This Side Up

We all need our place in the sun

By John Howell
Posted 2/16/16

I got one of those “do I have to?” stares.

“You’ve got to go out, because I’m going to regret it if you don’t.”

Ollie looked resigned, but maybe that was my wishful thinking. An …

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This Side Up

We all need our place in the sun

Posted

I got one of those “do I have to?” stares.

“You’ve got to go out, because I’m going to regret it if you don’t.”

Ollie looked resigned, but maybe that was my wishful thinking. An 8:30 visit to his outdoor pen has become a nightly ritual, and usually as soon as I say “it’s time,” he’s off the bed or out of “his” chair and waiting at the door.

Not Saturday. He opened his eyes, but didn’t budge.

“Come on,” I coaxed with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Begrudgingly, he slipped from the chair and followed me to the kitchen door. Then he stopped. He knew it was cold. That’s when I got the stare and he started to turn back.

I pulled a knit ski cap down to my eyebrows and reached for the leash on the counter. Carol suggested his sweater, but it would have taken longer to put on than I suspected we would be outside.

“Let’s go,” I said, holding the door handle.

He gave me that look again. I slipped on the leash and opened the door. He winced at the cold blast but followed.

Usually a lot of sniffing precedes any performance. Not this time, he didn’t linger. We were back inside in no time. He welcomed a kibble treat and headed back to his chair.

No question, Ollie, our spotted coonhound rescued from a South Carolina shelter by the East Greenwich Animal Protection League, is a southern boy. He likes the heat and despises the cold. On summer days we find him basking in the sun.

Somehow, snow doesn’t bother him as long temperatures hover around freezing. He’ll follow a scent in the snow, pushing a mound in front of his muzzle like a mini plow. He’ll do that for hours, seemingly undeterred by the snow. But when temperatures drop as they did this weekend with the arrival of a polar vortex, Ollie wants no part of being outside.

Sunday morning was no different.

We found him camped in the warmest room in the house, curled on a couch next to a radiator. He gave us that stare, only this time it seemed to be saying, “Not this again.” Carol was intrigued with a recipe for bread and started on that as I bundled up and went out in search of the morning paper. The digital thermometer read a minus 8. The sun wasn’t up; the wind was blowing sea mist – some call it smoke – across the bay and the frozen flats left by a retreating tide. A few brave birds were hunting for seeds Carol had tossed on the snow the night before.

Even in a parka and ski cap, the quick trip to the end of the driveway left me chilled. It was still too early for the paper.

Finally when sunlight filled the kitchen along with the aroma of baking bread, Ollie appeared.

I slipped on his invisible fence collar and opened the door. Usually he’s out in a flash and in a single bound off the porch, on a mission to “sniff out” what visitors we may have had overnight. He wasn’t in a rush to get out Sunday. In barely two minutes he was standing at the door and ready to come in.

He was energized even before Carol mixed up his breakfast of kibble and canned string beans. Don’t ask about the bean thing, but that has become part of his diet and he seems to love them.

After wolfing down breakfast, he was super charged. He raced into the living room and then upstairs in search of one of the gooey, chewed pieces of rope affectionately know as his pullie. Fifteen minutes of tug of war had me tired out, although Ollie was just warming up. He wanted more.

Carol’s bread came out of the oven. She cut off a couple of pieces. It melted the butter. Ollie watched intently, having forgotten the pullie. He drooled. We each give him a nibble, but just a nibble. He wasn’t satisfied.

The paper arrived. I filling a cup with coffee and headed up stairs for a chair bathed in sunlight. It was probably no warmer than the kitchen but it just felt like it should be. I started reading and then heard Ollie. He was watching me.

Here’s a smart dog, but no, he wasn’t looking for a section of the paper. He wanted my seat.

I held my ground and picked up my cup from the table.

Ollie seized the opportunity. In a bound he was on the table. He stretched out in the sun and closed his eyes, the picture of contentment…finally.

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  • TruePatriot

    John, Enjoyed your story and can relate as we rescued our 8 year old Golden from Alabama with similar southern idiosyncrasies. One suggestion from our vet was to serve frozen green beans instead of canned as they contain far less sodium and they slow down the devouring of the meals as he must take time to crunch his frozen veggies.

    Wednesday, February 17, 2016 Report this