Cameron

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.