My Greatest Joy...

Two years ago, I started contemplating adopting a dog. I already owned a cat, Isis, but I wanted a companion instead of a roommate. Isis was a 10-year-old Persian mix, the queen of my household. I had brought her home when she was about 2 years old. When she was younger, she would occasionally play and seek out affection. As she aged, she became more aloof. I tried to entice her, but she rebuffed all of my efforts. My job was to provide her with food (Friskies moist, limited to select flavors) and clean litter (Tidy Cat scoopable and nothing else). Heaven forbid if I strayed from her preferences. Then one Saturday afternoon, I drove past my college campus and noticed signs for an Adopt-a-Thon. I pulled in.

As I wandered the grounds, I saw a number of beautiful animals. There was a shepherd rescue, with dogs that reminded me of the working dogs I was around when my dad was an MP. There was a dachshund rescue, and my mother had one of them at home. Therewere representatives from the humane shelters all over the tri-county area. So many dogs…. I had no intention of bringing one home…. Until I almost tripped over one. He was a skittish 3-year-old Chihuahua mix recently turned over to an organization dedicated to small dogs. I learned that he had belonged to an elderly woman who’d recently died. Her children didn’t want him so he ended up at the rescue. His name was Charlie, and there was something about the way he looked at me that I couldn’t resist.

I brought Charlie home. He didn’t look like a Charlie, though, so I consulted one of my very good friends. She jokingly suggested Sir Charles Beauregard. It kind of stuck with me, and Charlie became Beau. Isis wasn’t thrilled with the new addition. She seemed to regard him as a nuisance, a happy-go-lucky intruder to her quiet home. Isis was a diva, and she did not look kindly upon interlopers. She was elderly; he was young. She tolerated him. I was lucky to get a couple of cute pictures of the two of them together.

Less than a year later, Isis’ health deteriorated. She stopped eating and lost half her body weight. I took her to the vet, who informed me that there was nothing wrong with her other than a slightly elevated white blood cell count. I went home with antibiotics and instructions to add whole milk to her diet. Less than a week after that visit, Isis refused both milk and water, and the antibiotics weren’t staying down. Another trip to the vet led to the painful decision that there was really nothing I could do for her; I asked the vet to euthanize her. Beau comforted me when I got home. He curled up in my lap and seemed to mourn his feline sister with me.

Beau has become the greatest joy in my life. Every time I see him, I have to smile. He’s always so happy, so enthusiastic. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, he wants to be there with me. He’s gained several pounds in the years he’s been with me. I tease that he’s not fat; he’s well-loved. If allowed, he would probably consume his weight in rawhides and Greenies. He hides remnants of his chewies in various nooks and crannies around the house. Not behind or underneath anything, but next to things or in corners, as if no one will see then, even though they’re in plain sight. He loves to burrow under the covers in bed. He’ll crawl to the foot, and then try to dig up the sheets to create a nest. When that doesn’t work, he’ll make a couple circles and settle down. He does the same thing to the couch, which has resulted in several damaged cushions. He doesn’t like to get his paws wet, which means that potty breaks in the rain are interesting. I have to go outside with him, and he doesn’t like umbrellas; if he gets wet, I get wet. If he encounters something dead and/or smelly during our walks, he will roll in it. When I bathe him, he gives me the most pathetic look, as if I’m torturing him. After he’s been dried off, he’ll run mad circles throughout the house.

Dogs are not just man’s best friend; they’re also a woman’s.