The Unmistakable Otis Campbell

Dogs know stuff. Yes, I know they’re just animals. I know their brains are only about the size of tangerines. But I’m telling you.

Take my dog Otis Campbell. I don’t often write about him, but I should. Because he’s our main dog. Our other dogs are his supporting actors.

Otis is the alpha of our family pack, ranking just below my wife. I am ranked somewhere near the rear of the pack. I eat supper last.

I wish you could see Otis right now. He is half awake, half asleep, sort of standing watch over me. That’s what he does whenever I write. He watches me, without moving.

And I’ve always wondered how dogs can remain deathly still, watching you, without falling asleep.

It reminds me of a guy my father once knew. The man could sit on the front porch without moving a muscle for days. The only way you knew he was alive was by his cigarette—it moved occasionally.

Rumor was, the man had been told by doctors to drink spirits to steady his nerves. It worked. Sometimes he got so steady he couldn’t move.

That’s who Otis reminds me of. So that’s who we named him after.

Otis is a good dog. He has witnessed every random emotional event we’ve ever undergone in this household. He has been present for our entire lives.

It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly six years since Otis came to us from an adoption center. We found him when a local pet shelter had a meet-and-greet.

The place was a circus. You couldn’t hear what any of the volunteers were saying because of the collective noise. Each kennel had a fanciful poster with the dogs’ name emblazoned in theatrical letters. Some of the puppies were dressed in little costumes to look like lion tamers and tiny Little Bo-Peeps. The volunteers referred to these costumes as “curb appeal.”

My wife and I split up and zeroed in on dogs we couldn’t live without. My wife selected the sickest and most health-compromised puppy in the room. Meanwhile, I had selected a dog with a severe case of diarrhea.

Still, none of these dogs turned out to be The One.

You’ll know The One when you meet it. There is a soul-mate-dog for every dog lover. In fact, owning a dog is a lot like being married, the only difference being that husbands don’t get treats for peeing in the backyard.

After a full day of loving puppies, we still hadn’t found The One. We were about to leave when, on our way out, we noticed a kennel against the rear wall.

Inside the cage was a black-and-white puppy lying with his paws beneath his chin. It was the classic “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” pose.

The volunteer glanced at her clipboard and said, “This puppy doesn’t have a name. They found him wandering the streets of DeFuniak.”

He didn’t wag his tail when we came near, he never nuzzled our hands. It was as though he knew nobody wanted him. “Why bother?” he was probably thinking.

But when a volunteer opened the kennel door, the rest was history. Otis has been in our family ever since.

And I’ll never forget when we arrived home from burying my wife’s mother, one of the first to greet us at the door was Otis.

He sprinted straight for my wife. Instinct led them directly to her—somehow he knew she was grieving. Otis showered my wife with kisses. He gleefully tackled her and wedged his body so tightly against hers that she had no choice but to love him.

And when she began to cry, I saw him clean salty tears from her face until she started laughing. It was genuine laughter, too. The first smile I’d seen on her face in weeks. And it was put there by him. I still don’t know how he pulled off such a feat.

But I’m telling you, dogs know stuff.