Mr. Write's Page

My dad was a career military officer, and his lot in life was packing up and moving on. Which meant it was the family’s lot, too.

In 1960, after a tour of duty in Germany, Dad was transferred to Atlanta. We were back in the States and within a day’s drive of our relatives.

A few years earlier, when we shipped out to Europe, we had left behind the family dog, Pudgy, a delightful little black and white mutt who mostly belonged to me. We left Pudgy in the care of my grandparents, Leila and Frank Byrd.

Leila and Frank lived in Suwanee, just north of Atlanta. Silly me, I assumed I would get my dog back after the tour in Germany was over. It didn’t happen. Pudgy had become Frank’s dog, and that was that.

But Dad had a friend, who had a friend, and one day, Dad brought home a new family dog: a majestic adult male Alaskan Malamute named Timber Trail Kimo.

Kimo had it all — the papers, the lineage, the demeanor, the grand appearance. He was a magnificent animal. Dad even mused, with dollar signs in his eyes, about hiring Kimo out for stud.

Although regal in bearing, Kimo was 110 pounds of pushover. He was amiable, quiet, never any trouble. When my baby sister Betty climbed on his back and yanked at his fur, Kimo endured it without complaint.

When Kimo joined the family, we lived in a rented house in an Atlanta suburb. Kimo seemed content with a small fenced back yard and life as a house dog. Everyone was surprised that he adapted so well.

That year, while I was off at college, Mom and Dad purchased some acreage in Suwanee not far from Leila and Frank. A new house soon went up, and the Smiths began a new life in exotic Suwanee, Georgia.

Kimo blossomed in the new environment. He loved the freedom of a 3-acre pasture for a front yard. He joyfully chased small critters through the woods. For Kimo, Suwanee was dog heaven.

Although the house was inside the city limits, it was quite remote, surrounded by forest in all directions. And Kimo was not restrained. He might follow my brothers to the bus stop, then snooze on the patio for a while, then disappear into the woods for an hour. Always, he reappeared before anyone wondered where he was.

However, as the months passed, one hour turned into several hours. And slowly, it became routine for Kimo to be absent for much of the day. Not always, but regularly.

Mom and Dad were a little uncomfortable about it, but not enough to put Kimo on a rope or in an enclosure.

Then came the Piglet Incident.

One day in the fall, Dad purchased a young spotted piglet. Dad’s intention was for the little thing to grow up to become bacon, pork chops, fatback, and ham.

Over the years, the Smiths raised a succession of porkers. They all had names, were halfway to being pets, and ultimately, ended up stocking the family freezer.

But the spotted piglet resided at the Smith house for only about two minutes. The pig broke free from Dad and sped away at full speed, squealing in panic. Kimo took off after him.

It was over in a heartbeat. The mortally wounded piglet had to be put out of its misery.

Although Dad had lost his investment, he tried hard not to blame Kimo. Kimo acted on instinct, Dad said. The dog couldn’t resist fleeing prey. It was a freak occurrence.

Instinct, it probably was. A freak occurrence, no.

At some point that year, Mom and Dad heard that Kimo had been seen a few times roaming the woods with a group of other dogs. Most of them, like Kimo, were local pets that fell together in a loose-knit pack. They were just dogs enjoying life. There were no reports of trouble.

That came soon enough. On various occasions, the dogs were seen overturning trash cans, barking at livestock, treeing cats, and chasing dogs that weren’t part of the pack.

For a time, Dad kept Kimo restrained, and fewer stories surfaced about the roaming pack. Which meant, most likely, that Kimo had been its leader.

The conclusion was unavoidable that step by step, Kimo was undergoing a metamorphosis: he was leaving his humans behind and being drawn to the wild. Looking back, I think it was inevitable.

After Kimo had been restrained for a few weeks, Dad decided that maybe the roaming thing was in check. Kimo was allowed more freedom. All seemed well.

Then, suddenly, Kimo was gone for good.

The Suwanee pack wasn’t seen again, with or without him. But a few months later, a newspaper in Forsyth County, on the other side of the Chattahoochee River, reported that a pack of dogs was on the loose there.

The pack was led by a large dog, wolf-like in appearance. And this time, the pack was involved in serious wild-dog stuff.

At various times, the pack attacked pets, broke into a chicken coop, and menaced a farmer. The sheriff’s office and some local men were searching.

We heard about the pack a number of times after that, most notably when the dogs isolated and killed a calf.

For a long time, the pack stayed ahead of the authorities. Eventually, the stories faded away.

My guess is, the pack leader — and surely it was Kimo — finally was killed. I can’t imagine another explanation.

In addition to his fascinating story, Kimo left behind another legacy.

For 10 years after Kimo came to Suwanee, half the dogs born within 25 miles had his distinctive coloration and physical characteristics.

Timber Trail Kimo.