When I was in high school, my brother got a Pit Bull/Rottweiler
puppy. He named her Cameron, because he
was really into his Chevrolet Camero, and that was the most creative name he
could come up with in tribute. Cameron
was the best of dogs. Definitely, sweeter
and more loyal than my brother deserved.
I spent more time with her than anyone else, playing with her, chasing
her around, and training her, and just generally being a dog with her. But in the end, she only had one father, and
that was my brother.
There were some nights and weekends when my brother would
stay out at a friend’s house. Cameron would
follow him to the door when he’d leave and sit there staring at it long after
he’d gone. I would find her laying on
the floor, facing the door, waiting for him to come home. On those nights, I would let her sleep with
me, so she wouldn’t have to be alone. I’d
come in there, stroke her side, and say, “Let’s go to be, sweetie.” She’d reluctantly raise herself up, give me
the most pitiful look of sadness, and then relent.
While she slowly traipsed into my room, I’d go brush my
teeth. When I’d get done, I’d find her
standing next to my bed with her front paws on the mattress and her back paws
still on the floor. I had hardwood
floors in my bedroom, so she found it difficult to get enough traction to get
up on the bed. I’d lift her the rest of the
way, and she’d walk around to find her spot.
Her spot, it turns out was lying with her back against the wall, legs
sticking out completely across the bed, and head on my pillow.
Now, I had a twin bed at the time, and Cameron was a
good-sized dog, so she pretty much covered the entire bed. I would go push her to the end of the bed,
which was always met with growling, before climbing in myself. Since she took up all of the end of the bed,
I inevitably would find myself in the fetal position, tugging on the blankets
to get enough to cover me.
At some point in the night, usually about five or six
minutes after the lights were off, she would stealthily (or as stealthily as a
dog that size could muster) inch her way up alongside me until her head was once
again on the pillow. Then, with her back
once again against the wall, she’d jam her paws into my back and slowly push
outward until I fell off the bed. I
would pick myself up in disgust and shoo her back to the end of the bed.
This would go on two or three times, before I gave up in
exhaustion and let her sleep against the wall.
I would grab her legs and lay them on top of me, so they weren’t jamming
into my back, and we’d fall asleep in a sort-of cease-fire. Except for the snoring, she was a pretty good
sleeping companion…especially in the winter, when her added body heat would
warm me up.
