The Dog Cuddler

My husband, Jeff, is no Dog Whisperer, but he definitely has a special way with our dog.

One of the biggest and best surprises in this whole dog adventure is how much Jeff loves that little dog. No matter how late he’s worked (sometimes midnight!) or how exhausted he is when he gets home, he always takes a few minutes to play sock tug-of-war with Sunny and do a little rough play with him. “He’s a boy!” he says. “He needs some fight-and-bite.”

A few days ago I was amazed when Jeff (who hates to go shopping) stopped by the grocery store on his way home from work to pick up some big, hearty beef bones for the dog. Even though it was late and dark, he went outside and fired up the grill and cooked up those bones to give Sunny a special treat.

Later he told me later that he felt bad because the previous night he had brought the dog home a bone from his lunch of pork ribs, but he quickly realized the bone was too small and he had to take it away, afraid that Sunny might choke. The freshly grilled bone was his way of making amends.

While you might expect him to bond with the dog in the macho matters of play and food, the dog has also brought out a rare tender side of my husband.

The best story of all is when Sunny was a tiny puppy and he had just had his first set of vaccinations. At the time Sunny was sleeping in a large pen in our family room. (Now in his elevated position of Center of the Universe, he takes turns sleeping in bed with my son or on a big dog pillow in the master bedroom.)

The vet must have hit a tender spot, because the dog’s whimpering could be heard all the way upstairs. It was the middle of the night and I turned around to see if Jeff could hear the dog, too, but he was gone from the bed. (By the way, this man is the same champion sleeper who, when our daughter, Savannah was about a week old greeted me one morning exclaiming, “Wow! The baby slept through the night!” when, in actuality, I had fed and diapered the baby several times a mere inches from Jeff’s snoozing, immobile form.)

But, back to the crying dog.

When I tiptoed downstairs I found Jeff, sitting in the pen, cradling the pup in his arms, gently rocking him to sleep.

I guess I should have had puppies sooner.