Downstairs
Chester and I might be settling nicely into our new place but we are still getting used to the creaks and moans of the house and the tone it uses when it’s talking to us. It has a gentle voice but it’s a rather talkative house – especially at night.
My daughter and son-in-law live with a French Bulldog named Fergus. As with most Frenchies one can never be certain who is the boss of who (do the kids have a dog or does the dog have people?). Fergus is getting used to the chatter of the house as well but is more inclined to chatter back than Chester is.
Chester and I count on Fergus to draw attention to any unusual activity in the yard around the house – which was why it was so curious the other night when Chester detected a problem that Fergus had not alerted us to.
I noticed Chester vibrating – a bark rumbling deep in his protective center. His whole body was on high alert. I followed his gaze to the windows in the living room. All seemed quiet, I heard nothing untoward – certainly nothing that might alert a Chesapeake to possible danger. And then I saw it.
A beam of light licked the outside of the windows – a smooth streak of brightness – and then it disappeared into the dark beyond.
I’m used to living belowdecks – my condo was of the lower garden level variety – I was safely tucked beneath the neighbor’s two canine burglar alarms – their protective centers were always on higher alert than even Chester’s (they alerted us to leaves blowing under the gate).
For the first few months of condo life Chester was sent to his room every time he barked. The front of our condo faced the walkway leading to the side gate of the complex, any activity was announced by the neighbor’s alarms and the harmonizing Chesapeake below. Chester spent a lot of time in his room back then but eventually learned to choose his battles. He usually let the dogs upstairs get in trouble. Now he lets Fergus take the fall.
Although our new house is located on the corner of a busy street it is secluded. The property backs onto a creek and is bordered by a tall cedar hedge. In the daylight the backyard is a little bit of heaven – at night it becomes a little bit of sinister.
The bright light streaked across the window again. Chester jumped past rumbling and amped to junkyard dog in less time than it took me to gulp.
I’m a look under the bed if you think there’s a monster there kind of girl – shoot first and face the consequences. I swung open my kitchen door and came face to bright light with what appeared to be a man wearing coal miners helmet. The man showed little reaction to my surprise attack. “Oh, hello” he said. A dog appeared in the puddle of light shining from the helmet.
I recognized Fergus immediately, it took a split second longer to identify the man’s voice as that of my son-in-law’s. The coal miners helmet he was wearing was actually a head mounted flashlight – he apparently needs it to keep tabs on Fergus in the dark as well as to shine a spotlight on whatever Fergus deposits in that dark.
We’ve noticed the streak of light every night since – Fergus is regular as clockwork. We now consider that nightly ritual a security check more than a bathroom break – just Fergus doing one final sweep of the yard before bed and we sleep easier knowing he is up for the task.
Upstairs
“Mining for nuggets”
I’m going to assume that many people reading this don’t have a French Bulldog. The French bulldog also known as the bouledogue or bouledogue français, is a small companion breed known for their large personalities. Fergus is approximately 30 lbs (13.2 kg), stands approximately 13 inches (33 cm) tall, and looks like he has been hitting the gym pretty hard. He is stocky, muscled and trim, truth be told I’m envious of the dog’s physique; he’s an outstanding specimen. His colour is tiger brindle which means he is about four different shades of brown, with a black face. Frenchies have often been described as looking like a piglet with bat or bunny ears although we have found that he also bears a striking resemblance to a baby hippo.
At night, Fergus is fully camouflaged. He blends into every shadow, patch of dirt and bush. He is invisible, and to make it worse, because of the muscled physique, he is very quick. Frenchies are known for their “zoomies”; short bursts of frenetic energy where they run, play and wrestle. Google it; you’re welcome.
The headlamp is critical to tracking the piglet in the dark. As our yard isn’t fenced yet and the bulldog has a penchant for chasing things larger than himself, being able to see the little monster is required at all times lest you lose the frenchie and have to deal with his mother. Have you ever had to deal with the mother of a lost frenchie? It’s a situation best avoided.
So, when escorting the frenchie out for his nightly poop, one needs a headlamp. There is a lot of thought that has gone into this; which headlamp? Flood pattern or a focused beam? Attached it with a headband or clip? Rechargeable? Lumen output? What to wear under it: hat, toque, nothing? Adjustable brightness? I’ve spent considerable time deciding on and finding the perfect headlamp. It turns the backyard into daylight, but is light enough to be worn on a three point headband, is fully rechargeable and has a pleasant, yet functional balanced flood/beam pattern with three different brightness modes. Don’t use the strobe feature, it doesn’t end well for anyone. #FenixFlashlights if you are reading this, I’m open to endorsement deals.
When wild dogs first joined primitive humans around their cooking fires, they were eventually domesticated to act as protectors, hunters, and companions; in 2021 I wear a headlamp so I can protect my dog as he poops in the dark; evolution is an ironic mistress.