When I can’t go to sleep, I think of one of my faithful dogs of the past. Last night, it was Zackery Adams’ turn to send me to dreamland.
Zackery was our “DSM-IV Dog” from a decade ago. As a puppy, he could have kept a psychiatrist busy for an entire career. He was super-sized, coming in around 120 pounds, but his feelings were fragile, easily hurt. If I didn’t serve him first in the pack, he would sulk and not eat. If I petted one of his “brothers” before him, Zack curled up in his corner and did not budge. Our alpha shepherd, Billy Bragg, picked on Zack, attempting to cajole him out of his self-pity and into the family. Zack would have none of it.
The turning point arrived when Sherry and I brought home two new puppies, Mike and Buddy Rivers. Zack became the big, protective brother. He romped with the two tiny shepherds until all three collapsed in a big, furry bundle. Also, he became the favorite of our grandsons. Their fingertips could always find the top of Zack’s head. He made sure they could go anywhere and return home safely. Zack was both playmate and protector to children too young to know danger or fear.
We only had Zack for eight great years. However, during that time, Zack evolved from a scared, moody pup into a trusted member of the pack.
And, as I awoke from my dream, I thought: Isn’t that what we’re all shooting for?