When I awake in the morning, he's usually at the foot of the bed. But not for long. He comes up toward me, each of us half-awake, gradually becoming alert to the possibilities of a new day, and he asks for attention.
I'll pet him on top of his head, and his back, while he lays comfortably on a pillow. When I get up, I sometimes pick him up and put him on the floor. His body is aging and is a little more brittle, as is mine. In many ways these days, we are a pair.
Before I retired 44 months ago, we were good friends, but I was gone to work each day, as was Jan, and so we kenneled him in the basement while we were at work. When we arrived home, he and Maisie were thrilled to see us.
Most days after we got home from work, we let the dogs out, we fed them, we settled in for the evening before retiring. Waking hours away from work on weekdays seemed much too short.
But I have spent much time with him in the recent past. When I'm home, he's right next to me. If I'm seated, he's in my lap, except for when he gets too hot with the body contact, or when I respond to, say, a play in a college football game.
Jan will suggest my reaction is like an explosion in the family room, and it can be positive or negative. Whatever. It frightens Moses, who leaves my lap and goes to Jan's lap. He looks at me with curiosity and maybe a little fear.
He protects me, whether I need it or not - I think he would give his life for me - he is brave, he loves to hunt. If he smells a critter below the deck, he will scratch at the wood in futility, hoping to reach what is beneath it.
Toy critters that make noise or squeak turn him into a madman. I have a couple small plastic balls in the garage that, when moved, utter weird garbled sounds like an evil gremlin. They're in the garage for a reason. The last time one was in the house, he had it between his paws and treated it so violently that he tore a hole in the fabric of Maisie's dog bed where he lay, furiously digging and biting at his victim.
His most recent obsession is a rubber rat we bought for the house for Halloween. It's life-size and it's black. I put it on the family room floor the other night, so see what he would do, especially whether he might be afraid of it. He sniffed it a bit, but didn't attack it. He wasn't real impressed.
A tad disappointed, I picked up the rat, and went to return it to its place on the bathroom sink. On the chance that it might squeak, I squeezed it. That did it. He ran across the room and begged for me to give it to him. I didn't because I knew he would destroy it. Instead, I put it back on the sink of the bathroom where it had sat, and I returned to the family room.
Jan has said that dogs like toys that squeak because they're reminded of another animal in distress, an easy victim. I have found that to be very true and insightful, and I see it in full flower with Moses.
After I left, Moses stayed in the bathroom with the rat, got on his hind legs and scratched the wood surface of the cabinet on which the rat lay, and cried for me to give it to him. It got so annoying, I ushered him out of the bathroom and closed the door. That helped a bit.
I love his passion, albeit sometimes obsessive, I love the sense of fun, I love the friendship we've developed. Moses has many personality flaws - he has bitten house guests, for example, and he's the second-highest high-maintenance creature in the house - but on balance, I love him, I admire him in many ways. Good boy, Moses.
