the fruity scent of the shampoo, after which I drained and refilled the tub for Noah. Oogy stayed downstairs with Dan while Noah bathed. Then we were ready for the next phase of Oogy’s introduction into our lives.
From the first day that the boys had come home, we had read to them after bath time, a routine we followed, and which deeply involved us, until the boys started high school. It was a wonderfully bonding experience. Jennifer and I would take turns reading to them if we were both at home when bedtime arrived. Otherwise, whoever was at home would do it.
The boys had slept in the same room until they were ten. They were in cribs side by side for their first three years, and one would invariably climb over the sides into the other’s crib, and they would giggle and cavort until they fell asleep next to each other. After we moved, they slept in bunk beds and, for years, still often slept together. After the bunk beds, too, had been outgrown, as part of the process of confirming their separate identities, each of the boys got his own room, and each got to pick the color of his room. We alternated the room in which we read each night. Depending on how tired they were, the boys would still frequently fall asleep in the same bed.
The first night Oogy was with us, I read to them in Noah’s room.
I put a pillow against the wall and stretched out lengthwise across the foot of the bed. The only light came from a lamp on the windowsill to my right. The boys climbed in and got under the covers, their feet facing my left side. Each was wearing one of my T-shirts to sleep in, as they did every night. Oogy jumped onto the bed and curled up at their feet between them. I read for twenty minutes, and by then Noah was asleep, as was Oogy. I asked Dan if he wanted to go to his room.
“Stay here,” he mumbled, his eyes unable to open. Then he turned on his side and drifted off.
The original plan had called for Oogy to spend nights in the sheltering confines of his crate. But when the time came, I simply could not bring myself to remove him forcibly from Noah’s bed to put him in it. I thought of his insistent barking earlier in the day when he was separated from human contact, and since he would not be alone and I couldn’t imagine him leaving the bed for anything, let alone to destroy the house, I decided to give Oogy the benefit of the doubt. Clearly, he was much happier here than he would be alone in his crate. And after all, wasn’t this what it was all supposed to be about, anyway? What would be served by separating Oogy and the boys when they could stay together like this? He had slipped into place without disruption. It was almost as though he had always been there.
I reached over and switched off the lamp. The picture of the three of them sleeping together that first night, illuminated by light outside the window, where a strong wind rustled the trees, imprinted itself indelibly in my memory. Two young boys, backs to each other, curling hair against the pillows, and a little, white one-eared dog between them. Then, exhausted by the whirlwind events of the day, the book on my lap, I drifted off, and the four of us slept, me at a right angle to the three of them, until Jennifer came home and woke me.
“Hello, Oogy,” she whispered sweetly. “Welcome to our house.”
His tail thumped the bed, but otherwise he did not move. He was surrounded by love for the first time in his life, and he was not about to give that up for anything.
Years later, Noah told me that he remembered lying on the bed with Oogy that first night, and he thought, I hope my parents felt as good about us the day they brought us home as I feel about this dog right now. Oogy’s need for contact, the way he leapt onto the bed with them as though he were perfectly entitled to do so and went to sleep between them, allowed Dan to immediately appreciate that there was something special in the nature of the dog.
The fact that a brutalized, mutilated
From the first day that the boys had come home, we had read to them after bath time, a routine we followed, and which deeply involved us, until the boys started high school. It was a wonderfully bonding experience. Jennifer and I would take turns reading to them if we were both at home when bedtime arrived. Otherwise, whoever was at home would do it.
The boys had slept in the same room until they were ten. They were in cribs side by side for their first three years, and one would invariably climb over the sides into the other’s crib, and they would giggle and cavort until they fell asleep next to each other. After we moved, they slept in bunk beds and, for years, still often slept together. After the bunk beds, too, had been outgrown, as part of the process of confirming their separate identities, each of the boys got his own room, and each got to pick the color of his room. We alternated the room in which we read each night. Depending on how tired they were, the boys would still frequently fall asleep in the same bed.
The first night Oogy was with us, I read to them in Noah’s room.
I put a pillow against the wall and stretched out lengthwise across the foot of the bed. The only light came from a lamp on the windowsill to my right. The boys climbed in and got under the covers, their feet facing my left side. Each was wearing one of my T-shirts to sleep in, as they did every night. Oogy jumped onto the bed and curled up at their feet between them. I read for twenty minutes, and by then Noah was asleep, as was Oogy. I asked Dan if he wanted to go to his room.
“Stay here,” he mumbled, his eyes unable to open. Then he turned on his side and drifted off.
The original plan had called for Oogy to spend nights in the sheltering confines of his crate. But when the time came, I simply could not bring myself to remove him forcibly from Noah’s bed to put him in it. I thought of his insistent barking earlier in the day when he was separated from human contact, and since he would not be alone and I couldn’t imagine him leaving the bed for anything, let alone to destroy the house, I decided to give Oogy the benefit of the doubt. Clearly, he was much happier here than he would be alone in his crate. And after all, wasn’t this what it was all supposed to be about, anyway? What would be served by separating Oogy and the boys when they could stay together like this? He had slipped into place without disruption. It was almost as though he had always been there.
I reached over and switched off the lamp. The picture of the three of them sleeping together that first night, illuminated by light outside the window, where a strong wind rustled the trees, imprinted itself indelibly in my memory. Two young boys, backs to each other, curling hair against the pillows, and a little, white one-eared dog between them. Then, exhausted by the whirlwind events of the day, the book on my lap, I drifted off, and the four of us slept, me at a right angle to the three of them, until Jennifer came home and woke me.
“Hello, Oogy,” she whispered sweetly. “Welcome to our house.”
His tail thumped the bed, but otherwise he did not move. He was surrounded by love for the first time in his life, and he was not about to give that up for anything.
Years later, Noah told me that he remembered lying on the bed with Oogy that first night, and he thought, I hope my parents felt as good about us the day they brought us home as I feel about this dog right now. Oogy’s need for contact, the way he leapt onto the bed with them as though he were perfectly entitled to do so and went to sleep between them, allowed Dan to immediately appreciate that there was something special in the nature of the dog.
The fact that a brutalized, mutilated
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