My Cool Canine (Literally)

I am home! Ah, life is beautiful. It's 10:45 at night. I'm still in my pajamas. It is quite possibly the first time I've ever stayed pajama-clad all day. This is an experience I've deemed to be an essential option for every finals-weary college student.

An observation on being home: When I walked through the door at 2 o'clock this morning, it didn't take me long to realize that my family and I have one huge difference in the way we think life ought to be lived. It was 12 degrees outside. The thermostat inside was set at 64 degrees. (Incidentally, this makes my room, furthest from the furnace, about 45). Glad I brought my slippers home.!

My roommate and I keep our thermostat at 80 degrees during the day, and 75 at night. I'm fairly certain that the room isn't actually that warm. But it is nice and toasty. I blame this on her being from Arizona, but that's really a lie. If I lived alone, I would keep it just as warm. I'd just feel guiltier about it.

As I walked through the front door, before I'd even had a chance to notice our home's chilly status, I was attacked. But the assault was in the very best sense of the word--I was pummeled by a mess of fur and by four paws and by sloppy kisses (all over my face, in fact).

This picture is actually from when my dog Rufus and I were reunited last summer, after about two weeks apart. You can imagine the kind of welcome I received last night, after two months of being away. He almost knocked me over. (I think doggie love can teach us a lot about how loving is supposed to go, but that's a topic for another post).

Dogs are pretty much the best things ever, and although I'm slightly biased, I'd say Rufus is about the coolest of them all. Mutts, it turns out, are quite versatile.

He knows tricks. Rufus can sit, lay down, speak, roll over, beg, fetch, give high-fives, shake, and we are currently working on playing dead. He's a quick study, but the anticipation of reward makes dying a difficult thing for him to maintain for any length of time.

He also can act. As you can see from the picture, he's currently studying for a holiday role as one of Santa's Reindeer. I've tipped him off that should Santa be making an appearance as himself in the production, Rufus should point out the fact that I would be much obliged to recieve a cell phone and/or an iBook for Christmas. I'm not holding my breath.

Rufus also plays a mean game of tug/fetch. It goes like this: I'm sitting innocently on the couch reading a book, and Rufus gets a clever gleam in his eye. "Aha!" says he. "I know a sucker when I see one. Hey, there's one right there on the couch." (Claire from Down Under may have heard this from him). He jauntily trots to his Giant Rag Toy, lying conviniently in the middle of the family room floor, grabs it fiercely in his teeth and brings it to me. Should I manage to ignore his teasingly shaking it by my legs ("You know you want it!" he entices), he will generously deposit his soggy treasure in my lap. Alas, I've no choice. It is play or be drowned. But then, most times I don't need so much convincing. We tug for a while, and then he lets me believe that I've stolen it from him, thus winning the game. Such is the generosity of my four-legged friend. Really, as his tail-wagging, open-mouthed posture indicates, the fun has just begun, as that's my cue to throw it as far across the kitchen as possible. After all, one cannot slide pel-mel across the floor and crash full-speed into the door if one is fetching on carpet, or if the toy is not properly hurled at a high velocity. And mom would be so disappointed if the floor were not marked up with slide-marks, and the door with crash-marks. Mustn't disappoint Mom. As we all know, if she ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

This brings me to how considerate Rufus is. For instance, today, as I was falling asleep curled on my side on the couch, knowing my tendency to be always cold, he came to my rescue. "I am not supposed to be on the furniture," thought he. "I am always a good dog. I know that Mom hates for me to be on the furniture. But my friend looks so cold and sleepy, how can I leave her there to freeze?" He could not resist his compassionate nature. Against his better judgement, up on the couch he leapt, to snuggle cozily in the crook of my curled legs, his chin rested on my hip and his warm brown eyes staring selflessly into mine. What kinder friend could I have, than to risk Mom's wrath brought down upon him, all for my comfort?

(He asked that I point out that none of the feline inhabitants of our home have the same restrictions as he. He requested that I justly illustrate the amenities granted them, such as fireside warmth and kitty bedding placed on the furniture, and that mother nature is the only provider of such luxuries for his comfort on the floor. He accepts his plight graciously, however, pointing out that it is after all "A Dog's Life.") The necessity of sleep must cut short my descriptions of the many joys of having Rufus in my life. I'm sorry if you're jealous of my kind, talented canine. He really is a treasure. If you'd like to come visit him, you are more than welcome. He will gladly perform his tricks for you, as well as challenging you to a rousing game of fetch. If you happen to be male, especially if you are endowed with considerable facial hair, he may take a while to warm up to you, as he was evidentally traumatized in puppyhood by a human of that description. He doesn't like to talk about it, though, so I don't really know.

I intended to post about my long and arduous trip home. It is quite the story. But I was sidetracked by Rufus, one of the loves of my life, and all his admirable qualities. Perhaps the trip story can come another day. Or perhaps you'll have to call me up and ask me about it.

Rufus bids you sweet dreams.