A Pack of Two

It is early morning, Dec. 27, 2008. Only a few days left in the year. Radar has awoken, as usual, with a deep stretch on my chest, a few light sneezes, and a brief cuddle session before leaping off the bed and rushing downstairs for breakfast. Under normal circumstances, the sun would just be beginning to rise with a glow limited to the western sky, but this morning is unseasonably warm due to a thick layer of cloud cover, so the light is diffused and evenly gray from west to east. It could be 7:30 AM or it could be 4:30 PM. Hard to tell.

I designed this blog in early June, picked the template, shuffled the colors, found the quotations, uploaded the photographs, after reading Dog Years by Mark Doty. I had every intention then of beginning a similar narrative of my life with Radar, and refuting with my own experience many of his theories about dogs, but within weeks I was leaving for Italy with my mother and was deep in my design of a travel blog, so I never continued my canine chronicle. I’ve thought and felt guilty about abandoning yet another project knowing that one day, Ray would be gone and I’d want to hold our story close in his absence as a guard against fading memory, but something always seemed more important—though now work, sleep and television are painfully weak excuses for not getting to it sooner.

I take to the keyboard this morning because life as we know it is about to end and, though he lives, I need to honor the life Radar and I have built before it disappears. It has been the happiest and most abidingly joyful time of my life. Though I have had other dogs, he is my soul mate. Our quiet time together in the morning and evening are the best parts of my day. He gives me the strength to face the world and he is my refuge from it. I miss him even when he is in another room. His innocence, sense of humor, and singleness of mind allow me to find a Zen-like calm at the darkest of times. As I write this, tears stream down my face. It is not my intention to turn my back on him, to willingly abandon all that I hold dear. In fact, it is just the opposite. When I am away, I want to him have companionship while he waits for my return. I want to give another dog (actually, every dog) all of the love that Radar and I share. I want to save another dog from the harsh reality of stray/shelter life. When I think of how some dogs are treated in this country and around the world, I feel guilty that I haven’t adopted another dog sooner. But suddenly, I am traumatized by my sense of obligation.

Radar doesn’t know that we will soon add to our family. His life continues as normal. We have returned to bed in our customary, post-breakfast way. Instead of curling into my stomach the way he does on winter nights, he has gone back to sleep at my feet. He usually sleeps and snores deeply after having eaten in the morning and, again, the routine is the same. He breathes rhythmically and with a nonchalant satisfaction that only a healthy, loving (and loved) dog can affect. The predictability has been hard fought and I fear the impending change in both of our lives.

When he wakes again in a couple of hours, we will have a lengthier, more affectionate cuddle session. Physically, he is a needy dog. This may be my fault. No. This is my fault. He prefers to have two hands on him at all times. Rolling onto his back, his preferred contact is one hand on his belly or groin and one hand on his head. If both hands are moving, he will fall into a daze or light sleep, but if the hands stop, he will wake again and raise his head in such a way that insists I continue the massage. During these appointments, we are usually lying side by side, face to face, and very close. He loves it when I kiss or press my nose into the space between his eyes. If I pull away, he presses his face into my mine. He is not a licker; this is his way of kissing. If I have time, this might last 20 minutes and is always mutually gratifying.

Despite how it sounds, there is nothing sexual about this activity. He is a dog and I am human. These moments of affection, intimacy, loyalty and trust have enabled us to build a complex means of communication that permeates everything we do. Of two different species, we communicate as well as, if not better than, most couples I know. If I don’t have the time and must rush into the shower, he rolls over onto his belly and, with his chin on his paws, patiently stares at me in the bathroom as I get ready for work. He knows that a shower means I will leave the house in less than an hour as well as he knows that a bath means I will be in bed in the same amount of time. He adjusts himself accordingly. I expect an additional dog will prevent this very fruitful morning exercise from continuing, thus negatively altering our relationship forever. I have grown accustomed to our pack of two; I don’t know if he misses other dogs. Sometimes I think he does. Other times he seems to prefer the company of people. In any event, I will work very hard not only to prevent a significant change in our relationship, but also to build a similar bond with our new dog as well.