Dogs are my favorite creatures. It’s just me and two pups this weekend, as my husband and a group of friends are away in D.C. That’s one of the reasons I love dogs: They provide a great excuse as to why you can’t go on a trip you don’t want to go on. “I have to take care of my dog.” So I told the gang to go ahead. I agreed to be the dog sitter. And happily so.

Billy is my four-year-old Golden retriever. He weighs in at about 96 pounds. Teach is a spritely, maybe ten (?)-year-old, 13 pound Pomeranian mix. The two are quite the contrasting couple. We’re staying at my house (me and Billy’s home, that is). Teach has been here before, many times. Our first night all together (last night), I had difficulty sleeping. Was our guest okay? My husband accuses me of superimposing my emotions on our dog. “He doesn’t think that way,” he tells me, when I ask him if Billy misses us when we’re out grocery shopping. Teach opted to sleep on the living room sofa last night, while Billy and I slept in the bed. I told Teach at bedtime that he was welcome to sleep with us, be he opted for the sofa. All night I thought about his needs: what if he needs to go to the bathroom, what if he needs water, what if he’s lonely, what if he misses his owners? I rested in bed, awake at odd hours, waiting to hear him rustling about, his little toenails clicking on the hardwoods. I never heard him. I looked over in the night to see Billy sprawled out where my husband normally sleeps, sound asleep. Is Billy okay with this arrangement?, I thought. Is everybody okay? The struggles of being a doggie mama are real. When I woke in the morning, Teach was on the sofa, happily nestled in the fuzzy blanket I left him. He was perky upon waking. I let him outside in the backyard to do his business. Billy waddled out of bed a short time later, holding in his mouth Teach’s small stuffed lamb toy.

On our walks, the two pups’ dissimilarities are obvious. Teach is ready to take off out the front door when it’s time to walk. Billy likes to stand on the porch for a minute and sniff the air. It would take a month of Teach’s bowel movements to equate to the mass of one of Billy’s. Teach appears to not have been well socialized (he was a rescue). He expels a vicious, crazed bark whenever he sees another dog. Cats and kids on scooters evoke a similar response. I wonder if he’d attack if he were off leash. Billy is hardly fazed. Cats evoke more of a curiosity in Billy. He gets very excited and wiggles about when kids are around. Billy has a soft trot on our walks, the symbol of a cool, carefree, competent, and happy pooch. Teach has more of a scuffle, four short legs fanatically shifting forward and backward. He pokes his chest out and perks up his ears, ready for confrontation. I sense some underlying insecurities. When Teach pulls, I can reel him back with my pinky. If Billy pulls, it takes countering with my two hands and entire body weight to keep him back. Billy only really pulls when we’re going to Grandma’s house. Teach pulls and expels his tyrannical yap at the sight of almost anything. Billy is happy to just be. Teach’s presence gives off a feeling of restlessness. He needs a bit more coddling, the way small dogs do.

I think there’s lessons to be learned from dogs. I’ve always favored big breeds and I do so even more now, as a mama of one. Billy is in the moment. He’s carefree. What’s in front of us right now? The ocean? A strip of sidewalk? A garden? The vet’s office? Dinner? It’s okay to just be. Enjoy the presence of others. Here’s a good one: Be hospitable. Billy shares his bones with Teach and Teach lets Billy play with his toy. Be sweet. Be amazed by cats. And ever intrigued by the raccoons and rats in the backyard at night. Be all about whatever you’re doing. Teach has a lot of these things figured out too, I’m sure. He’s a good guest: grateful, well-mannered (as long as other dogs aren’t around). As I wrap this up, the little dog sleeps on the sofa beside me, the big dog on the floor. ~