One winter it actually got pretty cold in Mobile. I was working nights and usually got home in the wee hours of the morning. Because it was so cold, my GermanShepherd Caesar was allowed on the sofa.
Early one morning, I slipped in the kitchen door and saw Caesar curled up in a tight ba
ll on the end of the sofa. My young nephew had left dozens of stuffed animals scattered around the house and I gathered a bunch of them and tucked them around my dog and covered him up with an afghan quilt to keep him warm.
The next day, mom couldn’t wait to tell me the latest proof she had collected to prove Caesar was indeed a wonder-dog.
She told me how she came in to make coffee and had discovered the sleeping dog had managed to surround himself with a bunch of loveys and snuggled in under a quilt. How smart he is!
Mom was so tickled by the event, I overheard her on the telephone reliving the discovery in full color to my aunt Loraine. My mom loved her telephone and I’m certain she made the rounds describing the dog that could virtually make a bed and tuck himself in. I hadn’t the heart to tell her it was me.
So, for the extent of our little ice age, I would slink in through the kitchen, take the quilt and stuffed animals and tuck in my dog, who had come to expect it.
One morning my mom noticed one of the stuffed animals around Caesar had been placed by her on her rocking chair the day before, well out of the dog’s reach, wonder-dog or not.
“Bubba, did you put the elephant on the couch with Caesar? ”
I told her I had, and with a nervous laugh told her that it had been me all along. She was angry with me. I think she was more sad than angry. I didn’t know why.
Mom died the next winter, Caesar the spring after that.