Talk Without Speaking

I don’t know where to begin. One of my best friends is dead.

Brenna died on Saturday morning. We have had many dogs and, not to be disrespectful to any of the others who I all loved very much, Brenna was, by far, the most wonderful dog we have ever had. So much energy. So gentle. So intelligent. When I spoke in front of her I was pretty sure she was understanding a great deal of what was going on. And she certainly wasn’t fooled by something like W.A.L.K. either.

Brenna was 11. She had such a great life that most dogs could only dream of.

When we got her she had her own snoopy doll. I would throw it and I would yell, “Snoooooopy!” And she would find it. Snoopy didn’t survive very long (none of her toys did - she has way more determination than they have durability) but my call and Brenna’s memory of it did. Even the last time I was home, I would say, “Snoooooopy” and Brenna would immediately go off looking for her latest toy or ball.

I have a couple favourite memories of her. One year, just before Christmas, Cat and I took her for a walk after coming home from a dinner with the family. Brenna, normally extraordinarily excited by snow, was beyond herself. She was running around in circles and jumping and literally spinning in the air. Even for the energetic dog that she was, this was way beyond. We got halfway around the neighborhood when Brenna suddenly turned around and just bolted back through the forest towards home. Fair enough. When we got home later Brenna was sitting in the living room. A short while later my Dad came into the room holding a newly discovered, newly empty chocolate box. With laughter in his voice, and no dark tone of voice, he said, “Brenna, what happened to my chocolates?” Brenna looked up, saw the box, and then got down right onto her belly and crawled along the floor underneath the coffee table. She knew exactly what was going on.

Another time I really faked her out with one of her balls. Throwing from our balcony I pretended to throw her ball down the hill into the thick woods. When she had started running I turned and threw the ball over the house in completely the other direction. I figured, there’s no way. I went inside after watching her search for 10 minutes or so. One of the ways the test police dogs for aptitude training is to do something similar and see how long they search before they give up. Any dog that gives up before 30 minutes or so is disqualified. Brenna was certainly persistent. 45 minutes later I went back outside and found Brenna’s ball sitting on the sill of the door where she had dropped it. I still can’t imagine her pulling that off.

I cry. Again. It comes and it goes. I hope she is walking once again with my Dad, her favourite walking companion. She missed him very much and sat in his bedroom after he died. I hope where she is the tennis balls never wear out.

I will always love you.