We’re For The Dogs

This is my dog, Dino. I adopted her from the Cashiers-Highlands Humane Society four years ago.When I first encountered her, I thought she was a pretty ordinary mutt, the product of a dozen wayward breeds and a hundred improbable rolls of the dice.As you can see, there’s nothing flashy about this dog. She’s obedient and mild mannered among people and other dogs. The people at the Humane Society named her Callie, although she acquired the nickname “Houdini” based on her ability to escape from enclosures, seemingly at will.She’s clearly built for speed and she’ll use her escape artist’s sensibilities to make a run for it whenever possible. I’ve seen her catch rabbits and birds with an almost preternatural efficiency. Dino makes the most of her freedom and you can hear her hoarse yelp far off, as she bounds through the woods with the fleetness of a deer. When she finally comes home, she’s exhausted.But there was something about her no-frills appearance, her quintessential dogginess, that tickled my memory. I knew I’d seen that sort of mutt before.Finally, I discovered a photograph in the archives of the Highlands Historical Society. A group of hunters in the closing days of the 19th century have returned from a bear hunt proudly displaying their trophy. There, in the midst of these men, separated by a gulf of 120 years, was Dino.It turns out that Dino isn’t a mutt, but a member of a nearly vanished breed called Mountain Cur. You may know the Mountain Cur from the book Old Yeller, although the Disney movie cast a Labrador Retriever in the title role, because they’re bigger and look more impressive onscreen.Mountain Curs were an essential part of the lives of the families that lived in Cashiers and Highlands in the 19th and early 20th centuries. They arrived from England in the 18th century, mixed with dogs belonging to Native Americans and made their way into the hills and hollows of Virginia and Kentucky and Georgia and, of course, the Highlands-Cashiers Plateau. Their quickness and stamina made them perfect for catching small game and running down deer and bear – qualities that could make a life or death difference in a family’s fortunes during the hard months. Like the Cherokee who lived here before them, the early settlers would use these scrappy dogs for hauling supplies and chasing prey over rough terrain.With the disappearance of deep rural mountain communities, Mountain Curs nearly vanished as well from American history. It was only a concerted effort in the 1950s that saved the breed from extinction. There were only a few dogs left here in Western North Carolina and some in Oklahoma who’d accom-panied the Cherokee along the Trail of Tears. That’s what’s so great about the Cashiers-Highlands Humane Society. Each dog and cat in their care has a unique local story to tell. They’re a breathing footnote to the Plateau’s past and a snapshot of the twin communities today. And with a little imagination you can picture these dogs patrolling an isolated family home-stead, or these cats curled up in front of a fire during a silent winter’s darkness. Visit the Humane Society and you’ll see what I mean. While we’re on the subject of local dogs and their place in the community, you can’t ignore the Ugly Dog Pubs in both Highlands and Cashiers. The Dog in Highlands and The Pup in Cashiers offer carefully assembled sandwiches and pub food, craft beers and the fruits of a full bar staffed by trained professionals. But why am I mentioning a pair of pubs in a story about a mutt that turned out not to be a mutt?Because both places welcome dogs of all types, regardless of pedigree or their checkered past. You can both sit outside and luxuriate in the passing people and canines. The Ugly Dog provides a bowl of water. For a dog, it’s like being invited to the most sensational cocktail party ever staged. I suppose if you’re so inclined, you could order a hamburger or hot dog for your canine, but I’ve never done that.This is really nothing new. Highlands and Cashiers have always been accommodating to people and their animals. (In fact, when my son Alex was a toddler we adopted the town dog Artie (he belonged to Deadeye Potts – who won him in a poker game – but Artie had spent two years just wandering around Main Street and sleeping behind The Bird Barn. Artie was such a beloved fixture of downtown that he was named Grand Marshall of the 1988 Olde Mountain Christmas Parade. We were supposed to ride in the back of a fancy hoopty car, but at the last minute the owner decided he didn’t want a big beast messing up his upholstery, so I walked Artie at the front of the parade with Alex in my arms.)I guess if you want a flavor of life on the Plateau 100 years ago, when the lives of people and their dogs were so intertwined, The Ugly Dog is a good place to start.

by Luke Osteen