My One and Only

It’s hard saying good-bye to an old friend, a loyal companion who has been part of your life everyday for the last 13 years. The thing is, I never thought of myself as a dog person. As much as I like dogs, I never had that crazy bond people get with them. Brutus, however, was a different story.

We always had dogs growing up, but they were my father’s or my brother’s. My father was a beagle man. Back in the day, he trained them for hunting rabbits. I vaguely remember a dog named Daisy and Dad hooking up some system with an old crank telephone and a deer leg so each time Daisy touched the deer, Dad would crank up the phone and she’d get a shock; no chasing deer for her. My father was a clever man. My brother’s dog was Taffy, a skinny, tan, mixed-something breed, about the size of a border collie. I just remember her tippy, tippy nails on the wooden floor and every time there was a thunder-storm, she would pant to excess, hide under the bed and throw up everywhere. (Ah, great dog memories.) My father’s next beagle was Chloe, a runt in a litter I picked out. Chloe was afraid of guns which was fine, because Dad no longer hunted much and just wanted a dog. Chloe was a big baby that slept on all the furniture and if you said “Chloe, who’s coming,” she would do that old beagle howl where her mouth would round-up – “rooo, rooo, rooo.” I admit I sometimes did it just to get her going because it was so funny to watch.

When I got married, my husband had a Chesapeake Bay retriever. He thought his dog was the greatest dog in the world. (He was mistaken.) I could probably write 30 pages on the escapades of Mascia, named after my husband’s best friend. My husband was an avid duck hunter and Mascia was a great water dog and retriever; very well-trained in that aspect. The problem with Mascia was he liked to roam and my husband seemed to give him every opportunity to do so. He would go on jaunts and get into trouble, like breaking into camps and stealing chicken off tables. Living in Florida was the worst because my husband would be gone for a week at a time and I had to control that beast. He could break through screen doors and chain leashes. I tracked him down in swampy ditches. We had neighbors make threats to poison their trash. My breaking point was the phone call telling me Mascia had gotten their dog pregnant and I would have to pay for an abortion. There were days I loathed that dog but my husband loved him and I knew it. Perhaps they are together again somewhere.

I got a dog for my son when he was about 6 years old. Luna was a lab/springer mix. She was a cute dog but it was tough having a puppy. Even though I raised three children, raising a puppy was another challenge. She was jumpy and annoying most of the time but calmed down as she got older and became a decent family dog, always getting along with other animals I brought into the house. She absolutely loved the water. We lived on a lake and she would stay in there all day if I let her, swimming around with the kids. Luna’s other distinguishing quality was greeting people who came to the door with a shoe in her mouth. She would stand there wagging her tail, waiting until you took the shoe out and, if you didn’t, she might continue on outside with it to go pee. We lost a few items that way. If a shoe wasn’t available, she’d grab a sock, a bread wrapper, anything, but she had to have something. As she got older and a little more senile, I brought her dog crate back for her security to sleep in. Many times I’d find her, the old cat Macintyre and a shoe all in there together.

Brutus came along because my boyfriend at the time always wanted a Newfoundland. He also thought it would be great for him to have a camp dog, although the only time Brutus ended up going to camp was when I took him. My sister saw an ad in the paper for a free Newfoundland, so we called and the owners came to interview us and see where I lived. They were living in an apartment and couldn’t keep him anymore. He was 2 years old at the time. Upon first inspection, it was fairly obvious Brutus was more lab than Newfoundland. He was a unique looking dog however, because he was much bigger than a lab, with a very thick, black coat and a bushy tail that curled upwards. He seemed like a good-natured dog and, even though I really didn’t want another one, I agreed to take him. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to be my responsibility, (that didn’t last too long).

Brutus adjusted quickly to our household and my boyfriend did work with him in the beginning, training him on basic dog tricks and manners. He and Luna became fast friends and he got along with all the other animals, which was an unspoken rule among pets in my household. All creatures big and small got along, with the exception of the bitchy, black cat who would often swat at any animal that walked by her. Brutus, who was about 10 times her size and could have easily crushed her under one paw, wouldn’t go by her to get to his food. He would stand and wait until I cleared her from the path.

