Koda
I confess…
I’ve made a new friend here in Swiss.
Unexpected. Magnetic.
The kind of presence that draws you in without trying.
Young, full of energy, with a coat of black that catches the light like polished obsidian.
We’ve spent long hours together—walking through quiet trails, chasing shadows, sharing silent conversations.
There’s a rhythm to it. A kind of dance.
Always moving, always watching, always ready to play.
Flexible, graceful, and endlessly curious.
Loves to stretch, leap, curl beside me when the day ends.
There’s a comfort in that closeness.
A warmth that doesn’t ask questions.
We’ve grown attached.
I can feel it in the way I’m followed from room to room,
in the way silence becomes presence,
in the way the bed is no longer mine alone.
I’m careful not to encourage too much.
There’s affection, yes—but I’ll be leaving soon.
And I don’t want to leave behind a broken heart.
Still…
I think we’ve found something rare.
A kind of trust.
A kind of joy.
The name is Koda.
A dog.
And the best companion I’ve had in years.
In the Dakota and Lakota Sioux languages, "Koda" means "friend" or "ally".
Discovery in my journal
Back in the U.S., I opened my journal and found a single hair tucked between the pages. It was Koda’s—black, soft, unmistakable. I taped it down with a strip of scotch and wrote beside it: “BFF Koda.”
A small relic of presence. A reminder of the quiet bond we shared. Not just a companion on the trail, but a witness to the journey, to the fog, the fire, the laughter, and the care.
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