Brandy, My Miracle Dog

                                                

            

WHAT'S NEXT, MOM?

        Brandy, my miniature black poodle, rode with his front paws firmly planted on the top of the Honda motorcycle, his little rear end on the seat between my legs as I sped down the farm road. His long ears waved behind him in the wind like two black flags. Together we leaned into the curves and he never once lost his balance.

            My husband Barry gave Brandy to me as a wedding present one week after we married. I should have been aware that the puppy would own me before too long. He was a tiny curly ball of fur, jet black and shiny. Only six weeks old. His face with a pink tongue peeping from his smiling mouth and his two inquisitive eyes should have been a hint that he would lead us on a merry chase as we came to adore him.

            I loved his new puppy smell as I buried my face in his coat.  He licked my face and I knew we were meant for each other. That first night we made him a bed in a box in the kitchen complete with a soft blanket, a ticking clock, and old socks. We went to bed feeling like proud parents. It turned out to be a long night, and in the morning, the puppy was sleeping on my pillow.

            For the first three months of Brandy's life, he and I were inseparable. He ran free in our small furnished apartment and behaved himself surprisingly well most of the time.

            In September I went back to work teaching fourth grade. We left him alone for the first time, confined to the dining room just in case he grew bored or had an accident being left inside for such a long time. Although he cried when I closed the door on my way out, I felt certain he would settle down once he saw I was not coming back.

            To my dismay, Brandy met me at the back door that afternoon. I looked down and saw this tiny dog standing in an explosion of foam rubber strewn from the back door to the living room and all over the kitchen. After a brief survey, it was obvious. Brandy had jumped up on a chair and from there to the dining room table.  From the table, he leaped through the spindles of a wall divider into the living room. That was where he proceeded to destroy three sofa cushions and then to chew each of the legs of the coffee table.     

That escapade was expensive, and we knew we had to do something right away. We replaced the ruined furniture and made a decision that became a turning point in our lives. We moved to the farm where I had grown up and where my parents still lived.

On the farm, Brandy ran free when we were home. He chased cows, and made friends with my horse, although he was somewhat jealous of her. He nipped her on the nose. He was content to be fenced when we were gone.

One Sunday afternoon, Barry climbed up on the roof to repair a television antenna. In a rush to watch a football game, he left the ladder leaning against the house and forgot about it.

Early the next morning, we left for work in different cars. I arrived home around four o'clock in the afternoon. As I drove up I couldn't believe my eyes. Brandy came running, as he always did when he saw me, but this time he was running up on the roof. I clambered out of the car knowing, in his eagerness to reach me, he was going to jump.

My heart pounded. I ran toward him. But Brandy, far more intelligent than I realized at the time, scampered over to the ladder, scurried down, head first, never missing a step until he was three feet from the ground. At that point, he jumped. I heaved a sigh of relief, gathered him up in my arms, and hugged him. I looked up and wondered why he decided to climb the ladder? How long had he been up there? Over the years of living with him, I became aware that Brandy was an unusual dog. We had more to come.