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Ode to Browntown.

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Excuse the fragmented speech, this is a rough one. It’s January 30th, 2016… and Brownie can’t get up. She’s going downhill.

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Brownie

“Remember the time she got pepper sprayed?”, my brother exclaimed as he held his freshly cracked beer. “The 30 mph dog… we clocked her while chasing her in the suburban. I remember the front door would open by a crack and there she’d bolt… gone in a flash. You’re still running, huh?”, Danny exclaims as he rubs Brownie’s head. “She ate a pound of fudge once! A giant tray of it. Nothing could kill this dog.” Another time she ate a large package of flavored dark chocolate. When we gave her a double dosage of hydrogen peroxide for her to throw up, nothing ever happened.  The chocolate and the peroxide didn’t even effect her.

My brother is the reason Brownie and I met. After returning home from Iraq in 2003 on leave, she was there in my home, waiting for me. Danny had rescued her from an abusive owner and brought her back to my grandmother’s house where we were living.

The early days of Brownie.
The early days of Brownie.

Our relationship started out rocky. She spent the first day I was home hiding in the shower. She barked at everything that moved outside her perimeter, attacked mailmen, ran away at the most awkward of times, and had lots of accidents; the list goes on and on. She’s not what most would have called a “good dog”. I’ve always been responsible for her since my brother and I moved. Now that I sit here in the kitchen, with her lying next to me. It’s difficult to remember a time in my life without her.

 

Sliding through the snow...
Sliding through the snow…

My life was sort of divided between my time in the Army marking a before and after point. There was the me before, and there was the me after. Brownie’s been by my side in the time after. From apartment to apartment, and passing through the admiration of an old ex-girlfriends to my now wife; the dog’s been through it all.

Browntown might be 16, we’re not really sure. She may be ancient, but she’s lived a full life. A dog that has hunted down countless rats and possums, including that one time I saved a possum from her jaws. She doggy paddled through the back bay while canoeing, danced in the snow, perused the beach and tide pools, run countless miles alongside my wife on the bike, ran through cacti while escaping yet again in Newport, camping in the wilderness… She did just about everything. She was also a lifesaver, giving blood transfusions to other dogs saving many of them since she apparently had “miracle blood”.

Held in there long enough to meet my son.
Held in there long enough to meet my son.

She was not perfect, but she was my dog and I loved her. May she finally reach that mailman wherever she’s headed now…

I wrote her obituary too soon. Brownie lived another 9 months. Her tenacity for life kept her going and going. There were hard times, and a few good ones. She was gentle as my son grew to pull, grab and topple over her; she always wanted to be close to us. Over the last two days… we knew it was time. Brownie fought a long fight, but is at peace now. Brownie was the dog I never asked for, but never left my side. We’ll miss her. #brownielogic .

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Kc Wayland

Creator of "We're Alive: A Story of Survival" and "We're Alive: Lockdown". Writer and director, with a current focus on audio drama production.
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