verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Gentle Giant

This Gentle Giant is named Remy.  He's a puppy, not even 6 months old, but he's already the size of a Volvo.  He's playful but benevolent.  The other day I had the unexpected pleasure of an extra visit while his moms were away.  As soon as we were in the yard, he began to tango with me, and as most of the the dogs know, the best way to butter me up is to ask me to dance.  We whirled and twirled and boogied, and in my joy and excitement, I called him Guthrie. Gasp--what a slip!  Guthrie was his predecessor who died last year, rest his soul.  How I loved Guthrie!  But here I was, having fun with this very young and eager Newfie who deserves to claim his own identity and to be called by his rightful name.  I made my apologies and he graciously agreed to continue our dance without holding any grudge.  On the sidelines sat old man Buddy (see Fenway Faithful from 8/23), still trying to come to grips with Papelbon's last inning and when invited to join us, he worked up enough energy to break a little sweat and bury the curse.  The three of us had a lovely visit and enjoyed what may have been the last day of fall, given the amount of snow we are accumulating today.

Remy never knew Guthrie but he certainly echos his traits.  It's incredible how both dogs could be so gigantic and at the same time take up so little space.  I always get a sense of their size by the way they guzzle water from their bowls.  Both manage to get water everywhere.  A bathtub isn't big enough.  And when walking in the back yard, watch your step!  That's huge, too.  Their collars can double as snow tires, and they don't chew wittle wittle treats, they chew logs.  And as massive as their size is their gentleness and loyalty.  They are meek.  Humble. They would never harm you, or call you by the wrong name.  They don't overwhelm others with incessant demands or yapping.  They assume a quiet place and act small, in spite of their mass.  I miss Guthrie, but I'm happy to have a chance to dance with Remy.

And why would a dog want to butter me up?  Why would any dog put his canine-hood on the line with a tango or cha-cha-cha?

Because he's also very smart.

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