I look across the room, past the bed I am sitting on, to an image that evokes nostalgia in many of us. How comforting it is to see man's best friend curled up in front of a window soaking up the rays of sunshine pouring in. No worries or cares wrinkle his forehead, for he enjoys the moment; the softness of indoor carpeting, the warmth of the sun, and the love of his master, which he mirrors back to the inhabitants of his domain. To look into his eyes is to look into the eyes of a wise and aged grandfather who knows much from his experiences in life and understands exactly, with compassion and love, what another is experiencing. The old adage from William Shakespeare stating, "The eyes are the windows to the soul," could not be more true than when looking into the eyes of a dog, and particularly looking into the eyes of Bruno. There I see a thoughtful soul: a widow's grief; a child's curiousity; a prophet's knowing; a mother's embrace; a watchman's loyalty; a father's protection; and most importantly, the light of Christ.
Bruno. Bruno is my dog... my canine aficionado. I have had many "best friends" throughout my life, of the canine variety, but I'm not sure that any of them will hold a place in my heart as stringently as Bruno, the one I welcomed into our home when we really didn't need or want another dog (we had three already), but who grasped my heart the moment I met him. He sprinted the hundred feet into my open car door upon being asked, "Do you want to go home with me?" leaving me, mouth agape, across the vast yard at my friend's home. I guess the answer to that question was not just "yes" but "#$%& YES!"
I remember seeing an adoption ad posted for him on the front door of the Eden General Store one Saturday morning, when Kevin and I went for some breakfast at one of the town's few restaurants. The ad read, "Vizsla/German Shorthair Mix Needs Good Home" and then stated that the dog listed was an excellent dog, but needed a fenced yard, because he liked to run away. Weeks later, a friend of mine joked to me about the ad posted on the window, that he, too, had seen and commented, "Oh yeah... they're sure to find a home for him... a dog that likes to run away. Doesn't everyone want a dog like that?" A look of surprise settled on his face when I told him that I must have wanted a dog like that, for I had adopted him myself.
You see, I didn't realize at the time that I saw the ad, that Bruno was one of my best friend's dogs. The picture posted portrayed a russet brown bird dog, as nondescript as any chocolate lab I had ever seen. It wasn't until days later, in talking to a mutual friend, that I found out that the dog in the ad was indeed owned by my friend, and that she was worried sick about finding a good home for him, noting that it would be difficult because of his age and his bad habit of running. She didn't want to place Bruno in another home, for she loved him deeply, but her husband felt otherwise. He was angered easily by the slightest deviation from his rules, and neglected to remember that "a dog is a dog." You leave the ham bone out on the edge of the counter and it is quite likely that even the best behaved canine will give into temptation and snatch it up. They don't understand all the reasonings and consequences of man. They only see the reasoning in the moment... ham bone... yum. Bruno's mistake was to take that ham bone and enjoy it on the living room carpet. The rage and tempest that proceeded from her husband was of such great magnitude that no love was left in his heart for this special dog - only hatred. He despised Bruno. The ham bone was simply the excuse he needed to get rid of someone that stole his wife's attention from himself. She loved Bruno with an unconditional love that he couldn't help be jealous of. She confided to me that he was always hard on Bruno, and that it angered him that he ran away, but I don't think she ever considered that the reason Bruno might be running was, in fact, because of her husband. So, while she was on vacation with her family, and our mutual friend was watching her animals for her, I offered to take him during the vacation as a trial period, to see if he fit in with our family. We called her and asked her permission to take him for the week, and even though she was skeptical that this was the solution to her problem, she conceded that it couldn't hurt to try. She knew we had five children and three dogs already, with a fenced yard that didn't always keep them in... the dogs, that is. She wasn't sure that Bruno would get the best home with us, and that he might only prove to be a burden on an already seemingly burdened household.
A burden he was not. In fact, quite the opposite proved to be true, and we wished our other dogs were as well behaved and obedient as he. To my friend's bewilderment and surprise, we had stumbled upon a startling observation with Bruno. You see, he didn't run off - not even once. We walked through the neighborhood together, without a leash, and he stayed right with us. We let him out to do his business, and he didn't try to escape. If let out front, he stayed within calling distance and returned upon being beckoned. What?! This hard to contain canine wasn't so hard to contain! Perhaps, the reason Bruno didn't run was because he didn't feel he had anything to run from. He had found unconditional love, at last, and the fear and trembling present when I first met him was stripped away, leaving a calm and secure spirit in its place.
Our family has had the pleasure of Bruno's company for the last four years, now. He is my best friend when I am lonely and will sleep beside me when my husband is away. He is the hearthstone I warm myself beside on cold winter nights. He is the embrace I need from my mother when I am sad or have had a hard day. He is the protection I take with me on a solitary road trip and my security system when no one is at home. He is the constant in a tumultuous life of comings and goings and the ultimate giver of unconditional love. He always loves to see me, even when I look or feel terrible. He likes me even when I'm grouchy and forgives me instantly when I lose my cool over a ransacked garbage can or empty bread bag. The old roamer who used to run miles away from home, who got shot at on several occasions for stealing animals out of farmer's fur traps, and who still bears the buck shot under his skin and the scars on his feet from being entrapped himself, is now the same sweet dog lying in the sun on my bedroom floor. No longer does he emulate the greyhound's gaunt profile, or shake like a leaf in the wind. No... he is at peace, without fear, enjoying his moment in the sun.
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