He became more a part of the family and I became more attached to a dog, something I could never dream possible. Brutus loved to play. He was always a puppy at heart even when he got older. When he was young, he loved to run around and was incredibly fast. (He loved chasing those pesky squirrels.) He loved playing games and would run inside the house chasing me. My house was designed so we could run from room to room in a circle. I’d hide around corners, he’d chase me again. It was our version of hide and seek. He would do these incredible spins, which you couldn’t think possible for such a big dog and made you laugh because here was this huge dog doing these silly spins with that fluffy tail tucked between his legs. When he got excited he would do a prance, as though he was doing a little tap dance – sometimes with all 4 paws but mostly with his front ones, which again looked comical because of his size. He was wonderful with my kids, with any children. I never knew him to be mean or threatening and most kids couldn’t resist that fluffy tail. He loved playing with Luna, although he sometimes did forget he was almost three times her size and had to be reminded not to play too rough. He did normal dog things but was kinder and gentler than most big dogs. He was a lover, not a fighter, but was also quick to protect those he loved. I remember when he thought I was threatened by another dog, (which kept jumping on me), he intervened by standing up against me, refusing to let the other dog from getting too close.

I had never seen a dog who loved the snow as much as Brutus. Perhaps it’s common for dogs with fur as thick as his to lay in the snow or on top of snowbanks, which were his favorites because he had a good vantage point. He seemed to have the most energy as colder weather approached. His fur got even thicker to the point you wondered if there was dog underneath, and his tail, if it was possible, got even bushier. I dreaded spring because I knew all the fur was coming out, in mass quantities. Sometimes I would just sit and pick it from him, like I was out in a field harvesting cotton. I could have made a wool Brutus coat three times over by now. Summers were the worst for him, even when I had him shaved down, (he almost seemed embarrassed when I did), because even though we were told he loved the water, he would stand outside in the blazing sun but refused to go in. Sometimes, if we weren’t looking, he’d walk in there like a dainty lady, just above the paws. He tended to go in more when the water was very cold. The only time I ever saw him jump in the water was to save his girlfriend Luna, who was being chased by a party guest’s uninvited dog. I happened to witness the scene. She ran to the water to escape the dog and, before I could get there, Brutus came out of nowhere, zoomed down the hill and bounded into the water after that dog. I never saw anything like it. It was the only time he ever went in the water like that – to save his friend.

There was something about this dog that exuded personality. He was scary at first because of his size but he grew on you because he was so friendly and loveable. He had a “boyish” charm that won everyone and anyone over. Brutus was a handsome dog, majestic in stature but there was something about him which made him approachable. Perhaps it was his happy, trusting face and the way he tilted his head as if to say, “Hey, want to me my friend?” Maybe it was the shaggy coat of black hair that made him resemble a bear (a big teddy bear) or that bushy, curled tail, (my sister called him fat-tailed dog), that people couldn’t resist wrapping their hands around just one time and was always wagging whenever he saw anyone. His demeanor was the best. He was the ultimate gentle giant. It was the incredible character of Brutus which made him so special. I don’t know how many times he won over people who didn’t like dogs or were afraid of them. Everyone loved Brutus, wanted to pat him, feel that bushy tail or just be around him. In our former neighborhood, they called him the “love pig.” He just loved people and people loved him. When I couldn’t find Brutus, I’d go to the neighbors and find him hanging out with the guys in the garage. Sometimes he’d just walk in my neighbor’s house, if she had her door open, lay down and make himself at home. He played with their little dog, which was about the size of a cat. Their chickens would sometimes follow him home. I came outside one day to this scene: my 2 dogs were laying on the lawn in the sunshine with 2 of the cats, my 3 chickens were grazing around them, my neighbors 8 or 9 chickens were picking further down the lawn and my rabbit hopped by both dogs. They both just lay there as if it was all very typical. I suppose it was at my house.

