Black Dog In Disguise

A Red River Métis Fable

There once was a black dog who was strong and had sharp teeth, but he was deceitful and didn’t like to work. He saw how hard the other animals laboured for their food and for their homes and families, and the pride that came from earning one’s way. But he thought to himself, “There must be an easier path”

So, like a devil in disguise, he began to imitate them.

When he saw the beavers building their dam, hauling mud and sticks all day, he dipped his tail in the water and barked, “I, too, am a builder!” The beavers, generous and trusting, welcomed him and shared their food, but the dog never worked, and the current broke the dam from where he’d chewed the logs to nap.

When he passed the berry thickets where the squirrels had worked all season to harvest, he painted his fur with juice and said, “I, too, am a berry gatherer!” The squirrels were kind as well and they let him stay, but the dog trampled the patch, gorged himself, and left little for the winter stores.

He then came upon some muskrats, hauling reeds to weave winter nests. “I, too, am a weaver,” he said, soaking his fur to look the part. They gave him shelter, but when the freeze came, he’d never helped seal the walls and the whole nest flooded.

Animal after animal suffered because of his deceit, and though the black dog always moved on before blame could catch him, the land remembered.

One winter, thin and cold, the dog found himself alone. No one greeted him and no food was offered. Even the scavengers turned him away. The dog looked at his reflection in the ice, saw the berry stains, the ragged fur, and the bits of broken reed tangled in his tail. He had worn every coat but his own.

When you put on disguises and take what others have earned without walking their path, you dishonour not only their labour but your own name as well. Identity is not a mask to be borrowed. It is a story to be lived.