House Guests

I walked towards the door slowly, my attention on the pile of six library books and a day's worth of mail I was trying not to juggle. All that was forgotten when the front door popped open a crack and Kathy said, "Slip inside quick. Oz has house guests."Before Kathy could finish speaking, Oz was there at the door crack, doggy grin wide. I slipped inside, dropping my pile on the bench as I saw the living room was full of labs.


"Full" is a slight exaggeration. There were just two labs visiting, Tug and Emma, but they are both big and young and full of energy, and they were endlessly cycling, checking things out. Each cycled over to greet me as Kathy explained that Oz had been asleep on the couch when they'd showed up in the back yard. She wasn't going to wake Oz, since she'd been feeling bad, but they didn't just run through like they had before. Emma hung around, sticking her head in between the fence rails.

Kathy had opened the door and called Emma, and she popped right in. Tug, who hasn't visited as often and is approximately as smart as a yam, took more coaxing, but eventually came in, and there was much rejoicing.

The two young dogs—Emma just turned 1 four days ago, and Tug is about eight months old—got to investigate a new space, rumpling up and down stairs to smell things, and disappearing behind or below anything that had a backside or a bottom. Oz got house guests to play with, and play they did. They made many loops against each other, licking, bumping, play growling. When Kathy brought out rawhide chewies for each of them, things got even better. One dog would walk around with one, and another dog would take the other end that was sticking out of his mouth. There would be a brief tug of war, and then the baton would be handed off. The dog that lost his or her chewy would then look around, and bite the end of someone else's chewy, and the process would start over.

And here's the thing that was so purely Oz, and so touching: Oz insisted on sharing. By that I mean, she'd play with Emma—then come over to rub up against me. She'd wrestle Tug, nipping at his legs—then come over to lick my face, as if to say, "See! See! We've got guests! Tug! Emma!" (If you've known a lab, you know they over-use exclamation points. Deal with it.)

Oz insists on sharing good things, and it makes her happy to do so. This means her chewies, her toys, her W's, her friends, and even her food. Who and what does she get possessive about? Her people, and her routines. If I pet another dog too long, she pushes in between, as if to say, "You haven't forgotten me, have you?" But for all other things, she wants to share, and it makes her happier to do so. She'll stalk a deer, transfixed, then, when it runs, jump up and down in place, looking at me, and come over to lick and rub. When we do anything special together—chase a cat, chase a car, crawl under a bush, swim after ducks, etc.—Ozma is happier because I'm there. If she can get more than one person involved, that's just gravy. When Kathy and I take Oz on walks in the cemetery, Oz will follow a scent, then come back and weave in between us, nosing each hand.

Oz likes to share her joy.


Greg