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Girl Talk
18 years of the good life
By By Jill Meier
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EmailMarch 11. 2010 6:00AM
My dad said he always listened better than my brother and I.
He mentioned that a lot while we were growing up.
And to be honest, he was probably right.
The good listener I mention was Brownie, our family dog who “survived” 18 years of the good life. And a good life Brownie did have. He never had to fend for food, water or a place to rest his paws. He simply ate, slept, wagged his tail, barked when the doorbell rang and scampered across the green grass when called. He was a smart dog, too. He knew how to shake hands and was trained to stay off of the carpet.
Brownie charmed his little brown self into our family. He was just a pup abandoned by some people who lived just down the block when he meandered into our backyard one summer afternoon. He was hungry and thirsty and playful and simply happy to have our attention. We fed him bread and water and he lapped up every crumb and drop as though it was last. When the sun went down, the little pup that eventually we’d come to call Brownie, returned to his deserted home.
The next day, he returned for more bread and water, to play, and most importantly for the attention that two kids – wishing with all their might for a puppy – could give. This same routine carried on for a short time until finally, mom and dad offered us a deal we couldn’t refuse. Scheduled for a family trip to the Minnesota State Fair, our folks allowed us to make a bed and leave food and water on our porch for the little brown pup. We were told that if he was there when we arrived home that night, the dog was ours for keeps. If not, well, we just wouldn’t let our minds even go there. (Now as I look back on it, the little brown dog hadn’t only won over our hearts; he’d clearly charmed his way into the hearts of mom and dad, too.)
I’m not sure how many times our parents answered our same question over and over and over that day: “Do you think he’ll be there when we get home?”
Much to our delight, the little brown pup was curled up on our porch as we drove into the driveway that night. He was ours to keep.
Brownie was a good dog. And a smart one, too. He knew what he liked and didn’t like, including green beans. While Brownie always had a bowl of some dry, crunchy food on hand, we broke the rules and often fed him table scraps, which he preferred. It was through that approach we discovered our brown dog didn’t like green beans. After he was finished lapping up what was leftover of that night’s hotdish, a pile of green beans were all that remained.
We discovered that Brownie wasn’t much for music, at least the kind my dad and I produced. My dad played the harmonica and I tooted on a clarinet and Brownie, well, he howled along. The pitches of the instruments obviously didn’t agree with him, but he hung in there with us until the very last note.
I have thousands of memories of the brown-haired dog with the brown eyes and brown nose. I remember how he simply let us dress him up in baby clothes or how he would stand by the door when the suitcases came out to ensure that he was making the trip, too. I loved how he listened when you talked to him. It was as if he understood when I was sad or happy. And even though we deemed him a “Heinz ’57” breed, he was a good dog, he was part of our family.
Brownie lived for 18 years, probably a lot longer than mom and dad ever imagined. When arthritis and old age set in, we knew it was best that a veterinarian administer a drug to let this long-time member of our family, Brownie, sleep away peacefully.
But as hard as it was to say goodbye to our brown-haired dog with the brown eyes and brown nose, I know our family would not have traded 18 years of the “good life” with a dog named Brownie.
This week's needs at the Brandon Area Food Pantry
This week's needs at the Brandon Area Food Pantry are: Laundry detergent, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, jelly and dish soap. Monetary donations are always appreciated.
The Brandon Area Food Pantry is located at 406 Main Ave. To donate to the food pantry or for more information, call 582-7001.
He mentioned that a lot while we were growing up.
And to be honest, he was probably right.
The good listener I mention was Brownie, our family dog who “survived” 18 years of the good life. And a good life Brownie did have. He never had to fend for food, water or a place to rest his paws. He simply ate, slept, wagged his tail, barked when the doorbell rang and scampered across the green grass when called. He was a smart dog, too. He knew how to shake hands and was trained to stay off of the carpet.
Brownie charmed his little brown self into our family. He was just a pup abandoned by some people who lived just down the block when he meandered into our backyard one summer afternoon. He was hungry and thirsty and playful and simply happy to have our attention. We fed him bread and water and he lapped up every crumb and drop as though it was last. When the sun went down, the little pup that eventually we’d come to call Brownie, returned to his deserted home.
The next day, he returned for more bread and water, to play, and most importantly for the attention that two kids – wishing with all their might for a puppy – could give. This same routine carried on for a short time until finally, mom and dad offered us a deal we couldn’t refuse. Scheduled for a family trip to the Minnesota State Fair, our folks allowed us to make a bed and leave food and water on our porch for the little brown pup. We were told that if he was there when we arrived home that night, the dog was ours for keeps. If not, well, we just wouldn’t let our minds even go there. (Now as I look back on it, the little brown dog hadn’t only won over our hearts; he’d clearly charmed his way into the hearts of mom and dad, too.)
I’m not sure how many times our parents answered our same question over and over and over that day: “Do you think he’ll be there when we get home?”
Much to our delight, the little brown pup was curled up on our porch as we drove into the driveway that night. He was ours to keep.
Brownie was a good dog. And a smart one, too. He knew what he liked and didn’t like, including green beans. While Brownie always had a bowl of some dry, crunchy food on hand, we broke the rules and often fed him table scraps, which he preferred. It was through that approach we discovered our brown dog didn’t like green beans. After he was finished lapping up what was leftover of that night’s hotdish, a pile of green beans were all that remained.
We discovered that Brownie wasn’t much for music, at least the kind my dad and I produced. My dad played the harmonica and I tooted on a clarinet and Brownie, well, he howled along. The pitches of the instruments obviously didn’t agree with him, but he hung in there with us until the very last note.
I have thousands of memories of the brown-haired dog with the brown eyes and brown nose. I remember how he simply let us dress him up in baby clothes or how he would stand by the door when the suitcases came out to ensure that he was making the trip, too. I loved how he listened when you talked to him. It was as if he understood when I was sad or happy. And even though we deemed him a “Heinz ’57” breed, he was a good dog, he was part of our family.
Brownie lived for 18 years, probably a lot longer than mom and dad ever imagined. When arthritis and old age set in, we knew it was best that a veterinarian administer a drug to let this long-time member of our family, Brownie, sleep away peacefully.
But as hard as it was to say goodbye to our brown-haired dog with the brown eyes and brown nose, I know our family would not have traded 18 years of the “good life” with a dog named Brownie.
This week's needs at the Brandon Area Food Pantry
This week's needs at the Brandon Area Food Pantry are: Laundry detergent, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, jelly and dish soap. Monetary donations are always appreciated.
The Brandon Area Food Pantry is located at 406 Main Ave. To donate to the food pantry or for more information, call 582-7001.
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