Last weekend was rough. What was supposed to be a night spent in a hotel while a project was completed at home morphed into two nights with two terrified Goldendoodles sharing the bed. Thanks, Mother Nature.
Cinna-ball is a peculiar canine case study. As a puppy, he was eternally curious. He hopped around the yard, nosing bushes and testing boundaries. One day, though, a switch was flipped. My gregarious explorer became terrified of the world. Unseen car doors, people on the stairs, cardboard boxes—all equally horrifying. But there was (and is) no greater boogeyman than thunder booming overhead. Lord help you if a storm is on the forecast, ‘cause with that first rumble, you’ll have a quaking 65-pound dog in your lap and scratches on your skin from reassurances that fell on fit-to-be-tied floppy ears.
We’ve had a particularly wet, cacophonous summer—ample time for Cinna’s cunning baby brother to learn how to play the hold-me-close game. Mr. Ingenue is the more vocal of the two, so while Cinna-ball shivers and pants, Mr. Ingenue is whining. His tone is high-pitched, his stamping paw insistent. He requires cuddles now, right now, which is a quandary, given that your lap is only so large—and the dogs infinitely more so.
Dogs are curious beasts. When they’re scared of something, heaven help you against their combined 8 stone of pure muscle. Like children, they cower behind your legs and attempt to leap into your arms. But when they’re scared for you? With tails curled and ears alert, they plant their paws on the road ahead, blocking your way while they warn off, well, anything. It’s a peculiar combination of squalling child and Secret Service.