Seraphim

Seraphim has numerous nicknames, all more fitting than the moniker assigned him at birth. Actually, at birth he was named Sarah, honoring a former co-worker. From the womb his little pink nose sported one big brown spot; I could not help myself. Sarah was the perfect name for a brown-nose beagle pup.

My husband told me I had to change his name; no self-respecting dog owner would assign a female name to such a perfect little angel-boy. No self-respecting beagle breeder would call this dog an "angel-boy" either, but given twenty four hours, I came up with the name tht would retain my brown-nose joke and Lloyd's assessment of this first-born boy: Seraphim, angel of high rank.

In time he proved himself worthy of names that were synonymous with big-dumb-and-loving; my favorite direct from Beverly Hillbillies fame: Jethro.

Seraphim was the largest of the pups, his appetite contributed to his rapid growth, which exceeded his learning in the fine art of obedience. He could do anything for food, but absent the food and it seemed his brain, his memory also took leave.

As a pup, we taught him that lap sitting was a good thing. He'd climb onto the chair and into my lap, eyes bright, tail wagging and tongue eagerly slathering me with a multiplicity of kisses. I'd turn him over to rest on his back in my elbow, snuggling against my belly, and scratch his tiny little chest until he relaxed and began snoring.

It was a daily ritual, so I didn't notice when he miraculously transitioned from an eight pound puppy to a twenty-eight pound

 dog. Suddenly, instead of coaxing this little boy up and flipping him to his back for a tender belly-scratching, he bounded onto my lap, big tongue slobbering his enthusiastic approval of me, and then fall backwards into that familiar elbow-belly nest, ready or not.

How he became such a lover, I'll never know. From the womb, his mama fought with and antagonized him until his skill at defending himself matched hers. We thought he would be a fighter, not a lover.