Candy Canes

I feel compelled to share my favorite Christmastime memory.

Brógan was always very instant on being in the bedroom with me at night. If he were sleeping and I didn't ask him to come along, or he didn't respond to my nudges and calls and simply went without him, there would always be frustrated sighs on the other side of my door 5 minutes later expecting entrance. I remember one particularly baltic February night when he was sound asleep on the big cozy dog bed in front of the fireplace and I hadn't the heart to wake him and herd him up to our subarctic sleeping quarters, so I'd gone to bed without him. 15 minutes later he'd broken the door's latch by shoving his big head into it to get in after I hadn't heard his quiet sighs through the five blankets my head was buried under. Aside from when I was traveling, there was never a night he didn't sleep by my side, even if I went to bed while there was still company downstairs, and he never left that room unless I did, for any reason.

For our first Christmas in our own house, Jack and I hung candy canes on our tree. Simple, traditional decorations. I knew to hang them quite high because Brógan was very fond of them, so our tree was mostly decorated on the top 3rd and looked funny but who cares? I always took a few off for him throughout the season, or shared any of the ones I ate with him of course. Most things are infinitely better when shared with your dog anyway.

At this point we slept with the door open because our bedroom in this house is also subarctic so keeping the door open helped get heat from the rest of it in (this is a running theme in my life - bedrooms so cold the insides of the windows frost over and you can often see your breath in the morning despite the rest of the house being very balmy). In our new living situation, Brógan headed to the bedroom as soon as he heard me brushing my teeth and, again, didn't get up until I did, even if Jack woke up and offered him walks, or the neighbor came to the door.

 However, one night during this first Christmas season, I had been lying in bed for about 30 minutes reading "The Chimes" when he'd suddenly gotten up and, very slowly and quietly, walked out. I put the book down, puzzled, and listened carefully as nervousness settled in - surely something was wrong. After waiting for a moment to hear retching or whines, I bounced out of bed and shuffled into the sitting room to find he had merely migrated to his sitting-room-bed. I checked his eyes and gums, his belly and everything else for any sign of dis-ease like any neurotic owner of a slightly-older dog who is known to eat things that can kill him does, but nothing was unusual.

I gave him a few nudges and clicked my tongue, "c'mon bogey, bedtime", but he just looked at me with his head laid between his forearms. Hm. Puzzling indeed.

So I shuffled back into bed, picked "The Chimes"  back up and waited for him to return, still nervously listening for any sounds. How unusual - in all his 8 years up to that point never once did he leave the bedroom without me.

About a solid 20 minutes or so later, I heard a very familiar sound - the unmistakable ring of a porcelain bell ornament that belonged to my grandmother, which was hanging lower on the tree as I knew it to be safe from his interests (not smelly, organic, or tasty enough). I'm sure I audibly gasped in amusement (and probably relief) as I realized what was happening. Ambling back out of bed and into the arctic air I found him, again, curled up on his bed just as he had been before, but now with a small shred of thin plastic in front of his nose and the scent of mint in the air, while the small bell still clinked on the tree. His tail began to wag wildly as he knew then that I knew what game he was playing.

That clever, clever creature.

I curled up on that stinky dog bed and hugged him tight and laughed and scratched his belly, telling him how goofy he was while his tail wagged and he smiled at me knowing be had done something he wasn't supposed to (and been caught).

He didn't get in trouble (of course he didn't, how could I be anything other than positively tickled by this well thought out attempt at sneaking a highly-prized treat?), but he never left the room for candy canes, or anything else, again. Something about that makes it all the more special, and amusing.


To say I miss him is an understatement. It's not as jarring or debilitating as it was; more of a quiet but constant presence. 

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3 months is the longest I've gone in my whole 30 years without sharing life and home with a dog. That stretch was between my childhood chesapeake Buster (who my dad insisted was our last dog because it was so heartbreaking for him to say goodbye) and the black lab pup my mam showed up with one day three months later named Jake (because she can't stand not having a dog). 

As it so happens, that record is still the longest, and I seem to have finally found a gene my mother and I share.

5-month-old Malachy isn't Brógan. He never will be (for crying out loud, the wee fella doesn't even like bananas - and it's hard to get him to eat enough - Brógan, what kind of weird creature is this?). We've had a bumpy start - he had kennel cough and was very standoffish - we speak different languages, we smell and sound funny to each other, and I'm learning that I have far more adjusting to do than he does (Brógan, why on earth does he not not turn into a wiggly mess like you did when I'd merely look at you a certain way, let alone pat your head, and why does that sting a little bit?)

Unexpected. Probably too soon. Probably not the best time. But here we are. Because he needed a home and I needed a reason.
He has helped me find a reason to get on that I've missed over the last few months. An excuse to actually get dressed and leave the studio, to get back into the woods again despite the cold and wet and muck and mud or how I feel or whether or not I want to. To put my own feelings and thoughts and excuses and life-garbage aside and simply be present and patient because he needs me to.

And there's such great joy in watching a puppy be a puppy. It's been a long time.