Henry moves his body with energetic economy, suggestive more of wise elder than young poodle pup. Neither skip nor squirm betrays enthusiasm nor interferes with the silent, zen-like bearing of his slender, ten-pound frame. Exceptionally demure and calm, extravagantly poised and polite, I dub him Little Lord Fauntleroy, half-way expecting him to dress in blue-velvet pantaloons and lacy white shirt. His people are gone for the weekend and I stay at their house to care for the well-behaved, copper-colored prince with soft curly hair.
Henry’s first bark comes at 3am…nothing rude but definitely firm. I race to the dog-crate and propel him outdoors—there will be no accidents on my watch! He exits the house without complaint and I wait. And wait. And call. And call again. Nothing happens. Dimly visible in the inky back yard, he appears highly satisfied while I am highly annoyed. Thirty minutes and multiple treats eventually coax Henry inside, but nothing persuades him to return to the crate. I grab a place on the couch—he selects a side chair—and we pass the next few hours slumbering peacefully.
“Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me,” goes the old saying. The weekend was a little of both. Henry suffers frequent leashing, I suffer if I forget to leash. Henry acquires many treats, I acquire stealth and patience. We’re wary of each other but it doesn’t keep us from enjoying long walks and quiet companionship. As our time together draws to a close, I am uncertain whether one of us is boss—but very certain both of us are friends.