It’s been a rough week in more ways than one, good people. Besides dealing with the shitstorm of stupid that is Freeperville, fighting off a horrific infection and The Darnold’s frantic and constant flailing to remain in power, Barbara and I lost our wonderful and too-sweet-for-words doggie girl, Brillo.
Barbara picked her up at a rescue day event at out local Petco. She told me what was happening, and I was OK with it, of course.
After a week, she had her shots and papers and was ready to come live in her forever home. I still had yet to even see her. I was driving home from work, and Barbara called me, and advised – “Baby? She’s not the prettiest dog in the world…”
A very long pause went by, and I replied: “OK. Just how ugly IS she?”.
When I got home I found out. The one-and-a-half-year old was mostly Scottish Deerhound and a little bit something else, which means that her outside coat looked like something you use on the sink one last time before you throw it away.
I took one look and declared: “Brillo.” This was validated when we were walking her down at the greenbelt and two young ladies came up and asked her name. I told them, and they both dissolved into laughter.
And from that time on, Brillo she was, among other things.
She was also “Big Girl”, “Miss Demeanour”, “Miss Adventure”, “Miss Mess”, “Miss Appropriated”, “Miss Apprehension”, and many other things.
She spent all of every evening going back and forth between Barbara and I, to get pets. I mean constantly. “I would say “Go see the Mommy”, and she would trot over to that side of the couch and get petted until Barbara got tired and said : “Go see the Daddy”, whereupon I would pet her for the next 15 minutes or so. All night. Every night.
I was referred to as “The CPO” (chief petting officer), and loved my position.
And so It went for over 14 years, until she started losing weight and energy. We tried every high-calorie food we could find.
It was Lymphoma. We said our goodbyes a few days ago.
She was a Very Good Girl.
Goodbye, Pretty Girl.