the evil eye, sorrows or even death. In that case they won’t be good luck charms, but “bait” that “attracts” the Bad Power (and then leave the power on the doorstep on which the dog pisses.)

I didn’t know all of this when the shaman’s dog came to my shelter for the first time.

Listen...

He glowered at me and shook his head.

He did it in a way that aroused fear in the Indians sitting nearby. I wasn’t aware of the danger and called him to me (of course I wasn’t supposed to do that, especially using a freshly nibbled bone with a characteristic hoof on the end).

The shaman’s dog went two steps forward. He was very surprised that somebody spoke to him in a friendly voice instead of throwing him something to eat and waiting for him to leave.

I called him again.

He went one step forward.

- Come here Buddy, come here boy. I don’t bite – I told him in Polish.

One of the Indians moaned quietly behind my back; the log that we were sitting on started to tremble slightly (apparently, apart from the moaning the warrior was trembling of fear. It was such an unexpected and such a contradictory thing, compared to the normal behavior of these brave people that I didn’t notice anything at the moment).

- Buuuuuuuuddy... come here.

The dog was at hand.

I gave him an empty, open hand to smell (it smelled like baked meat and freshly nibbled peccari bone). When he, still uncertainly, slightly wagged his tail, I petted him.

At that moment I realized that a complete silence fell upon the Indians in the shelter. Silence which was unnatural and sinister. Even the children stopped talking. The Indians that were gathered around me stared at me with fear in their eyes.

And suddenly the dog barked happily. He started to jump and fawn. Then he lay down on his back and waited for me to scratch his belly.

For the first time in his life someone treated him open-mindedly and without fear. Treated him normally – LIKE A DOG, and not like the shaman’s dog.

The shaman had a grudge against me the very next day (that definitely isn’t a pleasant thing. Nor safe. I assure you: there aren’t many things on earth that are more deadly than a shaman having a grudge.)

He stood in front of me and said in an accusing tone:

- You broke my dog, gringo.

And once again I realized that silence filled the shelter. Unnatural and sinister silence - even the babies stopped crying. The Indians who were gathered around stared at me in horror.

- I broke the dog, wizard? What’s wrong with him?

- He wags.

- Wags?

- His tail.

- He shouldn’t…?

- THIS IS THE SHAMAN’S DOG! – He shouted at me without raising his voice.

- He wags, you say?

- He wags.

- And he shouldn’t?

- THIS IS T…

- Yes, I know. This is the Shaman’s Dog and he shouldn’t wag. Not his tail anyway. This is outrageous! Shamans’ dogs don’t wag… and… and this one… umm… wags now – I finishhhed… umm... I just finishhhhed… uncertainly.

- Gringo, I know that you played with him yesterday. I you broke my dog. Now…

He glowered at me and shook his head.

(Now I had two options:

To submit to his will, but then I would have been finished in this village – the shaman could do anything to me.

Or I could stand like a wolf in front of a wolf and scowl – under the rule: dog doesn’t eat dog.)

- It wasn’t your dog yesterday, Wizard – I interrupted him in a sort of brutal way – I only borrowed his body. This way, I can talk to my dog anytime I want. He is in a distant country, over the big water. So I called him and at that time your dog’s soul was asleep.

The Shaman squinted his eyes and made a face, which was supposed to give away unbelief. But even with that it was easy to tell that my words got to him.

That’s because Indians believe in journeys of souls; in free movement of ghosts; they believe that the soul of every living creature can borrow someone’s body; and they believe that the ghost of a deceased person can come into the possession of someone’s body jamming or putting the rightful “owners” living soul into sleep.

It sounds a bit complicated, but even we, civilized people, believe in possession of the body – then we use exorcisms. We also believe that there are people who borrow their body to somebody else’s soul. Then we say that someone is a psychic.

That’s how the Shaman understood me – HIS DOG WAS A MEDIUM YESTERDAY – he passed signals from me to my dog and the other way around.

Is that such an absurd idea? Something like a better version of a radiotelephone. Waves here, waves there. Transmitter – receiver.

He glowered at me and shook his head.

- But now he wags – the Shaman was stubborn because he didn’t want to look bad.

He felt sort of stupid because he came here having a grudge against me, while he should figure out on his own that his dog wasn’t himself yesterday.

- I confess, Wizard, wagging is my fault. I must have been tired and I didn’t send the whole soul back. When he wags, just flick him a couple of times on the tail and send the rest of my dog’s soul over the big water. He’ll surely be more afraid of your Power than mine.

He glowered at me and shook his head.

Thanks to this the Wizard saved his dignity – his dog was still the dangerous Shaman’s Dog – and I probably saved my neck.

I assure you: there aren’t many things on earth that are more deadly than a shaman having a grudge against somebody.