My Baby Left Home Today

This is going to be an entirely personal, non-professional, selfish post. I'm doing it because I want to share my memories of my great friend and furbaby, Brando. I'm doing it because it's part of my grieving process. So excuse me if this makes you uncomfortable. Come back tomorrow ;-).

My dog, Marlon Brando, the sexiest dog on earth, died this morning. He was the best dog a roofer girl could ever have, always gentle because mom was always tired, seldom complaining because mom was never home, and fiercely independent because that was how mom was.

Brando came to me when I had $100 to my name, maybe less. At that time, I jokingly told him that I was fattening him up for my last meal since I was hungry all the time. He charmed me by pooping all over the apartment.

Brando took a ride with me when I could afford my first car. He enjoyed a quiet moment with me in my first house. He wasn't amused when I bought him a concubine (Magic) who was three times his size and he couldn't properly reach her where it mattered. He and his wife gave me four crazy mutant kids and my new family moved into a new house.

Brando loved the new backyard, with all that running space. He found much joy chasing after his girls when he was in the mood, or just lying under the shade of the bell tree and watch their antics. He was with me when I started writing, was the first one who heard my love scenes read aloud, and laughed with me because they sounded so stupid to a dog.

He was not an Alpha dog. He peed like a girl while his girls, including his wife, lifted their legs like a guy. He was often bullied and harried by that wife of his, and had to scarf down his treats and food really quickly or had everything stolen. He didn't mind because he always knew mom had more for him, and that even though she mocked him, she always gave him whatever he wanted.

Which was not a lot, really. Because he was, deep down, an independent old soul just like his mom. He would do as he pleased. Please mom get Magic off my bed. Please mom Magic stole my treats. Please mom I'm the oldest don't let the girls chew my toys. Please mom could you get Magic away from my bed, the woman just wouldn't let me alone.

When his wife, Magic, left us last year, Brando did something that made me cry. As I've told you, he was much bullied, especially by his wife, and had to really scarf down his food and treats before Magic got to it. That night, while I was cleaning the room and putting away Magic's things, there were all of Brando's treats I gave him that day. Brando had laid them out in neat little piles. It was, I thought, so sweet and so evil of him. He was, after all, his mom's furbabee; he had a wry sense of humor.

Brando turned eighteen this year. I had eighteen long years with the guy. He'd known me all my grown up years, celebrating with me as we built our lives together.

How do you say goodbye to a good friend? Brando chose not to. This morning, after a sleepless night and with me telling him he could lie down, I took him to the vet for fluids. Brando waited till I said "I love you," as I always do, every day, to my furbabees before I go to work. Waited till he heard me walk out of the room. Waited till I was in my truck. And then, he died naturally. Quickly and without nary a fuss.

Independent little dog, as always.

My boy left home at eighteen. I hope Magic Girl isn't bullying him too much where they're at now. I'm not there to make sure he gets his treats first. Not yet, anyway.

Yo, Magic! Give him a big kiss before you smack him around, 'kay? Cut him some slack. He might have been the gentlest soul around, but he was the only man who dared take on a mutant pom like you.

Mom and the rest of the babies miss you, my BranBran.

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