Earlier this week I wrote about busy, athletic Auggie’s very occasional need to snuggle. Eli, too, has a need to snuggle, but for him that means All. The. Time.

Eli is the cuddliest, mildest-tempered, neediest dog I have ever known. I have no doubt this is due to his having been brought home days before the COVID lockdown. We were not able to socialize him properly, and he depended entirely upon our small household for everything. Most of the time he is submissive to Auggie’s leadership, but lately, as Auggie approaches his seventh birthday and begins to slow down a bit, Eli has started asserting himself.

This is mostly noticeable in their rivalry for our attention. When Auggie asks for a scratch or a pat, Eli uses his considerable bulk to wedge himself between us and Auggie. We have to physically push him away to prevent him from blocking Auggie altogether.

So, of course, the night after Auggie cuddled up close, Eli decided it was his turn. He was waiting, all curled up on my pillow when I came to bed, and although he moved politely when asked, he came right back as soon as I had settled, and lay his big head on my shoulder. He sighed deeply, his breath in my ear, and promptly fell asleep. You know the old joke: Where does a 300 pound gorilla sleep? Well, that fairly describes Eli, even though he is only a modest 140 pounds. His father weighs the same, and I attribute both his weight and his demeanor to genetics, even as I carefully monitor his food, and feed him extra vegetables. After our experience with high-energy demanding Auggie, I did ask for a puppy with low drive. We got one.

Eli’s shyness is a handicap. He is terrified of anything he can interpret as thunder, which can be fireworks, a passing jet overhead, the rumble of a garbage truck, or the sliding door of a van. Or, of course, gunshots. We hear gunshots fairly regularly, and it’s legal. But Eli doesn’t care. When our arborist team was here, the sound of logs being thrown into the truck bed were equally terrifying.

I used to follow the advice of dog experts and try to distract him with routine commands, or games, or dancing. I tried everything, and none of it worked. So now I do what I should have been doing all along: I make myself available to calmly snuggle him if he wants, and allow him to hide in his secret places if he prefers that. When he gets an idea in his head, he’s pretty difficult to dissuade, but increasingly, when he’s afraid he just comes and sits with his head in my lap. I’m fine with that, and he is, too.

He is also reactive to other dogs, which we continue to work on with some success. Our trainer described him as “a kid who doesn’t know how to shake hands,” and that description fits, because Eli doesn’t have a single mean bone.

Today, while I played “Boo” with Auggie, Eli trotted nearby, sometimes with his ball, but mostly uninterested in it. For the last 15 minutes or so, he just sat by the door, watching and waiting for us to come inside so he could have his snack and snuggle back into bed. Auggie, indefatigable, did the slow walk of doom back to the house, dropping his green ball disconsolately at the door.

And now, I’m off to work, happy to have them both—yin and yang—nearby for comfort: Eli sound asleep, and Auggie lying by the door, just in case anyone should happen to open it.