Weighing in at 75 pounds of fluff, ears, and belly rubs, Wrigley, our ten-year-old German Shepherd, has long since passed the puppy stage. These days she’s mellow, gentle, and prefers a sprawl in the sunshine over the hot pursuit of squirrels. Lately, I’ve affectionally taken to calling her “The Big Fluffy.”
In contrast, Honey is a 45-pound dynamo of short-haired, tail-wagging, tongue-lolling mutt energy. Two years old and full of mischief, she digs, climbs (trees, no less), jumps, rolls, and barks non-stop. Chasing rabbits or any other unfortunate small creature that happens into our privacy-fenced backyard is her priority in life — right after food, that is. More than once, while shaking my head in half amusement, half irritation, I have told my wife, “We should have named her WILD Honey.”
Honey joined our family after the passing of Ginger the Bassett Hound left Wrigley grieving and moping. But The Big Fluffy got more than she bargained for when Honey arrived. I will never forget the tiny, energetic puppy running in wild circles around her new playmate. From that moment forward, Wrigley’s grief was over. She simply had no time for it.
The puppy got into everything. She ate Wrigley’s bed. She stole Wrigley’s dog treats. She hid, buried, and devoured Wrigley’s toys, even the chew-proof ones. She jumped back and forth over Wrigley during walks, hopelessly tangling both leashes. Honey followed Wrigley everywhere, stretching her little legs to match Wrigley’s longer strides.
Wrigley didn’t know what to think. Usually gentle, the new addition stretched the outer limits of her patience. Obviously, she needed space, some boundaries. First, she flattened her ears (never good). Then she growled; then she really growled. Finally, she nipped. You'd have thought the puppy was dying, the way she squalled.
“Finally,” I thought, after we made sure only Honey’s feelings had been hurt. “Maybe now, she will give Wrigley some space!”
Not a chance. Ten minutes later, the shenanigans began again. We wondered if we had made a mistake. Would Wrigley reject this new non-stop source of irritation?
The answer came in the most terrifying of ways during my wife’s evening walk. Three adult Bull Mastiffs tore loose from their owners and rushed Jennifer and our dogs. Despite being outnumbered, outweighed, and outmatched, The Big Fluffy planted herself firmly between the rushing Mastiffs and my wife, who was carrying Honey. Growling fiercely, she refused to back down. Thankfully, the owners arrived and dragged the Mastiffs away before serious injuries occured. Safely back behind their privacy fence, Wrigley sniffed the still-shaking Honey from head to toe, then licked the top of her head. I couldn’t help but smile. Honey had found a home.
These days, the two are inseparable. Honey’s energy has
brought new life to her old friend. They play endless games of chase and keep away, and on chilly mornings, two heads pop out of one doghouse when I open the back door.
We could learn a lot from Wild Honey and The Big Fluffy. Sometimes, it’s tough when generations must learn to live and work together, even in the church. Making it work can result in some growling and grumbling…and sometimes feelings get “nipped.” But when push-comes-to-shove, we must remember we are all in this together.
About the Columnist:Eric K. Thomsen is managing editor of ONE Magazine.
