Bruno. He was a few months old puppy when I met him. I was just getting my stride back after the accident. He was owned by a friend's sister's boyfriend, but he was in severe neglect. I didn’t want a pet at the time but the sis and bfriend were breaking up and I would only need to care for him until things settled down and my friend could take him. So, I agreed to go to the house when the boyfriend was gone and ‘rescue’ him. I don’t remember the particulars of taking Bruno, but I do remember those sad eyes as he cowered, covered in mud and his own excrement. I took him. I took him right home and gave him a bath. And then I dried him off and watched him run like a pinball around the apartment. Then I gave him another bath.
I tried to stay emotionally distant, he was not allowed on the bed and I didn’t interact much more than take him for walks. But, that little lump of puppy kept right at my side, wouldn’t leave when I ordered him out of the room and looked up at me at every chance, always inquisitive and, well, just a little lost. If I left him alone in the house he became distraught.
I didn’t really have a place to keep him, I lived in a small apartment in North Park, San Diego and it wasn’t fair to leave him in there all day while I went to school. So, I took him to school with me. Even with the emotional precautions I started to feel attachment.
I called to check in with my friend, to find out how much longer I would be dog-sitting. I find out my friend had been deported. Could I watch him a bit longer while he worked on getting back into the country? I turn away from the phone to look at Bruno sitting by my leg, looking up at me with big inquisitive eyes. Sure, I said, a few more weeks wouldn’t be a problem.
Since Bruno and I would be together awhile, I put some more effort into training. He had been housebroken that first week and it only took another two for him to sit and stay, another month for the crawl, and I’m quite sure he understood roll over but that is where he drew the line. He also understood fetch within a week but was too much of a lazy bastard to bring it back more than twice. After the third throw he would just look at you, like, “the fuck mate, I just went and got it and you threw it again, if you think this is a joke you can go get it yourself this time”.
We would go on runs. Well, sort of. My legs weren’t 100% yet so I kind of shuffle-jogged and Bruno was still growing into his paws. His ears were so big that on more than one occasion we would be running downhill and he would try to sniff something in the dirt while running and step on an ear, and pull his butt over his head summer-sulting to a stop. I would blatantly laugh at him and he would non-chalatly continue his run. He always stayed right by me, hardly ever more than 10 meters, and even if he was chasing a rabbit he would come back to me if I called to him.
One of the scariest moments was on the 4th or 5th run he did the summersult and I ran past and continued to the left split on our usual route. The split to the right went to a highway nearby. Even with my legs in poor condition and hobbling along I was faster than Brunes so I was half way up the left side of the split when I heard a horn honk. My heart skipped a few beats and I bolted back to the split and over to the road. Half a dozen cars had stopped and a woman was holding a frightened looking brown puppy. She handed me Bruno without a word, I think from the look on my face it was obvious Bruno was mine, and I carried him back to the split, sat him down and showed him which way he should have taken. After that he always made calculated navigation choices. I know this because I would play hide and seek with him and watch him from behind a tree. While he had interest he would solve the possibilities of where I might be hiding… but of course if he couldn’t find me in a reasonable amount of time, he would just lay down and wait for me to return.
Bruno never liked being dirty, probably because of his living conditions as a pup. He would always be licking himself clean, sometimes at 3am, the bastard. In fact, he may have been the cleanest animal I’ve ever known. I once left him with a friend for the weekend. I returned to hear the following story; It was a nice winter San Diegan day so they all (My friend, Bruno, and Bruno’s best dog buddy Nacho), they all decided to go out. There had been a rainstorm the night before so the hills were a little soggy. They got muddy… well, Nacho rolled in the puddles and Bruno got splashed as he was trying to walk around Nacho’s wild bounces. When they all returned to the house both Nacho and Bruno ran through the front door. Since Nacho was a complete mess and Bruno only had a few mud spots, my friend corralled Nacho toward the bathroom. He couldn’t see Bruno anywhere and, as Bruno was known for getting comfy on the bed he was a little worried. However as soon as he got Nacho into the bathroom he found Bruno, already in the tub, waiting for his bath. He had to shoo Bruno out of the tub so he could wash his dirty dog first.
