The air conditioner was set too high during the night, and the room became much drier. After turning over in bed, I woke up.
I saw a faint green light at the foot of the bed in my field of vision. My sluggish mind was startled, and I quickly reached for the nightstand. My motion was too large, and I accidentally knocked the glasses off the table.
In the darkness, I calmed myself down. I should have turned on the light first.
I flipped the switch for the sensor light above my head and vaguely saw a figure walking from the foot of the bed. My tense body relaxed.
Yes, I had invited the housekeeper's Czech Wolfdog into the room last night. It was very well-behaved, even not drooling or barking randomly.
Perhaps realizing it had frightened me, the big dog quietly picked up the glasses from the floor and gently placed them on the nightstand.
Watching its actions, my heart softened. "Thank you, you're such a good boy."
Although I didn't have exaggerated or expressive facial reactions, my tone was very gentle.
Seeing its upright ears, I felt like I wanted to pet it, but as soon as it saw my raised hand, it instinctively returned to the foot of the bed, putting distance between us.
Does that mean it doesn't want to be petted? I had the impression it didn't like being touched.
I still found it strange—how could there be a dog that doesn't like to be petted? Could it be that it only doesn't like being touched by people other than its owner? But it had come out to play, so why pretend to be a pure, untouchable dog?
Licking its lips, I dialed the landline on the nightstand. Instead of using the room's kettle, I asked the front desk to send up a large can of water. After drinking my fill, I gave some to the big dog to quench its thirst.
The dog drank about a third of the can. It seemed very thirsty, but it didn't make a sound or disturb me. Instead, it patiently waited.
Its self-control was amazing.
I checked the time on my phone—it was past 3 AM. I had slept for at least three hours. The dog probably hadn't slept at all. Now, as I lay down again, it remained seated at the foot of the bed, like a loyal bodyguard.
After drinking the water, I wasn't feeling very sleepy. I propped up my pillow and started scrolling through my phone. The room's temperature was still too warm and dry, so I lifted the blanket to reveal my legs in a nightgown.
The big dog turned its head away, no longer looking at me. Instead, it focused intently on the door.
The chat group was eerily quiet. Ouyang Jing and Liu Mei had both fallen fast asleep. I remembered their conversation about dogs earlier in the day, and I pointed my phone camera at the beautiful and sturdy dog.
I deliberately turned off the lights and muted the phone, but as soon as I pressed the shutter, the dog lay down, skillfully avoiding my covert shot.
Was it a coincidence, or was it intentional?
It didn't matter that I missed the shot. I wasn't planning to post it in the group anyway. I easily gave up and casually browsed through some forums, where I came across a few posts about training large dogs.
I clicked on one to read, then glanced over at the big gray dog, now sitting up again. It looked very well-behaved. Perhaps it could understand some basic commands?
The commands need to be clear, the tone steady, and I shouldn't say too much at once, or the dog might get confused.
After watching a few training videos, I sat cross-legged at the head of the bed, trying to imitate the videos. This time, I stared directly at its side profile.
Its soft gray fur, the cold, sharp profile, and those piercing golden eyes—it had to be one of the coolest large dogs I've ever seen. Really, it was so handsome.
Of course, a bored woman unable to sleep would end up bothering the only two living beings in the room. I snapped my fingers at the dog.
Its ears twitched slightly, but it didn't shift its gaze, as if the door behind it hid a more enticing secret. I straightened my back, gently caressing my nightgown, and issued the command in a clear and firm voice: "Good boy, be obedient, look at me." The air around us was filled with a silent tension, and then, slowly, it turned its head. Those deep, soulful eyes finally met mine. A surge of surprise rose in my heart, as if I had accomplished a small miracle.
In response, I looked around, searching for an appropriate reward. Barefoot, I tiptoed over to my bag, rummaging through it until I found a pack of pork jerky. Carefully, I opened the package, selected a few pieces that were torn into small chunks, and made sure they wouldn't cause any difficulty in swallowing before offering them to the dog.
The large dog sat quietly, its gaze fixed on the jerky in my fingertips. It didn't rush to grab it but patiently waited for me to set the treat down. After a brief pause, I gave the command: "Eat it like this." It seemed to show a hint of reluctance as it slowly lowered its eyelids, opened its mouth, and deftly avoided my fingernails with its sharp teeth, gently taking the meat.
I couldn't help but notice its teeth, which were distinctly different from those of a typical domestic dog. Perhaps because the Czech Wolfdog had wolf ancestry, such a difference wasn't too surprising.
I fed the remaining jerky pieces one by one. After finishing, the dog didn't lick my hand. Throughout the whole process, it was careful to avoid touching my fingers. This interaction felt more like a gentle concession, as though it were the one training me. Though this thought seemed rather odd, I truly felt it.
Encouraged by its compliance, I grew bolder. "Now, let me pet you." I extended my hand, and it didn't step back. Instead, it stood still, its eyes filled with a trace of tension, as if both expecting and uncertain where my hand would land on its body. In that moment, I felt like I had touched its inner softness.
Even so, it didn't show its teeth. Some dogs really have such strong tolerance toward humans. My hand hovered in mid-air before landing gently on its head. The dog's ears were pressed down by my palm, and I rubbed back and forth, watching its tail swing like a pendulum behind it.
With that, I revised my earlier assumption—it must actually enjoy being petted. If it didn't, it would definitely show some sign, at the very least by pulling away or growling at me.
The gray fur under my palm felt slightly coarse, and when I rubbed too hard, some loose hairs fell off. I stroked from the top of its head down its back, and the sensation was quite pleasant. The shifting muscles beneath its fur made me feel its strength, and I was filled with a sense of security.
Concerned about any injuries it might have, I refrained from giving commands like "roll," "sit," or "jump." I'd have to mention to the housekeeper tomorrow that her dog was hurt.
After petting the dog, my mood lifted. I gently patted its head and said, "Sleep well, good night."