Oh, Brother Dog!

We planned to be gone for a couple of days and asked my friend, Carl, to stay at the house and keep an eye on our TWO dogs.

When we got home, there were THREE dogs in the yard.

“When did you get a dog, Carl?”

“He just showed up hungry, so I fed him.”

“You’re taking him, right? I can’t afford another dog!”

“I don’t want a dog. Glad you’re back, see you later,” said Carl.

“Oh, Brother, what are we going to do with another dog?”

“Keep him!” responded my ten-year-old son.

And that is how Little Brother Dog entered our lives and got his name. For the next sixteen years, that dog had my back like no other.

With the other two dogs at his heels, he kept the yard free of stray dogs, coyotes, bears, bobcats, gophers, skunks and any other interlopers. Brother dug up the gophers and ate them. He attacked bears and dogs with terrifying ferocity. He almost always smelled like a skunk. Strangers were not tolerated. If he didn’t like you, you didn’t get close to his people.

Yet the chickens ran to Brother when they were startled. The pet rabbit nibbled grass at his feet.

The kittens slept on his warm back in the sun and small children used him as a jungle gym. He treated those under his protection with gentle courtesy. He was one of the most mellow, laid back dogs I have ever met unless he perceived a threat, then he was all teeth and claws.

Brother initially thought the new flock of chickens would make a good lunch. I had to spank him and make him wear a dead chicken around his neck for a while to force him to think otherwise. It just about broke my heart. But that convinced him the chickens belonged to him and he was expected to protect them. Hawks flying overhead sent the chickens running to hide under Brother’s belly. Stray dogs were chased off, and coyotes were attacked. No one got close to his chickens without his permission.

Brother then extended this protection to the rabbits, the geese, turkeys, and the horse. I could send the kids down to the river to fish, despite living in bear country, because I knew that Brother and his cohort Bear Dog would not let anything come near the boys. They were under the best protection available.

Brother was not easy to train.

He did not listen when he was busy with something and getting him to come when called was a crap-shoot. He showed up if he wanted to. We never did break him of chasing cars. We tried everything, shouting, spanking, and spraying him with water had no effect. Nothing got his attention. He even got run over a couple times, but it didn’t stop him. For some reason cars were a threat he had to protect us from at all costs.

He had a habit of stealing eggs. He knew he wasn’t allowed in the chicken coop, but sometimes the temptation of fresh eggs was more than Brother could ignore. He was so funny about it. He would slink into the coop, staying as low to the ground as he could, peering around to see if we were watching him. Then he would carefully lift the egg out of the nest. He would hold it so carefully that he never broke one until he was ready to eat it. Then he would slink away into the trees. He would look so guilty as he snuck off, so low to the ground that his belly nearly dragged. Peering up and around with this guilty look on his face. Once he thought he was hidden, he would break the egg into his mouth and enjoy his little treat.

He also loved pinon nuts.

Every seven years the pinon trees on our land would produce massive quantities of pinon nuts from the pinon pine trees. Bear Dog expected me to pick them and shell them for her, but not Brother. As soon as he saw me on the ground picking up nuts, he would join me. Snuffling along the ground like a fuzzy vacuum cleaner, he would scoop up the pinon nuts and crunch away, eating shells and all.

Brother was quite the dog.

Children could poke their fingers in his mouth and sit on him, pulling his tail and all he did was whimper. He was so humiliated if I put a leash on him that he hung his head and dragged his feet. He spent most of his time sleeping in the sun, sometimes with kittens or chickens curled up on his warm back. When it was cold you could find him almost laying underneath the hot wood stove. He loved the vet and just rolled over for a belly rub when we had to visit. He was a happy go lucky, mellow pooch that looked at the world through rose-colored glasses.

Unless of course, you were a bear, a car, a stranger, a gopher, or a threat. Then he was all teeth, claws and bark. He was a terror. Sometimes it seemed like he was two different dogs altogether.

As Brother got older, his arthritis became very painful. He spent more time inside and the coyotes picked off the chickens. Strange dogs came through the yard and Brother could no longer chase off the bears or the menacing cars. He still stood between me and strangers but he was more bark than bite.

At sixteen, Brother could no longer walk from the arthritis pain and we sadly said goodbye to this good, brave dog. When the vet came to give that final shot, he greeted her with a happy grin and a wagging tail. Rolling over painfully for that last belly rub. We laid him on his bed out in the sun where he could see the territory that he had worked so hard to protect. We hugged him and let him go to where ever it is that our good dogs go when their work here is done.

“Oh, Brother, not another dog!” I regretted those words many times. Another good dog was just what we needed!