Paisley, Clouddog

This is what I think about Paisley, the clouddog: I think he is a weenie and a scaredy cat. He is afraid of the goats, and he is afraid of me, and he is even a little bit afraid of the chickens. He avoids the paddock like the plague. He will not enter the pasture. He won't look me in my noble and soulful eye. He is a wimp.

This is what FarmWife thinks about the clouddog, and because I love her I am willing to let her use my blog as a platform for her views: She thinks the clouddog is a very sweet, very good, very nice dog.

FarmWife got clouddog as a backyard-breeder's cull when he was seven weeks old and she 22 years. She had a suburban apartment, a lively toddler, a full-time class schedule, a part-time job, a senior dog, a flighty cat and a pair of rats. A new puppy was, of course, necessary and appropriate for such a busy single mother. (My great big tongue, of course, is filling my capacious cheek.)

She did not get clouddog entirely of her own volition. She was coerced. You see, FarmWife had been keeping her beloved retired cob, Panda, at a boarding stable in Massachusetts. The proprietors happened to have kennels full of Australian shepherds, and happened to fancy the merle-to-merle breeding that so often results in double-dilute white puppies with hearing and/or vision deficits. FarmWife happened to be at the stable, scheduling the euthanasia of her terminally ill horse and suffering from a vulnerable emotional state, when she was offered a deaf white marshmallow of a dog. Between her racking sobs, she accepted, and so wee Paisley joined the family.

This is how Paisley lived: As her third priority. 1) Human baby. 2) Senior dog/beloved sidekick. 3) Annoying puppy. Paisley got walked, and pat, and trained, and played with, but Paisley was not the main thing going. Paisley was a back-burner project.

And this is how Paisley has been: Sweet. Good. Loving. Kind. Joyful. Endearing. Playful. Nice. Friendly. Welcoming. Benign.

Paisley has committed many crimes of enthusiasm in his life; knocking children down small flights of stairs; covering elegant guests in a felting of white hair; leaping for a stick and grabbing the hand that throws it. He has never, however, been in an altercation, engaged in a conflict, made a gesture of threat, issued a growl, or attempted to menace anyone. He has never looked askance at being tripped over by a playful child, being dominated by a touchy dog, being told what-for by a grouchy rabbit, or being controlled by an adult human.

Paisley is smart, but he is not the smartest dog FarmWife has known. Paisley is beautiful, but he is not the most beautiful dog FarmWife has known. Paisley is athletic, but he is not the most athletic dog FarmWife has known. What Paisley is, fundamentally, though, is nice. Paisley is the nicest dog FarmWife has known, and his gregarious love of humans—all humans, every human, any human in this wide world—is what Paisley will be remembered for.

In that, I think, Paisley the clouddog has much Muleness.

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