Growing Up Together

Frozen blue eyes, stark white fur, and at one hundred thirty pounds, Doug was a giant but he could’ve been Webster’s definition of a gentle giant. His chest so broad and deep, I could hardly wrap my arms around him. While he was striking to look at and charmed his way through life, his most notable feature was the fact that he was deaf.

We didn’t know Doug was deaf initially and it did offer challenges. He wasn’t the best guard dog and if he decided to chase a squirrel, there was no calling him back. Though over time we developed our own language. While I would love to say Doug knew fifty hand signs, that’s not the case. Our language consisted of facial expressions, hand motions, and love. I knew what he needed and he for I without ever a word to be said. He never asked for much. While he enjoyed sleeping, he also welcomed walks down the road to an overflown ditch puddle for a quick swim. Empty, plastic water bottles were his toys of choice, but his favorite pastime was to snuggle and love his people.

Doug was a baby when he came into my life and I was 18, a baby myself. Doug and I moved in with my boyfriend, Mitch, to a tiny rental house in the middle of a swamp. Mitch and I were living on minimum wage jobs and maneuvering the bills and waves that come with life as adults. The three of us cuddled up in a full-size bed and shared meals of peanut butter sandwiches or ground beef and rice at times when we couldn’t afford anything else. His block head nuzzled again mine as I split the bread in half and he would accept with a kiss to my cheek.

Day by day, year by year, we did survive the tiny rental house, in fact I would say we thrived. Mitch and I got better jobs and were able to surf the waves just fine. No more measly meals to be shared, but Doug still nudged my leg every time peanut butter was out and I obliged. We lived a simple life until one day, four years later, we found out I was having a baby. I didn’t think I was ready but as much as you can bet to see the moon in the sky, I could bet on Doug to be there for me through it. Often times I would be overcome with anxiety and fear and he would rest his paw on my foot and I knew. Without a word to be said, he would place his muzzle against my belly, he knew.

When I brought our baby girl home, I laid us on the floor and softly pat the carpet next to her. Doug walked over gently, as much as a giant can, and laid beside her. Those icicle eyes swelled and only the tip of his tail flickered, careful not to thwack us. We were in love. Soon after, our trio-turned-quad moved out of our tiny rental. We bought a house and Doug, as concerned as I was, adjusted just fine. He found a new favorite hobby of following around the baby and pressing his wet, brown nose against her. The noisy toys weren’t a bother but he didn’t care for them scattered on his bed. To let me know, he would sit near and give me eyebrows that suggested his annoyance. Back in the bin they go. The new backyard even came with a manmade pond, quite the upgrade from the ditch puddle. The four of us settled in, learning new languages with one another and maneuvering a new life. Suddenly a quick fourteen months later, we were married and welcoming a baby boy into our family.

Our son was the final addition and as much as you can bet on the sun to rise in the sky, I could bet on Doug to be there for me through it. As time would tell and not too long after our family was complete, Doug developed a vicious liver cancer that took his life. On Thanksgiving Day, in traditional Doug character, he gave us kisses and walked to the back yard where he put himself to rest.

Doug and I loved to go for walks around our small town. Down the sidewalk we’d stroll and I could hear the yelping of dozens of others inside their homes, curious or perhaps angry at us for passing by, but Doug couldn’t. Relaxed and bouncing along in the sunshine, he didn’t have a care in the world they were yelling at him. These walks around town, in our own silent world, were one of our favorite activities; but growing up together was my favorite memory.