By RaeJean Spencer Hasenoehrl
I have much to learn from the canines of my world. Frank, a blue-eyed Australian shepherd, displayed a keen loyalty to those who earned his trust. Pixie, short, pug-nosed and stout, taught me to never pretend to be something I am not. Peanut, during a short but fun-filled life, taught me that if what I want lies buried deep, to dig until I find it. And while my parents battled devastating health problems, Baby, with her soft Cocker Spaniel eyes, demonstrated when someone is having a bad day, one of the best things you can do for them is to be silent and sit close by.Brownie, the latest love of my life, continues to counsel me in the ways of the canine mind. And he has literally taken a few human expressions and turned them into dog day moments of advice.
For instance, most folks say “stop and smell the roses.” My dog somehow knows I prefer lilacs.
So when the neighbor’s lilac bush was in full bloom, it came as a complete surprise when one-year-old Brownie insisted we diverge from our daily walk, approach the fragrant blossoms, and rest for a spell.
He spent the time sniffing the ground, tucking his head underneath the branches and exploring the great unknown. When he came up for air, spatters of blossoms clung to his fur and topped his freckled nose.
I waited impatiently, reciting the list of chores that waited three doors down. Brownie sensed my mood and dove in further, tugging at the leash and forcing me to come face to face with the heady blossoms.
I breathed in. It smelled good. A second breath. The scent mesmerized. A third breath. I craved another intoxicating moment.
Brownie sat at my feet and smiled.
We lingered a while. Deep breaths of the springtime bouquets weren’t just a serendipitous indulgence, they were life giving forces to a tired, overloaded mom.
Our stop at the lilac bush became a daily habit until the blossoms died. The beautiful scent faded, but the memories remain.
Eleven years later, Brownie still leads me to that lilac bush. On occasion, he forgets — perhaps he has worries of his own — so I take the lead and we wander to the bush.
More tiny blossoms on his freckled nose. More delightful memories to lighten a heavy load. More homesongs, this time lavender colored and canine-loved.
In memory of my sweetest friend, Brownie
February, 2000 - October, 2015
