Its been several years since Ive brought a new animal into the house but Ive got one now. Shes a mostly Springer Spaniel named Daisy.
I have a black Labrador named Wiccan who has a disinclination to bark. She can bark, Ive heard her, she just doesnt. I want her to tell me theres somebody coming up the steps to the house, not greet and escort them to the door where the first I know of their presence is a knock. I live in the boonies and am leery of strangers. I keep a hunting rifle with adjacent shells handy in case of intruders.
So it was suggested to me that I do what our forebears did who lived in neighborhoods bristling with castles, the inhabitants of which frequently snuck up during the night to surprise fellow owners and invade the premises.
Castle dwellers had double dog duty. Great big hounds dumber than rocks who snoozed outside waiting to get the word from the little bitty dogs inside who yapped their heads off at the sight, sound or smell of strangers. Then the big dogs made Moist N Meaty out of the strangers while the little ones got a dog biscuit for their effort.
I will find you a little dog that needs a home to be your warning system, said one of my daughters, who has spent most of her life taking in and finding homes for the stray and unwanted of all kinds.
She found a beagle for me up in Marysville but the snow storms hit and the dog owner and my daughter never got together. Then she found Daisy in Port Orchard, whose owners are moving where they cant take her.
I expected to see a low-slung critter but Daisy turned out to be almost as tall as Wiccan and must weigh 60 pounds. This, I said to my daughter, is your idea of a little bitty dog? You could saddle and ride this dog, I said. She could pull a milk wagon, I said.
Daisy is black and white and has no tail. She came with her own blanket and a distrust of black Labs since the one where she lived was a little too rough-house for her taste. But Wiccan was delighted to see her since her nearest dog friend, Bootsie Rutherford, lives behind a fence most of the time, and all went well even when the cat discovered Daisy was aboard.
Pimp, whose daytime kingdom is my bedroom, took a dive under the bed when Daisy walked in there but came out quickly and marched up to where Daisy was lying down looking at her. No hisses. No fur in the air. No smacks in the jaw. Daisy was frantically wagging her tail stub, pleading no contest. Pimp strolled by her without incident. Daisy proved right away she could bark. She barked at a spider that dared to dangle down from the eaves. She barked at a tug pulling two barges that she thought were too close to my side of Admiralty Inlet. And when I put Wiccan and Daisy outside for the night, she stood at the front door and barked to come back in. When she finally gave up and plopped on one of the dog beds out there, Wiccan came and stood over her, nuzzling her as if to say, there, there, everything is going to be all right.
When I got up at 5 a.m., I looked out the window and both dogs were fast asleep on their separate beds. They raced in when I opened the door. I did my usual of lying down on a couch with a blanket to watch the news on TV when Daisy appeared at the side. Up came one foot, then the other. She heaved her whole body up, crawled across me to lie down at my right side with her head on my shoulder. She stretched all four legs in the air, gave a contented sign and snuggled in for a nap.
I think they call that bonding.

Adele Ferguson can be reached at P.O. Box 69, Hansville, WA, 98340.