Bruce's Great Adventure

The first time I met Bruce, he ran up to me and shoved his nose in my crotch. Five years later, this remains his standard greeting.

But, at that time, he wasn’t Bruce. His name was Arrow.

He’d already had three other names from the same number of owners -- if you count the shelter he was originally adopted from -- before we even met.

That’s why I used to refer to Bruce as my “problem child.”

When I first met Bruce, I knew nothing about his backstory.

I had no idea I’d end up adopting him. I wasn’t even looking for a dog. My landlady didn’t allow them.

The origin

Bruce, then known as Arrow, was one of three dogs I was being introduced to that day. They belonged to a friend of mine, who needed a dog sitter while she and her partner went away for a week.

I was that dog sitter.

Even before I knew he’d be mine, I loved Bruce the most. He was just over a year old, making him the youngest member of their pack. Weighing in at 75 pounds, he was also the largest.

Bruce was the one who would push the door open while I was in the bathroom. He’d rummage through my bag and steal my neck pillow.

Bruce was a troublemaker, and I loved that about him.

He was also goofy, playful, and very… talkative?

Shortly after my friend returned, she filled me in on the true purpose of their trip. Her partner had interviewed for a job and subsequently received an offer. He accepted, which meant they’d be moving.

Not long after that, she sent me a text -

Do you know anyone who might want to adopt Arrow? The house we’re moving to is much smaller and doesn’t have a fenced-in yard.

Without thinking, I immediately replied-

I’ll take him!

I knew it was the right thing, even if I had no idea how I’d make it work.

The history

As my friend and I were ironing out the details of my surprise dog adoption, she shared a bit about Bruce’s background.

I learned that she and her partner had never intended to keep Bruce forever.

They found him on Craigslist’s Free section and made plans with the owner to foster him temporarily. When the owner showed up with Bruce in a kennel that was much too small, they decided it’d be irresponsible to send him back.

Apparently, the young guy who’d put Bruce on Craigslist adopted him from a rescue shelter when he was three months old. The cute little puppy was a Valentine’s Day gift.

But then, the couple split up, the puppy grew, and neither one wanted to be a single dog parent.

I don’t know what they named him.

How Bruce got his fourth, and final, name

I named him Bruce after The Boss, Bruce Springsteen. Bruce is a much better fit for his larger-than-life personality than Arrow was. Bruce is Tougher Than the Rest. He’s got a Hungry Heart. And baby, he was Born to Run!

Bruce may be a California dog, but his hooman is a Jersey Girl at heart.

His paperwork from the rescue shelter listed Carlisle as his name.

Carlisle!!!

The name was too good to let go to waste, so I used it. In the tradition of blessing your child with a middle name they’ll forever abhor, I dubbed him Bruce Carlisle Steinheimer.

A rough start

The day I brought Bruce home for the first time (I’d worked things out with my landlady), both our lives changed forever.

As is often that case, Bruce liked me a whole lot more as a dog sitter than as a dog mom. I can’t imagine it was an easy transition for him. After getting passed around from one family to another, all within the first year of his life, Bruce wasn’t convinced I was going to stick around.

He’d give me a defiant look and I could tell he was thinking, “I don’t have to listen to you! You’re not my mom!”

During our first several months, there were more than a few times I doubted whether I was cut out for the job. But I never considered giving up. Not once.

I just knew he was my dog.

Bruce has a sweet nature. He’s also highly intelligent, extremely energetic, and insatiably curious.

And stubborn.

None of these are behavioral issues, but they require attention and effort from the owner.

If Bruce didn’t want to do something, he’d flop on the floor and “play dead,” refusing to get up as I struggled to move him.

He also possessed an extraordinary level of athleticism.

The first time I ever had him boarded, the kennel owner let me know he'd jumped clear over her 5-foot fence.

“Just so you know, he can do that,” she warned me.

Bruce continued to prove his abilities in my presence.

I’ve watched my dog climb a chain-link fence, scale rocky cliffs, jump into and out of windows, and balance on a wavering tote that was stacked atop a cooler in a moving Sprinter van.

One time, we were visiting my parents and Bruce jumped on top of the counter to steal their leftover General Tso’s chicken. All four paws on the granite countertop, just like a cat.

I wasn’t surprised when they told me about it.

Another time, Bruce and I were camping in the desert and he ran away just after dark. It was pointless for me to go looking for him, so I waited by the fire. He came back, about an hour later, covered in dozens of cactus spines.

Not a hint of remorse in his big, brown eyes.

My new running buddy

Bruce’s seemingly boundless energy and enthusiasm made him the perfect trail buddy while I was training for ultramarathons.

We bonded during hours spent running. Each of us found peace in long stretches of pine trees, sprawling desert landscapes, and mountain trails the led to hidden lakes.

It wasn’t until then that I realized how lonely I had been before Bruce came along. As a freelance writer and trail runner, I spent a lot of time alone. As a mental health warrior and survivor of sexual assault, I experienced episodes of anxiety and depression that interfered with all aspects of my life.

Bruce not only provided companionship, but his friendly temperament attracted other dog people to us. I realized that, by bringing him with me to a party or event, I no longer experienced the social anxiety that had kept me away before. I felt safer and more confident, not to mention happy with myself for taking on the responsibility of giving this sweet, misunderstood dog a good home.

Two trail-running outcasts find their pack

Bruce and I spent a little over a year running, road-tripping, and generally rambling around the United States. I was recovering from a major depressive episode and he was tolerating the absence of couches to sleep on as we spent about a month camping out in southern Utah and northern Arizona.

Bruce helped me train for my first 100k ultramarathon, but he had a tendency to run off on his own, leaving me worried. I realized we both needed some structure.

I ordered a dog DNA test, which revealed Bruce is 50% Treeing Walker Coonhound, a high-energy, intelligent breed that’s not recommended for first-time dog owners. Researching his ancestral roots helped me understand Bruce's instincts, while working with a private trainer improved our communication and taught me how to be a strong pack leader so he could relax.

Eventually, our adventures took us back to Dunsmuir, California -- the same town Bruce lived in when I first dog-sat.

There, I met a nice man who had two dogs of his own and we got married. Obviously, Bruce was at the reception.

On our road-trip honeymoon to Baja California, my husband and I met a stray dog at a campground. The campground owner clearly wanted to get rid of her. So, of course, we loaded her up in the van and took her back home with us.

But that’s another adoption story, I suppose.

These days, Bruce lives on a 10-acre farm my husband and I share with our three other dogs (all big), six chickens, and one turtle.

Bruce and I just celebrated five years together.

Here’s to many more!