Best Friends

Warning: death and grief.

Years ago we had a plan: Get a puppy, just get a puppy, preferably a rescue or giveaway. We named that puppy Brandi and this is her story.

"Mom, we want another dog," my boys told me out of the blue, "Rufus is getting old and we want him to have a companion, a puppy he can train before he gets too old." Made sense to me, I thought. My two boys were in their teens and the responsibility of a new puppy would mostly be theirs.

My oldest son was very specific with his request, "I want a female so she and Rufus could have pups. I want her to have at least a little pit bull in her, and I want her to be brown or light brown."

"Oh, okay, let me pull out my magic wand and order that for you," I joked. We all agreed that we would be on the hunt for a female, brown pit bull puppy. The search was on!

The very next day as I drove through our little town, I saw a sign for free puppies. My youngest son and I decided to stop and see what they had, and we found what we were looking for!

"I'm sorry", the lady said, "We only have one left and it is a female." We assured her that was what we wanted, so she introduced us to a fiesty six-week-old burnt-orange pit bull mix that came to us like she owned us. And how true that would become! We scooped her up and took her to my oldest son's workplace to show him who we found. She rode home with him, and my youngest son and I considered a name for her on the drive home- we liked Brandi. When we told his brother we had a name we liked, he said, "I already named her, Brandi." We could not believe we had chosen the same name!

Rufus accepted Brandi with much patience and was tolerant beyond measure with this pup that pulled his ears and insisted on sleeping on top of him. In those few years they had together, they were close companions and he taught her how to be a discerning watchdog. But, Brandi never had a litter of puppies.

She did, however, have a special bond with my oldest son. She followed him everywhere. She whined when he left for work, whined with joy when he came home, slept at his feet in the den, and slept at his feet in the bed. She woke with him, walked with him, rode with him, swam with him, ate with him...Everywhere he was, so was she.

Until he was gone. One day he did not come home. There had been an accident, he did not survive. Our family was devastated, so much so we did not consider his best friend's loss at first. Brandi was ten years old and had spent her whole life with my son. I noticed she did not eat, she did not sleep, she paced the floor day and night. She kept vigil by the window and perked up her ears at every rumbling truck that passed by. Every rattle of the door handle brought her running with anticipation and left her sulking in despair.

How does one explain to a dog the bitter infinity of grief? All I could do was hug her close, rub her ears and tell her she would be alright, although she proved that to be a lie. I thought about taking her to my son's grave to introduce her to this 'new normal' I experienced on my weekly visits. But in a way, I feared that would be just as cruel as letting her wonder where he was. I had heard stories of dogs that grieved themselves to death. I did not want that for her. I wanted her to find a way to survive, to live despite the emptiness that consumed her heart. In longing for this for her, I found a reason to live, also.

Early one morning, I resumed the walks she had taken with my son across the fields, through the woods, to the lake and down to an old farmhouse, long abandoned. At first she was hesitant, would not leave my side and run freely as she had with him. When a covey of quail flew from the brush a few feet away, she startled and rushed behind me. Maybe she understood the unpredictability of life after all, for she did not dart through the grass in chase, but watched with a look of concern.

I took her for rides in the truck down gravel roads and into the mountains, where she and my son often visited and shared bologna sandwiches as they sat on the rocks in the creeks. I offered her a sandwich, but I supposed she was not hungry. She turned her head away and a soft whimper escaped her sweet face. I thought then of how it pained me to be in the middle of my day and be suddenly reminded of him-a song on the radio, a favorite fast food restaurant, hearing his name randomly in a crowd...

Maybe I was going about this the wrong way. Maybe this poor old pup did not need to be dragged through the memories, but needed to be exposed to new adventures. That thought was what also changed how I looked at my own grief.

Living in the foothills of the mountains, I had always loved to hike, so I began our treks on trails I knew my son had never hiked. To make the adventure more enjoyable, I invited a friend to bring her dog along with us. Brandi and Winston connected right away and became great hiking buddies. That was the most alive I had seen her since the loss of my son. Though not very exhuberant, Brandi had perked up on those hikes with our friends, and her doggie smile had returned. She and Winston stayed side by side, waded in the creeks together, rested under the trees in the shade, and even pranced through the fields hunting rabbits. As I watched, my heart smiled.

As time went on, Brandi became less able to keep up the hikes physically, but she was generous enough to try to keep pace with me. Eventually, we limited the hikes to short walks, but I saw the longing in her eyes for adventure and the movement of life. When she was still for too long, her restless soul became burdened and melancholy. Her somber mood suffocated me. She still missed my son, and though she and Winston were together more often than not, she needed more, for I had learned that a Mom cannot replace a son in a dog's heart. Her sad eyes told the truth of that.

I never doubted that she loved me in her dog kind of way, not that I needed her to, for I loved her. I also knew that a dog's sense of smell was much stronger than a human's, so to think of how she must have been sensing my son's scent in our home had to be torture for her. I could see she was ready to escape that. I believed something was missing, and regretfully, I knew what that was. So, our new adventure began. I looked for someone to adopt her. Not just anyone, but someone she would connect to, someone who could bring her back to life.

That opportunity came to us through a dear friend who had known my son, and Brandi had known all of her life. Mary and her husband agreed to adopt her. In fact, they were more than excited to bring Brandi into their family right away, as soon as they heard I was searching.

When they came to pick her up, Brandi walked out to their car and got in on her own. She patiently sat in the back seat as the three of us talked, and I knew she had chosen to go with them. I knew it was the right choice for her, even though my heart ached to keep her.

Often I get pictures of Brandi living her new life. She has a close bond with Mary's husband John, a connection she certainly needed because she really is a 'man's best friend.' When Mary was ill, Brandi kept close, she slept by her bed and lay beside her on the sofa. The other dogs in the home keep her active, and she has even befriended the four cats. But in every photo, I cannot help but notice her eyes, how dull they look, as if she is still missing my son. I admire that dog, who has lost the love of her life, but has continued to put up with life without him. I know how she feels.