Brutus didn’t like being alone and always wanted to be near somebody, (hence visiting the neighbors if I wasn’t immediately available). He had to be touching some part of you and would often lean on people. You didn’t necessarily have to pat him, he just wanted some form of human contact. He would often lay on my feet or inch his hind end onto the couch until the whole dog was up there and he was sitting in your lap. Nothing like a 90 pound lap dog! He had his naughty moments where he ignored me but not many or those times he’d come into a room like a bull in a china shop, knocking things over because of his size and that wagging, bushy tail. Typically, he was good-natured and easy-going, not “high strung” like so many dogs. He was friendly without being an annoying kind of friendly. He wasn’t jumpy and didn’t bark unnecessarily. He was a lover and a leaner. I could take him almost anywhere with me because he was so well-behaved. He was welcome in several of my friend’s homes, including my close friend and her dog Cocoa. They both seemed disappointed whenever I didn’t bring him with me. I would take both dogs for ice cream, which was their special treat because I didn’t feed them table scraps. The both loved to ride in the car and each dog would pick a back seat window. People would be surprised when Brutus stuck his big head out the window waiting for his little treat. As big of a dog as he was, he was never a glutton. Luna would always finish her ice cream before him. Brutus was a picky eater and took forever to eat his food, especially when he got older.

I had a longer relationship with Brutus than I did with any man, even my husband. (The man who wanted Brutus was asked to leave, Brutus was asked to stay.) He was a better friend than many friends can be. He was reliable to be sure, but he was also resilient through anything and remained the same happy-go-lucky, devoted dog as always. No matter what mood I was in or what I was going through, he wanted to be by my side. Brutus seemed to sense when I really needed him and some moral support. However, as much as I asked of him, he never was a needy dog or required too much. He did love to be loved for sure, but wasn’t a pain in the ass about it. He just liked being close.

He went through lots of changes in his life and I’m grateful he got to live out his final years at a friendly home on the water, with another dog; a place where he got to roam around like he did when he was younger. He followed his chocolate lab girlfriend Missy around everywhere, and was treated with love and compassion by my boyfriend. It made me happy knowing his final years were good years.

Throughout his life, particularly in his age and decline, Brutus never whimpered even when I knew he had to be in extreme pain. It would take him several minutes just to lie down and getting up was a chore also. Sometimes he just couldn’t do it, would start to get up, lay back down, look at me as if to say, “Just let me lay here.” I still took him and Missy for short walks and there were times, towards the end, he tried running again to keep up with her, only to stumble or he’d hurry up the stairs and his back legs would give out and he’d fall down in a heap. (My boyfriend installed a ramp for him.) It was sad to watch because even though he was always a pushover and a love pig, he was so majestic in his own right, but age can be cruel and “dehumanizing” even to animals. It was hard to see him get old yet look at his face and sometimes still see a sparkle in his eyes that said “I’m still here. I want to be a puppy but my body is failing me. I can’t make my legs work so we can play and run around the way we used to. Remember what a great dog I’ve been; what a great and true companion.”

Brutus just kept going and somehow I think would have kept on going no matter how hard it was for him because that’s the kind of dog he was. He would have remained at my side for as long as his body would have possibly allowed him to. It was extremely difficult to make the decision I made and I struggled with it, even though everyone who knew the situation told me I was doing the right thing for him.

I was there with him at the end. As with all things in his life, Brutus was good-natured and gentle. He lay down when he was asked and put his head in my lap. I held that big head and talked to him. I told him I loved him, told him it was okay to leave me, the one thing he just didn’t know how to do. I held him tight and felt him take his last breaths. It took all of my reserve not to cry, to let him go and walk away from my faithful companion, knowing I’d never see that fluffy tail wagging at me again and he’d return to me in a little wooden box.

The loss of my beloved side-kick has had a significant impact on me, much more than I thought possible. I try to rationalize it’s not proper to mourn the loss of a dog. (Having lost several people I love, I know it isn’t the same thing.) I try to tell myself I’m more emotional because I’ve gotten older and more sentimental but I know that’s only part of it. Brutus was a faithful friend who never let me down. He went through everything with me for 13 years and was always at my side – if I had nobody else, I had Brutus. I miss him very much. I sit on the couch looking for him at my feet or drive home at night thinking I’m going to see him standing in the driveway, wagging his tail, waiting for me.

If Brutus had been a person, he would have been one who had a great outlook on life, was always anybody’s friend, who never complained even if something bothered him or if he was in a lot of pain. He would have been a loyal companion who protected his family and put them first, being true to those he loved. He would have had an easy going, kind nature and people would have felt good just by being in his presence. People would have been drawn to him. I suppose he didn’t have to be a person for that. He was all those things as a dog. He was a gentle giant; my big, lovable teddy bear. He had the greatest spirit of any dog I will ever have the pleasure of owning and of loving. He was a one of a kind – my one and only.