About a year after I first rescued Bruno my deported friend made it back into the States… and asked to have Bruno. No way in hell. And, the rest as they say, is history.
10 years after that I set the crate in the corner of the airport. We had brought it along just in case there was an issue bringing him aboard. I didn’t want him to go in cargo, but I also would never leave him behind if they refused to take him onboard. The swiss air flight counter agents assured me Bruno would have no problem boarding and flying. I handed them my luggage and walked Bruno to the elevator up to security. This was during the furloughs and none of the TSA looked happy to be standing there, impatiently waiting for paychecks. I walked him up to the x-ray machine.
Thailand.
He loved the beaches in Thailand. He had good taste in beaches, judging them for their variation of shady spots throughout the day, the softness (known as the elbow graininess rating), and it's average population of street dogs. One day on Nai Han beach (the best on Phuket, in terms just stated) a few children came up to Bruno and gave him some hugs and then buried his paws in the sand. He was enjoying the beach so much he just smiled and for nearly an hour looked out over the breakers with his front paws completely buried. The children returned and seeing him still half covered began burying the rest of him. He let them, so I let them.
Stories to be told:
A roadtrip to washington
Broken toe nail, driving around in the van
Bit a lady
Dog park with the chihuahua
Dog beach, his favorite place, didn’t like waves
His good friends
Sammy
Nacho
Winston
Brutus
A roadtrip to washington
Broken toe nail, driving around in the van
Bit a lady
Dog park with the chihuahua
Dog beach, his favorite place, didn’t like waves
His good friends
Sammy
Nacho
Winston
Brutus
Bruno smiled as we pulled up. There was only one dog being walked by one older-ish lady to be seen on the entire inner radius of the bay. This was going to be a good day. I had some smoke and a bottle of home brewed pear cider with me. It was 8:30 am on a Wednesday, but it was my second day off in a row and I felt like relaxing. I popped down the tailgate, sat down, lit my smoke and popped opened my cider. It was then that the one older-ish lady who had seemed to be slowly strolling appeared to get excited and/or agitated at the sight of me. Much to my concern she began trotting up the shore directly at me. I continued watching her and wondering if I should remain by my car or begin walking Bruno to meet her and have some modicum of control over whatever situation had set itself upon me. I decided to wait. As she reached the car catching her breath, she began the conversation with these words, “Do you have any food?”. I only have enough time to start looking confused as her next breath is a five minute monologue explaining that her dog had run away down the beach and will not come unless there is food. She pointed down the beach and sure enough there was a tiny speck of a dog sniffing around some trash cans. I look the lady once over and access her disheveled and wild look. Her attitude and energy were unnerving and I couldn’t decide if it was because she had lost a dog, or if it was because she was mentally unstable… and had lost a dog. Being the kind hearted person I am, and because I wasn’t doing much else, and because c’mon her dog was running away down the beach, I offer to give her a ride. Her hesitation and comment about Bruno and ‘Isabelle’, the dog she still had on a leash, not being friendly prompted me to rescind the offer with a polite, “yeah”. We look at each other. I make general gestures of help but don’t really know what I can do if I am not driving her to get the dog. Is she expecting me to loan her my truck and wait for her to return with Bruno? Does she want me to try and chase it down myself while she waits with Isabelle? We continue staring at each other. She says, “Will you watch Isabelle?” She hands me the tattered and chewed up leash and I take it without any response. She sprints away down the beach in her 5k lost dog run. I can almost see the paper number tag flapping on her back as she puffs away into a tiny speck closing the distance on an even tinier speck. Isabelle looks like she is going to have a panic attack. Bruno gives me a confused look as if to say, “What the Holy HELL man?” I return the look, give a shrug and turn to watch the specks.
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