Thanksgiving prodigies: Bugsy and Reggie

Making rounds

     Bugsy the miracle kitten continues to enchant all who encounter him. But he remains an uncommonly shy—a skittish—young man. 

     Last night, a kind of party broke out at my folks’ house, a lively and noisy affair comprising the consumption of pizza & beer and the viewing of the film, Rear Window. During this episode, which unfolded on my folks’ dining room table, Bugsy continually made his rounds about the house, periodically weaving through our ten human legs and innumerable wooden furnishings. Occasionally, he stopped to sniff a hand, chase a ball, or grab a bite from his bowl in the back room; but mostly he dutifully made his rounds without interruption, like a beat cop. Only later did he stop to permit my mother to hold him on her lap. He slept, his head in her hand, while we all admired him and his Angel ways, to which he remained utterly oblivious.

* * *

Yet another prodigy

     On Thursday, I showed up for my brother’s family’s Thanksgiving extravaganza, an event generally centered on the relentless energetic adventures of anywhere from five to ten extremely healthy and boisterous children, ranging in age nowadays from five to about eleven. (Last Thursday, there were eight or nine kidlettes.)

     The adults, of which I consider myself one, just try to stay out of their way.

     These kids form a joyous herd, which tramples across the backyard, then into the house, then up the stairs, then down again. Occasionally, the herd stops to do things, such as play games and note prodigies.

     On Thursday, there was a remarkable prodigy—namely, Reggie the pup, a stunning German Shepherd. My sister-in-law’s sister’s family (hubby is a cop) acquired the fellow from the German Shepherd “rescue” people, about a month ago, when Reggie was still very small. (Someone had abandoned the little guy.) But, we’re told, he’s grown like a weed, and now he's twenty-or-so pounds of pure puppy fur and energy. 

     He appears to be the Platonic Form of German Shepherd pup.

     I love kids—especially my brother’s kids—but, in my mind, there are few things in life more compelling than a German Shepherd puppy let loose in the world. I can sit and watch such a creature bounding and falling and wrestling, for hours. (If you wrestle with them, they sometimes emit pig-like grunts. Unbelievably cute!)

     Reggie seemed to the seasoned members of my family—longtime admirers of German Shepherds, several examples of which have come and gone throughout the decades—to be an extraordinary specimen of even that lofty breed. —“A perfect puppy,” announced my mother, as she gazed in awe and wonder.

     Here’s what struck me most about young Reggie. His cop family showed up, Reggie included, and then, without transition, the furry fellow immediately joined the joyous herd of children and then ran and cavorted with them for hours. As the herd mysteriously formed and then ran into the house, so did Reggie. As it weirdly coalesced and descended the stairs, Reggie was there, in the middle of the pack. None of the kids ever seemed to find this odd, and Reggie himself seemed utterly comfortable with the situation. He was like a fish finding himself in water for the first time. He was, in fact, in puppy heaven!

     Picture, if you will, the Kidly herd pouring out of the building, laughing and screaming and filling the yard. As this crew reaches the doorway, there is, of course, a bottleneck, and that causes a sudden contraction of the stream of Kid-Joy, forming a temporarily dense flow of Joyful Screamitude.

     There, right in the middle, was Reggie, the tips of his fuzzy and erect ears bouncing downward with each step, his eyes blazing, his tongue flopping, his mind a bright light.

     If ever there was a smile on the face of a dog, it was on the face of young Reggie!