A Homecoming Constant

An Ode To A Corgi Named Brynn - PART III.5

Part I, Part II, Part III, & Part IV

Originally, I was planning to incorporate the “good memories” about Brynn’s early days into part IV, but the flow felt off and I was struggling to find the right transition into how we each “grew up”, as I moved into my 20s, and Brynn into adulthood (if we’re playing by dog years here). Instead of fighting the form, thinking of smooth workarounds into the next part, I decided to make a mini addition to part III. Plus, selfishly, it gives me a little more time to continue writing the story. Enjoy!

But hey, like I said, Brynn’s early days were not all bad.

A snowstorm had piled through the area within the first couple months of adopting Brynn, and I soon found out snow was one of her favorite activities. There wasn't anything her ridiculous smile and rambunctious absurd energy couldn’t do to warm a cold heart other than watch her frolic in the snow. The equivalent of giving a cat a fistful of catnip, Brynn would go absolutely bananas in the snow -  the second her four paws touched the cold frozen crystals, she would be running in circles, dancing across the white powder, tiring herself out within a few minutes. 

Given our close proximity to the Cascade mountain range, the area was prone to receiving a massive accumulation of snow. Since my parents' neighborhood was virtually empty during the winter due to vacationing snowbirds, the whole place was a playground for Brynn and her antics. 

Ever seen a corgi jump through a few feet of snow and pretty much disappear into the powdery abyss? Then watch them pounce back up, snow crystals coating her face as though on a business or club bender, then repeating the whole act again? Greatest thing to ever witness. 

The next best thing? Seeing someone else completely in shock with what they were witnessing.

The mailbox for the whole neighborhood was located a five minute walk away, and was the perfect mid-afternoon trip to take with Brynn for a bathroom break. This was around the time I was obsessed with purchasing new music via Amazon, but not digitally, instead through their used CD section, for pennies on the dollar (plus shipping - I would usually end up ripping the CD to digital regardless). 

On one particular afternoon mailbox walk, a recent snowstorm covering the whole neighborhood, Brynn was bouncing around like a little weirdo. Walking away from the mailbox, packages proudly in hand, Brynn was behind me in the golden high grass and snow, and a car began making their way towards us. As I turned around, slowly walking backwards, I called for Brynn to come, hoping to close the distance between us, her little face arcing in and out of the deep snow piled up on the side of the plowed road. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought she was a little bunny with a stubby tail to boot.

The car slowed to a complete crawl, and I glanced over to see the car full of passengers with their mouths agape, pointing in the general direction of Brynn hopping around in the snow bank. After calling her once more, she finally bound her way towards me. Once Brynn was by my side, I could see the entire car had begun laughing, and they came to a complete stop. I was a bit confused, but as their passenger window rolled down, the woman inside said, “We slowed down because someone exclaimed, ‘Oh my GOD, look at that FAT jackrabbit!’, and then we realized it was just your corgi!”

I laughed as we all stared down at Brynn who was wiggling her stubby tail, smiling up at all of us, entranced by all the attention, per usual.

My father recently reminded me of a story with Brynn, one I must have blocked from my memory. While in theory this “incident” would have fallen into those “pain in the ass” moments from the last section (hence the compartmentalization) but peering back on it now, I laugh at it more than anything else.

I had a tendency, call it a bad habit, of letting Brynn sit on my lap while I was driving around town, and she went everywhere with me. Yes, this is completely unsafe, admonishing anyone who would participate now - but damn if it wasn’t the most adorable thing in the world. Brynn loved propping her little legs out of the window ledge of the driver’s side door and sticking her head out the window, enveloped by the wind and sun, and whatever occasional distraction the world offered at the time. 

(Side note: My father would development a form of measurement for all dogs, given the rate at which they would bring their head back inside the car dependent on the speed of the vehicle - Brynn, for instance, would pop her head back inside at speeds greater than 35mph, so my father would refer to her as a “35mph dog”)

Bend, Oregon is infamously known for its traffic circles, or roundabouts. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, they’re notoriously known for confusing inexperienced drivers (out of towners) and frustrating those who navigate them daily (because of said out of towners). 

One fine sunny afternoon in Bend, Brynn and I were heading home along Century Drive, her head taking full pleasure of the warm summer wind in her face. As we approached the roundabout at Simpson Ave and Century Drive, I slowed down to enter the roundabout, while Brynn decided to perch up further outside the window. 

About halfway through the roundabout, something must have caught her attention, and she literally jumped right out of the car, leaping towards the median of the traffic circle.

Everything happened in what feels like a panicked flash, as my mind raced through several gruesome scenarios of what could happen next. I slammed the brakes of the car in the middle of the roundabout (typically, an amateur move when the driver is confused by which exit to take), and realized Brynn’s leash was still attached, with Brynn still on the other end. Typically I gripped the leash in one hand while driving, making sure this exact situation wouldn’t happen, but for a quick second she was dangling half-way off the ground. Oops. I slowly relinquished my grip, letting her drop to the dusty median. 

In one fail swoop, I hastily dropped the leash, opened the car door, scooped the unscathed dense furry beast – who was now wandering into the sagebrush of the median – into the backseat, while sweat poured across my whole body. My memory recalls a woman in a Subaru behind us, her hands placed on her mouth in shock from witnessing the whole event.  

After this whole traumatizing experience (for myself, more than Brynn, it seems), I vowed never to let her sit on my lap again… At least, with the window fully down.

