A Space for Wiggins

I have an almost 80 pound black rescue dog named, Wiggins. When we picked him up from the local shelter, he was a mere 15 pounds, a frenzied-ball of black fur and never-ending-energy; always moving, always bounding off to the next bit of mischief he could make.

Today, almost three years later, his energy is smoothing out, like a rough rock, gently muted and rubbed smooth by the gentle rush of water and time.

He is a forever guard dog. Loving and goofy around the family (and few friends that he met as puppy), and more growly and guarded around strangers. When the UPS guy rings the doorbell, he rushes down the steps, back fur standing on end like a werewolf, and barking until the truck drives away.

Exasperating!

But, I like it, too. I feel safer with him on watch. No stranger is getting through that front door!

We’ve learned to work with his personality. When folks come over, we found a wonderful daycare that he loves (and they just love him! “Wiggins is our favorite,” they often tell me). So we take him there when we need to.

My son is forever pulling at his ears, laying on him, and wrestling with him. And Wiggins takes it in stride. We know those tender areas on him to avoid.

Lately, my routine is to get up at 4:45 am to start the day. Yes, sickening early, but for now, with a young child, it works and allows me to exercise and start my day in peace.

As I make my way from the top floor, down to the basement, Wiggins has taken to following me. In the dark of the morning, I hear him rise, stretch, and shake off his sleep. He slowly meanders down the steps with me, like he’s not quite awake. His backward glances looking for reassurance: “Are you sure you want to go down?”

I smile through the haze of sleep and nudge him forward. “Yes, we are really going down”.

We snake down to the basement, me stopping periodically to turn on the lights.

As we begin the descent into the basement, he always stops and sniffs, not quite sure about the murky darkness.

I turn on another light and his breath eases a bit.

He continues to sniff the steps, the floor, and then makes his way into my husband’s office. I hear him rooting around as I turn on my tablet and ready myself for yoga.

He re-emerges with his goofy, tooth-filled grin. (Yes, I’m convinced that he smiles!)

I unroll my yoga mat and sit. He stretches…on my mat, himself coming into down-dog.

I have to giggle in this moment: my dog, on the mat, doing down-dog.

Perfect.

He snuggles next to me as I sit and breathe and begin my session. Once I begin to move, he always moves off the mat and finds a place on the floor next to me where he can fully stretch out.

He remains by my side as I practice: my canine-sentinel, my watch-ward, my protector.

Today, as I finish my practice and look over at him, tears unexpectedly spring up. My love for this dog swells into my open-yogic heart.

I roll my mat and gather my things as Wiggins, too, gets up and begins to make his way up the steps.

He waits for me at the top, turning his head to make sure I’m coming.

“I am here, sweet one. Thank you for waiting.”

We climb the steps back up to the top floor, together. Back in the bedroom, he jumps on the bed and snuggles into my pillow as I jump in the shower.

I am still a bit misty-eyed thinking about Wiggins. I still feel his love as I begin my day: Wiggins, my sweet guard-dog with the floppy right ear, brown eyes, and goofy grin.

And I thank the universe that our paths have crossed.