how the kangal got her mask

I’ve owned many dogs over the years, but none like my latest, Sheba, who is a Kangal, a shepherd breed originating from Turkey. For thousands of years, Kangals have been used to guard goats and sheep, but it was not until the 1980’s that they arrived in the United States. Kangals are very intelligent, very independent, and often very frustrating: Kangals regularly exhibit all the behaviors that you will read in the story below.  

As you can see from the photo, Kangals are usually a golden-fawn color, except for some black on their ears, and a “mask” of black on their face. Seeing as how we all seem to be going on about masks a lot lately, and because of how remarkable Kangals are, I was inspired to write about masks and Kangals, in the style of Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories.

The book, which I enjoyed as a child, tell about how several animals came to be as they are now: how the leopard got his spots, how the camel got his hump, how the elephant got his trunk, and so on. Here then, is:

Video is from an open mic on Zoom, hosted by the Eastern Shore Writers Association (ESWA), with President-Elect Tara Elliott as the MC, held 8/6/2020

How The Kangal Got Her Mask

In the High and Far-Off Times, O Best Beloved, there was a dog called Kangal. She was different from all the other dogs, long-legged and tall, altogether golden-fawn in colour, with flopping ears and a curled tail of which she was particularly proud. She was fast and fierce and naughty and headstrong, never paying a bit of attention to what anyone told her, and always doing only what she pleased.

What pleased Kangal greatly was to chase other animals, biting their heels as they fled. She chased all the other dogs. She chased Cat, and Pig, and any Birds who flew too closely. The only animals she didn’t chase were Goat and Sheep, because whenever she tried to chase them, they didn’t run away.

So that is why Goat and Sheep were the only friends that Kangal had. She went with them when they walked the wide fields, and sat with them when they sat, and she kept watch while they ate and slept, not so much because she liked them (though she did, as much as she could like anyone), but so that she could find someone else to chase.

Sometimes, Wolf or Leopard would try to eat Goat or Sheep, but Kangal always saw them coming and chased them away, barking with her loud voice, and snapping with her teeth, sharper than any other dog’s. If they did not run away at first, she would fight them until they did, because Kangal knew no fear, and felt almost no hurt, and loved nothing—not even chasing the other animals—more than fighting.

If there was no one to chase or fight, Kangal was quick to be bored, and then, she would dig. She dug deep, deep holes in the fields where Goat and Sheep grazed, and sometimes they tumbled into them by accident, and bruised themselves, and were vexed to climb out.

“No, Kangal, no!” they told her, shaking their shaggy heads, but Kangal was willful and never paid anyone any mind, and did not listen to them.

Sometimes, instead of deep holes, Kangal dug long trenches that Goat and Sheep sometimes tripped over, and fell on their faces, and Kangal laughed at them, wagging her curled tail.

“No, Kangal, no!” they told her, but Kangal did not listen.

Then one day, as the three of them were walking along a field where they had never been, they came to an Enormous Mud Patch. It was as big as a pond, and very smelly, and its mud was thick and black and very sticky.

“Hurrah!” said Kangal. “I was bored because there is no one to chase, and because we had not stopped so that I could dig. But now we have found this Enormous Mud Patch, and I shall romp in it.”

“No, Kangal, no!” said Goat and Sheep. “That mud is altogether too smelly, and too thick, and too sticky. If you romp in it, it might never come off.”

But Kangal did not listen. Goat and Sheep could only watch as she romped in the mud and played in it and lay in it and rolled in it, until instead of being golden-fawn coloured, like she had been, she was black as night, and very pleased with herself.

“Look at you!” said Goat and Sheep. “You are so muddy and so smelly that we can’t bear you to be near us. And if you are not near us, how will you keep Wolf and Leopard away?”

“I shall wash myself in the stream there, and make clean,” Kangal told them.

“No, Kangal, no!” said Goat and Sheep, shaking their shaggy heads. “You are so muddy that you will never make clean.”

But Kangal was willful and never paid anyone any mind. “You will see,” she sneered, and went to the stream to bathe.

Kangal washed in the stream for a long, long time, dunking herself under the cold, cold water and scrubbing herself against the ragged, rasping rocks there and doing those things over and over, until the stream ran black with mud and she had gotten so soaked and soggy that even her curled tail, of which, you must remember, O Best Beloved, she was particularly proud, went almost straight, with only a little crook at the end of it.

When she, who felt almost no hurt, could finally bear no more of the cold, cold water and the ragged, rasping rocks, she climbed out onto the bank of the stream where Goat and Sheep watched, and she shook herself from head to tail and back again and then again more, until finally she was dry.

“There! You see?” she said to them. “I have made all clean, just as I said I would.”

“No, Kangal, no, you have not made all clean,” they told her. “Look down in the water and see yourself.”

Because she was vain, Kangal, for once, did as she was bid, leaning over a still part of the stream so that she could see her reflection. It was true that almost all of her was again a lovely golden-fawn colour, and that her tail was once again curled so that she could be particularly proud of it. But the mud she had romped in and played in and lay in and rolled in was so thick and so black and so sticky that it had not come off her snout (or most of her ears, for that matter).

“I shall wash again,” said Kangal, and because she was headstrong and stubborn, she spent the rest of the day doing just that. But no matter how many times she dunked her snout in the cold, cold water, and no matter how many times she scrubbed it against ragged, rasping rocks or wiped it with her paws, the mud, so thick and black and sticky, would not come off.

Finally, when evening came, Kangal gave up, and went back to where her only friends, Goat and Sheep, lay resting in the grass. They shook their shaggy heads and laughed at her. “We told you that you ought not to romp in the Enormous Mud Patch,” they said, “and now, for your foolishness, you will have that mud on your face for all your days.”

But still, Kangal was willful and never paid anyone any mind. “It looks fetching on me,” she said, “and it will make me even more fearsome to Wolf and Leopard.” Then she walked about with her head held high and her curled tail wagging, and could not be convinced otherwise.

And that is why, O Best Beloved, from that day to this, Kangal is still fierce and naughty and headstrong, and has no friends except Goat and Sheep, and wears a black mask that she never takes off.  

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Kenton Kilgore writes killer SF/F for young adults and adults who are still young. 

In his latest novel, This Wasted Land, high-school senior Alyx Williams learns that witches are real when one attacks her and her boyfriend Sam, dragging him off to a nightmare world where Alyx must go to get him back.  

Kenton is the author of Lost Dogs, the story of the end of the world as seen, heard–and smelled–by a dog. He also wrote Dragontamer’s Daughters, like Little House on the Prairie…with dragons!  

With Patrick Eibel, he created Our Wild Place, a children’s book about the joy to be found in exploring Nature. Kenton also published Hand-Selling Books to help authors better their sales.   

Follow Kenton on Facebook for frequent posts on sci-fi, fantasy, and other speculative fiction. You can also catch him on Instagram