Bowen and Louka have a deep and complicated love for each other. When they first met, they exploded into a mess of fur and fury; Louka lost his rag and Bowen met him in Crazy Town with rolled up sleeves. They are both friendly guys but set off warning signals in each other. They needed space to work it out and a little help with liver treat distractions to keep them from amplifying the madness. Now they can play for hours, running full tilt through the chest-deep snow, running after ravens and foxes and horses together, playing tug-of-war with anything they can find, prancing around with a bone or some kindling, daring each other to make the first move… they work themselves into a panting pile of exhausted dog, have a little snooze, and get back to it. I think they love the chance to inhabit that full-on masculine wolf-ancestor place of macho play, pushing their bodies to the limit and exalting in their maleness together.
Still, whenever I bring Louka to the farm to see his pal Bowie, they need to growl and posture for a while before getting down to the business of fun. They are two formidable dogs and their jokey antics are as delightful to watch as their raw power.