Third of My Life

It’s a self-serving title actually, because it’s about one-third of my life, and this post is really about one-whole of Bromley’s life. Today is Bromley’s 11th birthday, just over one month away from my 33rd.

When Gary’s dog Kaya passed away two years ago, our friends gave us a lovely little book about your “Forever Dog”. I bawled, of course, and thought that was the single best way to describe the bond one has with their first true doggy companion.

I grew up with dogs (and cats, and birds, and gerbils), and we bred our golden retrievers a couple of times. I tried to consider one pup mine, but he wasn’t about to pay allegiance to a teenager anyway.

I graduated from college in the spring of 1998 and stepped foot into a shelter for the first time eight months later, in January 1999. Whoops. Bromley – actually, his name was Shoe – was the crazy little 9-month old Husky/Doberman mix who caught my eye.

Bromley saw me through my 20s and now a few of my 30s. Lots of laughter and love and disappointment. You all know “the story”… if you’re reading this blog, you probably have a story of your own that is very special and unique in its own right.

What’s interesting to me today is that I just finished reading The Daily Coyote, the book (and blog) from a city-girl who found herself raising a coyote named Charlie in a small town in Wyoming. The way she bonds with Charlie, curls into his touch that is both delicate and wild, and respects his innate needs is all very moving. Bromley’s own husky traits impress me and cause a chuckle almost daily.

Bromley talks. A lot. And you can easily break him into a full-on howl with the sound of an answering machine or harmonica. He shows affection and appreciation through licking. He runs hot-lap circles every day, whether in the yard or in the house. He shakes everything – even socks – in his mouth in an attempt to break the creature’s neck. He has a crazy ability to understand what I’m asking of him, whether I’m silent or whether I’m using a long sentence to convey that I’d actually just like him to “come” (as in, “hey buddy, don’t you think it’s about time you come back here and sit close to your mom”). And lastly, just like Charlie, he has also turned to snap at me when instinct briefly takes over.

The similarities to the book are striking, and it is Bromley’s true nature that makes me have even greater love and respect for my companion. We adore the 23 hours of laughter per day that come from living with our lab/hound mix, Brewer, but there’s something so deeply respectful in the bond I share with my own little “coyote”.