Lightning flashed illuminating our sleeping household seconds before thunder rolled from the rooftop through the basement. Over and over again the storm pounded our home, promising to awaken the whole family. Amazingly, the house slept on—everyone except for Charlie.
Charlie is my beagle. And like his human siblings before him, he is a Mama’s Baby. He rides with me on errands, follows me from room to room, and settles down beside me when I’m working. Still, the family joke has always been that Charlie views my husband Jay as the top-dog of our pack, not me. When Jay’s out of town, Charlie freely jumps up on the furniture at will; but when Daddy’s home, Charlie finds an acceptable place on the floor. And while he knows I will give in and let him on the bed, he would never, ever try that with Jay.
That stormy night, I felt Charlie’s paw taps at my side of the bed and heard his fearful whimper.
“Hi buddy. You want Mama to put you on the bed?”
Charlie trembled in my arms as the lightning lit up the room; I laid him on the bed at my feet. Immediately my beagle stood and walked to the middle of the bed to snuggle up–not to me–to Jay. You could not have run a rawhide between Charlie and his top-dog.
“I see,” I said to my beagle, “When the storms get this bad, you need Daddy to keep you safe, is that it?” Charlie didn’t answer me. He’d already gone back to sleep, cuddled up next to his security.
