I’m gonna stand guard, like a postcard of a Golden Retriever

June 10, 2007 | Category: Mother to the First Power

I believe the light that shines on you | Will shine on you forever | And though I can't guarantee | There's nothing scary hiding under your bed | I’m gonna stand guard | Like a postcard of a Golden Retriever | And never leave till I leave you | With a sweet dream in your head - Paul Simon

I'm a little hard of hearing.

It doesn't matter.

In college, I had a routine hearing screening with equipment more sophisticated, I guess, than what I'd grown up with. That's when I found out that I have hearing loss in both ear - much worse in the right.

It doesn't matter.

Except in little ways. Little inconveniences & personality tics. Like I have to use a phone on my left ear, can't switch when it gets all hot and sweaty. Probably done it my whole life, didn't even realize it until I was 21. Then it made sense.

And if you're deaf? You can usually spot me. I don't why. But dozens of hard of hearing and deaf people have approached me over the years.

One obvious manifestation - I'm slower to wake up to sound than CD. In the parent possum game? I was all-time winner. That man did - conservatively - 80% of the night-time diapers.

A few years ago, we shared our life with a Chow-German Shepherd-Mastiff mix named Ragnar. At least until he grew so big that they assigned him his zip code and reclassified him as 'big honkin unknown furry beast'.

He went to live in the horse country that is Barrington, with people who had much wider hallways.

He was CD's dog. Sure Bear and I were 'in the pack' - but CD was shazizzle in Ragnar's eyes.

Now Sara has come into our lives and I guess part of me was expecting 'Ragnar 2'.

I was wrong.

Since we emptied the kitchen for the reno, we had to push everything else everywhere else. Her condo-sized crate needed a new home and the only available real estate was Bear's room (under the window).

Since we moved her in there, she has become smitten with Bear to the point of been a celebrity stalker.

The boy has been known to have to go poop with her paws reaching for him under the bathroom door.

She loves me, she loves CD, she licks the cat unmercifully (which we worry may be confusion that Maggie is somehow a walking appetizer)... but she would, even at only 3 months old and 26 pounds, without a doubt die for my son.

I didn't anticipate this.

I have no idea when she is sleeping.

As I wonder around at night waiting for my insomnia to subside, each time I near my son's room to watch him sleep - there she is.

Keeping watch.

With a fascination that I thought only CD and I had for him.

He sleeps in the heat, partially covered in one of his dad's old t-shirts. Snoring and peaceful.

There she is, chin on paws. Listening to him breathe.

I lean against her crate, in the soft glow of his night light. "He's out cold," I tell her. Laughing at his frog-legged sprawl. "You should sleep, too."

And Sara gives my fingers a lick and then settles back down, 'hrf' she says softly.

That's when I realize that even though I sometimes worry that I won't hear him in the night - she will.

Without a doubt.

Somehow, that revelation comforts me. I slip Sara a treat and pad out of the room.

I can sleep.

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