A Two Dog Night

According to the Weather Channel, it currently feels like it's 32 degrees on St. Simons Island. The wind is cold and blustery, and I have actually had to don my real winter jacket today. You know, the one I wore in places where we habitually got snow in the winter. And despite all the years I have spent in those places, I am not immune to feeling the chill here. I am downright cold!

My little two story beach house has a thermostat located upstairs, I assume to better regulate the air conditioning and keep it cool in the summer. In the winter, however, it means that the warm air stays upstairs and the main floor with its covered but uncarpeted concrete slab floor and sliding glass door never quite loses the chill. No fireplace either, so I keep plenty of cozy throws handy.

The aborigines (or Inuits, depending on who you believe) call cold nights like these -- well, really nights much, much colder than this, probably -- three dog nights. It's a night that is so cold that you need three dogs huddled on your bed to keep you warm. Luckily, I have two canine companions who can fill the bill. And I'm not talking about a couple dainty lapdogs. Nope, these two beasts each weigh 70+ pounds . . . but, admittedly, they do still think they are lapdogs.

Max is the big guy.

I found him on Petfinder.com and we adopted him from a shelter a month after I had Declan. He had been at the shelter for quite some time and we were told he's mostly American Staffordshire Terrier. Max is a wonderful dog and he was the perfect choice for a dog to grow up with a little boy. When Declan was little, he used to climb all over Max while Max just waited patiently for him to get off. Max is affectionate, eager to lick your face or rest his head or paws on you. If you let him, he'll climb up to sit on your lap -- which due to his size, generally cuts off all of your circulation. He is content to curl up on the couch or the bed and spend a lazy day or to go out and run and play.

Max is also very smart and has the soul of a rambler. In Houdini-like fashion, every few months he finds a new way to escape the fenced backyard and roam the neighborhood. Luckily, he manages to find his way home or, being the friendly fella that he is, goes to make a new friend who then calls me upon reading the info on his tag. Before we moved to the island, Max once went after a cat, slipping his collar in the chase, and disappeared for about three weeks. I was heartbroken and terrified I'd find him lifeless on the side of one of the local roads. Just when I had resigned myself to the fact that I would probably never see Max again and had put his bowls and bed up in the attic, he appeared behind me as I loaded Declan into the car one morning. His tail was wagging furiously and I'd have sworn he was smiling. He went right to the front door, as if to say, "Can I go in now?" Once inside he plopped down on the floor contentedly. He was no worse for wear. No injuries. Not dehydrated or famished. Just happy to be home. Where was he? I'll never know, because he's still not talking. I'm just glad he came back.

Charleigh is the baby girl.

 
This poor pup was running back and forth across traffic on 17N when Declan and I spotted her late one Saturday afternoon a couple years ago. She was all bony hips and legs and her ribs were clearly visible. Declan said, "Mom, that dog is going to get hit by a car!" I agreed and told him that I'd stop to see if it would come to me so we could get it out of the road. I pulled off onto the curb and opened my car door, "C'mon baby. Come here. C'mon puppy." The scrawny little white dog jumped right in and up onto my lap, where it let out a deep sigh and rested its head on its paws. So very sweet! Then it lifted its head and gave Declan a quick lick on the face. He giggled and said, "Mom, I want to keep this dog and name him Charlie." I took an assessing look at the dog, and made the quick deduction that it was a Saturday night, the animal shelter was closed and would be for the next day, so the dog would be coming home with us for the weekend. I was a goner. Unless there was something seriously wrong with this dog, there's no way Declan would be willing to let it go after having it around for a couple days! I sighed, "Well, Declan, it's a girl, but we can still name her Charleigh."

And so we became a two dog family. Charleigh, because she is younger, has been more of a handful, but she's a sweet dog who just wants to be loved. I had hoped that she would be a good companion for Max, but I can't say whether that has actually been the case. I think really he just tolerates her. I'm pretty sure I've actually caught him rolling his eyes at me on occasion, as if to say, "Why did you bring her home again?" But they do play together and have no problem curling up next to each other to sleep, so I think maybe their relationship is the same as human brothers and sisters. In my experience, that's a bond that just gets stronger with time.

So on this winter night I'm happy for my two dogs. As I write this, Charleigh is curled up on the couch in the crook of my legs with her chin resting on my knees. Max is upstairs sprawled on the bottom bunk with his sleeping boy in the glow of the lava lamp. Canine comfort on a cold, cold night is something that makes me smile indeed.