By late 2009/early 2010, my parents had decided to move out to Bend full-time, bringing my bachelor days to an end.  My father commuted for work from Bend to Portland during the week, spending his sleeping hours at the Lakeshore Hotel in Lake Oswego, returning then to Bend for a long weekend. My younger sister had moved out to Bend at this point, and all of us lived as one big happy family under one roof… Again. 

Mixed into the Bendy bunch were the three dogs: Pearl, a deaf, wall-eyed, though incredibly intelligent, Australian Shepherd, who had been with us since my freshman year of high school. She had a knack for opening drawers/cabinets, snatching your food out from under your nose when you weren’t looking, and looking adorable enough to curb your temper after realizing she couldn’t hear a single you were yelling at her. There was also Abby, our Silky-Pomeranian mix who we also had since my early high school days, a victim of my terrorizing yet full of chaos herself. And, of course, Brynn.

The Trio

As you could guess, this whole arrangement didn’t last long, as the feuding and general tense dynamic of the household made the atmosphere feel like we had devolved back into grade school mentality. My time in Bend had an expiration date too. I had enrolled in the Siebel brewing school program earlier in the spring, and was taking off for Chicago/Germany come September… Which meant taking every hedonistic opportunity to envelop myself in Bend with the remaining time I had left. 

With summer on the horizon, and exhausted from living with our folks, my sister and I decided to get out of dodge, renting a house together closer to downtown Bend off 14st & Lexington Ave. The house itself was in need of some repairs, but we didn’t care - all of our friends were all within blocks of us, where all the action was happening.

During part of the summer in this “new” house, my parents were back in Portland for the week, and had left both of us in charge of babysitting Pearl & Brynn - Abby tagged along, as the hotel allowed dogs of her small stature. Despite Pearl somewhat being a nuisance, getting into anything and everything she could, I was happy to have Brynn staying in company, curling up on my bed at night. 

Sometime during this week, my sister and a friend came to the conclusion it was a decent time to make weed brownies. After the brownies were baked, my sister decided to do the same, and she left the house on her spiritual journey, leaving both the dogs unattended. Like clockwork, Pearl, being the cunning dog she was, managed to get into the trash while my sister was out of the house, enjoying her brownie high, and while I was working a shift at the Italian-style deli. 

Growing up with Pearl, installing baby locks on all the cabinets in every house we lived in was a necessity to keep her from thrashing around for food. Both my sister and I were so used to having these safeguards in place while at my parents house, but the thought never crossed our minds that our own place wasn’t prepared for the chaos about to be unleashed.

Walking in through the front door, my eyes met the mess of trash strewn across the floor. My sister came rushing out from the backyard, and told me not to be mad, while one of our friends followed behind, carrying Brynn like a baby.

My sister explained everything in rapid succession, from the weed brownies to both animals diving head first into the garbage feast, chowing down anything and everything in the rubbish… Including the weed stems my sister had tossed post-brownie making. Of course, even though the majority of the THC had transferred into the brownie mix during the baking process, the stems still had a minimal amount of THC… definitely enough to make the dogs go kooky.

Taking Brynn from my friend's arms, I held her tight, her heart beating so fast, her eyes glistening with anxious worry. She was as high as a weather balloon, and from what I could tell, internally freaking out. She was not having a good time, and I can’t even imagine what was going through her head. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been as high as what Brynn was experiencing at the moment.

While Brynn seemed to handle the whole extravaganza fairly OK, Pearl, on the other hand, did not. Despite having a gorgeous white coat of fur and cute little pink nose, Pearl was the result of breeding two Australian Shepherd Merles together, a “no-no” in breeding, which led to a generic mess (Originally called “lethal white”; the term “Double Merle” is now used). On top of all her other physical issues, Pearl was diagnosed with epilepsy years prior, and the weed was not reacting well with her system, resulting in her sadly having multiple seizures and shitting all over the damn place. I remember kneeling on the floor next to her while the seizures took over her body, her eyes screaming and darting back and forth into the ceiling above. Pearl would attempt to pick herself up and walk around, but would quickly collapse to the floor. I felt so much heartbreak in that moment, as much as I do now recalling the memory.

I was furious at my sister, but more so the situation. I was leaving for Portland the next morning via the Breeze shuttle bus, and while we both believed Pearl would improve overnight, her seizures continued. I remember sitting on the shuttle bus early in the morning outside of a three star hotel on NE 3rd St in Bend, waiting to depart. My sister called me panicking, and I recall my sharp retort of explaining Pearl needed to see the vet. My sister was terrified the vet would call the cops, as weed was still illegal in Oregon at this time. With pursed lips, I told her it didn’t matter; this was her fault, and Pearl needed to be seen as soon as possible, before the situation worsened. Before hanging up the phone in frustration, I told her she should call our father, which she was probably more afraid of, honestly. 

Thankfully, everything worked out in the end. Pearl ended up making a full recovery, but having her stomached pumped if I recall correctly. After my sister explained how nervous she was about telling the vet techs about Pearl eating the weed stems, they laughed about the whole scenario, providing some comedic relief… A golden retriever had just been minutes earlier for eating a whole container full of weed chocolate chip cookies. Dealing with pets consuming weed, in a mountain town, was standard operating procedure for them.

Besides being all cozy and stressed, Brynn ended up being fine too. As the energy from the day’s events wound down with the coming of the night, Brynn cuddled up close on my bed, and I stayed with her the whole night. Before I took off for Portland the following morning, she was back to her normal self, maybe a little groggy. Such great times all around - another memory which has transitioned from stressful to humorous, given some time.

Stay tuned for the *actual* conclusion to this story next week!