Little Bear

We were sitting on the porch this morning, Lori and I, enjoying coffee and Oreos and the pleasant, cool, blue-skied morning. As is usually the case on Thursdays, our days off coincided, so we were, as my friend Ty says, “getting up slow”. Joining us in this prelude to the day was our goofy dog Little Bear.
Little Bear is, as Lori often says, our gift from God. He was, when he moved in back in May, a five month old Labradoodle, that was in need of a home. The young couple who had originally gotten, and named, Little Bear was splitting up, and neither of them could, or would, keep their puppy. When the girl half of the couple shared their dilemma with Lori, we had just become dogless. Our precious baby girl Maddie had just died, so we happened to have a hole in our family approximately the size and shape of their puppy. For dog owners, or dog lovers more accurately, there is a symbiosis between a dog and his people. They, our dogs, are needy and almost helpless, and they fulfill the programmed need in some of us to be needed, to be depended on, and to receive wet-nosed kisses and wagging tails in appreciation. So the aching need for that special relationship with a dog was filled when Little Bear came to stay.
But he is funny looking. He has a bad perm, feet the size of oven-mits, his head is too big for his body, his snout is too wide for his head. He looks like a Sesame Street character, Snuffleupagus, or a cartoon caricature of a dog. I learned, through the magic of Google, that Labradoodles were “invented” in Australia by some guy whose goal was to create a service dog that folks with allergic reaction to dogs' shedding could use, as Labradoodles don't shed. Yeah, right. Despite what Wikipedia says, I think what really happened was, this fellow, Wally Conron, was sitting around the kennel one night with some buddies, having a few too many Fosters, and the conversation turned to “wouldn't it be funny if...” Next thing you know, Mrs. Fleeglehorn's Standard Poodle is in the pen with Mr. Goodermuth's Lab, and sixty days later there is a litter of cartoon puppies.
The internet also informed me our new child was intelligent and easily trainable. Well, after all the hours and effort invested in teaching LB to shake, he should have received a Bachelors Degree, rather than the training treat blob of synthetic liver he got. We're working on “Lay Down”, but he looks at us like we're asking him to do Logarithms. There is no way on this green Earth this dog could be trained to help someone cross the street. Also, listed among the traits typical of Labradoodles is “an affinity for water and strong swimming ability”. Just last week we were sitting by the Juniata River, throwing a stick in the water for Bear to retrieve. He did good, chasing the stick with enthusiasm, as long as he could touch. If he couldn't reach the stick on foot, Lori would have to wade out and get it for him. But that's o.k. We've told him he doesn't have to be a straight A student, just do his best. His real job, after all, is leaning against me so I'll rub his belly, licking my ear in the morning to tell me he's done sleeping now, and wanting to hang out with us as much as possible. He's excellent at those skills.