Happiness is a Warm Puppy

Yes, it’s true, I am in love with my dogs, both of them.

Erin is noble, valiant and stalwart. She is a 13 year old Pembroke Welsh Corgi and the poem at the end of this blog is written for her.   A few years ago, she started slowing down a bit…lagging behind on walks, having trouble getting up stairs.  My wonderful vet suggested a new miracle drug, Adequan.  A super dooper glucosamine/chondroitin mixture.   I now give Erin injections twice a week for hip dysplasia, arthritis in dogs.  Happily, these shots have breathed new life into an old dog. She once again bounces on her way to going outside and easily negotiates the stairs for bed-time.  Today, I even found her frisking about in the basement — skittering madly after some invsisible prey.

But, mostly, the pleasure in her life comes from herding her little sister…Sophie…the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. It is pandemonium when I let them out.  Quite simply, Erin views it as her job to KEEP SOPHIE INSIDE THE HOUSE.  She herds her mercilessly when it is time to go O-U-T.   This causes some issues for us humans, as we are interested in letting both dogs out to do their business.  Quietly, if possible.  Never mind that she fails abysmally every time…Soph always makes it past Erin, fast little thing that she is.  But Erin valiantly tries every time.

Sophie is fast when evading Erin, but, happily, she has a placid personality.  In short, she is 16 pounds of love.  While Corgis are workers, bred to herd cattle by nipping at their ankles, Cavaliers were bred as lap dogs. Yup, their sole purpose was to sit and be loved while warming the laps of noblewomen in drafty castles in Britain.  Sophie fulfills her destiny brilliantly.  She adores being loved upon.

Fortunately, though though she looks delicate and is a lap warmer, Sophie is also a real dog.  The hunter in her comes out on long walks in Northern Michigan, where she bounds into the woods and runs 3 miles for our every one.  Hunting instincts also come out in an activity we call “gnatting.”  Sophie is fascinated by dust motes and tiny bugs (fruit flies in season) that are visible in beams of late-afternoon light coming into our living room.  She will sit for 10 minutes watching, waiting…then pounce on her prey.  Sophie, the huntress!

But Sophie is perhaps most useful as an accessory for sleeping.  She snuggles up me, curled up in a little ball and sleeps too, bathing me in that unconditional doggie love that is rare among humans.  There is nothing more wonderful than napping with her nestled up against me.

All of which reminds me that Charlie Brown was right…Happiness IS a warm puppy.

As usual:  I’ll leave you with a poem.

The Herder

Zigzagging along the horizon,

after wooly clumps, dense prey,

herding where the Master ordains,

soft wind whispers  through flowing fur;

the gift of freedom overtakes her,

bounding across acres, doing her job.

Often, she talks as she works, barking

orders at those under her command,

until every sheep is brought in line.

The day is filled with black hooves

and lanolin scented coats, white in the

distance, but dirty with farm mud from

her vantage point down below

and ever so slightly to the side.

Though a cup of kibble keeps her fed,

it is the nightly chew stick she anticipates –

part of the comforting routine she

prods us for if we manage to forget.

Bilingual, she speaks English as well as

Border Collie. Words like sit, stay, outside.

Dreaming in front of the tawny fire

in the blustery night, wind whistling

around the corners of the white frame

farmhouse, now and then she runs

in her sleep, legs twitching

on the green tartan dog bed,

“Scout” embroidered in navy,

claiming it as her own.

Slumber is interrupted by

reveries of cornering a stray,

drawing it back to its kind

bleating in visceral recognition.

Job done, she rests, gathering herself

for the work of the morrow.

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