Golden Retreevers Otis Brennan, 5, an Truby Brennan, 6-anna-haff, come from a place called New England, an Woof! do they have tails to tell. Truby mostly hangs near (or on) his Mom, an Otis mostly hangs in (or near) “his” pool.
A lady anna big fluffy pooch answered our knock, an the pooch came puhlitely up for the Wag-an-Sniff, an gave my assistant welcoming bumps an nudges.
“We’re SO happy you’re here, Mr. Bonzo! I’m Truby Brennan an THIS is our Mom, Bonnie.
Com’on, we’ll go out by the POOL, where my liddle brother Otis basically LIVES. Our Dad Mike’s out there, too.”
Otis was at the patio door on his back legs, jumpin’ up an down excitedly, makin’ liddle nose marks on the glass.
“He hasta stay out there till he dries off. (He’s usually WET!)” noted Truby. As we stepped out, Otis bounced up for a joyful (an soggy) Wag-an-Sniff.
“Hey, Mr. Bonz, d’ya wanna SWIM? This is my POOL! We can catch BALLS!”
His Dad lobbed a tennis ball toward the pool; Otis sailed into the air, caught it deftly, then landed in the pool with a splash. He swam to the stairs, climbed out, an executed a graceful full-body shake. I moved back a bit, whooshing a few droplets from my notebook.
“I wish I could, but I gotta take NOTES! Thank you, though.”
“Oh, right! I forgot,” Otis said.
“I know the drill cuz I read your colum, so I’ll start, OK?” offered Truby, who had settled in buh-tween his Mom an my assistant, an was polishin’ off the last of a duhlishus bacon snack he had discovered in The Satchel my assistant always carries.
Otis continued catch-an-ree-treeve, an I turned to Truby. “I’m eager to hear your stories!”
“Ackshully, Mom an Dad acquired Otis buh-fore me. They were partial to Golden Ree-TREE-vers, but were currently dogless. It was during that tare-ubble time when lots of humans were Very Sick an hadda stay in an wear masks an stuff an Mom an Dad needed a Pooch Pal, ya know?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “That happened a lot back then.”
“Mom an our human sister Taylor drove to a breeder in Vermont, to see a new litter, an Taylor picked Otis. He threw UP all the way home, poor liddle dude. An he was scared of, like, everything, kinda still is, even his own voice. He doesn’t even bark!”
Otis swam to the side of the pool and petooied the soggy tennis ball onto the deck. “Back when I was still a tiny pupper, I slept with Mom and Dad,” Otis said. “One time, I rolled over an slipped right through a space between the headboard an the mattress. I just went back to sleep under the bed. Mom an Dad searched all over the house, till I woke up an wiggled out.
“Anyway, it’s true, I AM afraid of lotsa stuff. Mostly noise. Once, on the 4th of July, it was So Loud, I ran to the cellar an hid behind the furnace. Also woodpeggers are Very Loud! An the Washin’ Muh-sheen. An RAIN. That’s why we hadda cancel our first innerview with you. It was the rain’s fault. I hid in Mom’s shower an wouldn’t come out. It’s my Safe Space.”
“I totally get it,” I sympathized, then turned to Truby. “So, what’s YOUR tail? An where’d you get that unusual name?”
“My name WAS Troubadour (which I thought was kinda lame. I was happy when Mom an Dad shortened it to Truby, cuz I was use to the sound). Originally, I was inna famly that hadda new baby, so they moved me to a pen out back, with food an water (when they remembered), an left me alone in the dirt. I was scared an lonely, an hungry most of the time.”
“Oh, Truby! That’s SO Soggy Biscuits!!”
“Sure was. Thank Lassie, Mom an Dad heard about my Dire Straights an rescued me. It was justa coupla months after they got Otis. I was a scrawny mess, an I’d got in the Bad Habit of diggin’ holes, cuz I was always tryin’ to escape.
“I was also scared of MEN, speshully men wearin’ baseball caps, an scared when humans were yellin’ at each other. Even now, if I hear loud voices I feel like I hafta pruh-tect my FAM-ly. (Now I’m the family’s uh-FISH-ull Pruh-Tector an I’m not scared of anything!)
“At first, cuzza never knowin’ when I’d get my next meal, I was what’s called Food Aggressive: NOT a good thing. Right after I got rescued, I’d even eat tissue an tin foil. It took a liddle while for me to ree-lize I wasn’t gonna go hungry any more EVER. Now I’m totally fine an, as you can see, NOT missin’ any meals. Also, even though I’m a Momma’s Boy, Dad’s The Best Dad Ever.”
Now Truby’s a happy, healthy poocheroo, but I shuddered at the close call he’d had.
“So, wuddya do for fun? Any pooch or human pals?”
“I LOVE my POOL an the O-shun an BALLS!” exclaimed Otis.
“Mom an Dad got us a CAMPER so we can travel with them. We love campin’” shared Truby. “I also love nayberhood walks. Some naybers always have TREATS! If they’re not outside, I sit in their driveway an patiently WAIT.”
“An we both love goin’ to the Dog Park. We have tons of pooch pals there!” said Otis.
“Also,” Truby continued, “there’re our sisters Taylor an Lindsy an her pooch, Jewel; an our brother Thomas an his poocheroo Bentley; an our liddle human neff-yous Bryce, he’s 7, an Austin, he’s 2.”
“We LOVE them!” exclaimed Otis. “We play an play! Austin tumbles around with us an naps with us like he’s a pupper, too!”
“Any special foodstuffs?”
“Well, 7 p.m. is Bone Time,” said Truby. “An if Mom an Dad are LATE, I remind them. I ALWAYS KNOW when it’s 10 minutes till Bone Time. They think I can tell time. I think it’s INstinks.”
Headin’ home, I was thinkin’ about Truby’s an Otis’ intrestin’, very different-from-each-other tails. An how they an their Furever Family are Totally MFEO. There’s nothing like a happy ending, doncha think?
