A TALE OF TWO BROTHERS

I knew I was in trouble the moment the words left her mouth.

“What do you think about getting another dog?” My wife asked.

“Why are you thinking like that?” I said. “Beans is going to live forever.”

“I don’t mean once he’s gone. I mean in addition to him.”

By way of background information, Mr. Beans was a puppy when I met my wife. He was HER puppy.  A crazy one at that.  He’d jump on you as you came in the door.  Would chew your hands like they were chew toys. Was an escape artist that could get out of any yard.  And he loved to play tug of war with his leash while on walks, which my wife was not a fan of.  Ok, MAYBE I taught him that.

By the time he was six, however, he had simply become the best dog you could think of.  He had the sweetest disposition, was gentle with kids and would lie in the middle of two rooms if my wife was in one and I was in the other–as if he needed to make sure we were both ok.  He was once described as “noble” by someone at a beach in Nantucket for the way he would wander over if either of us were too far away.

So why would we ever want or need a second dog? I was seeing double.  Twice the food.  Twice the vet bills.  And worst of all, twice the amount to clean up in the yard!

“I think Beans is lonely,” my wife said.

“He’s a dog.  When we aren’t here, he sleeps.  It’s not like he would have meaningful conversation with another dog if we had one,” I answered.

“How do you know?  You always say you can communicate with him.  Why don’t you ask him?”

“I did.  And he says he doesn’t want anyone infringing on his turf or time with his mom and dad.”

“Please??  Can we just have him come for a day visit?  If they don’t get along, we don’t have to keep him.”

The HIM was a black lab from a local rescue, a little over a year old as near as they could figure, and I knew that as soon as he entered our house, he wouldn’t be leaving.  Unless he wanted to of course, which is exactly what he did five minutes after he got there.  He was tall and smart, and while we sat down to speak with his foster parent, he jumped on the front door, pushed down on the handle, and let himself out.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed.

“He’s fine.  That’s what the beast does.  He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

Sure enough, 10 to 15 minutes later, he returned the same way he had left and galloped into the living room.  My wife loved him immediately.  He and I had a bit of a feeling out phase at first.  But there was no way he wasn’t staying so we agreed to co-exist.

Bode (named after the US skier), was extremely smart.  There wasn’t a fence electric or otherwise that could contain the great Andy Dufresne.  He was also determined.  We had to move all items of food 8 feet off the ground to avoid losing it.  One time we came home to find a bag of trail mix ripped open and empty.  That must have been his appetizer.  For the main course, he devoured two raw steaks WITH the styrofoam they were wrapped in.  He proceeded to wash them down with a 64 ounce bottle of seltzer.  But he didn’t drink it the polite way.  He opted for the Viking method of tearing it open from the side and spraying it all around the kitchen.  For dessert, he either invited over a monkey friend of his, or he devoured a bunch of bananas–except for the peels, which he somehow managed to leave behind as evidence.

Bode did suffer a bit from separation anxiety at first, literally throwing himself at the door any time we would try to leave, even though both of us work from home quite a bit.  When we returned, he would leap into our arms from five feet away. A buddy described being greeted by Bode as “going 10 rounds with Mike Tyson every time you walked in the door.”  Imagine someone simultaneously throwing four 25 lb weights at you.  Then imagine trying to catch them all, and you have an idea what it was like.

He can be lazy at times.  Moving him when he doesn’t want to be moved takes the strength of ten men.  But he can also be energetic.  At precisely 8:32pm every night, as Katy, Beans and I settle in on the couches after a long day, he begins to gallop around the house as if he’s made the final turn at the Kentucky Derby.  Why? I have no idea.  You’ll have to ask him.

The list of damage he has caused is long and illustrious.  Several cabinet locks.  Four screen doors–until I eventually decided to remove them altogether.  Two sets of French doors from his jumping on them, and one microwave that he pulled down off a pretty high shelf in an effort to get at some bananas.

But there is no denying that he’s a cuddlebear, which is my wife’s favorite quality in a dog.  He will wedge himself into the tiniest space on the couch where there really isn’t room for him.

If that doesn’t work, lying on top of you is another good option. In bed, he sleeps directly in between my wife and I. Like a person. It is not unusual to wake up and be staring into his big brown eyes as he shares your pillow, with his hot breath melting your face. One morning, I was sleeping on my side and thought my wife had slid up against me. I reached back with my arm and thought, “Boy, Katy might want to shave her legs.” Only to see that it was Bode, with one of his legs wrapped around me while he slept.

As for Beans? There were some dust ups in the first few weeks as he thought he needed to protect us from the Bode Monster, the intruder that was sure to leave eventually. After all, we had dog sat for friends before for a week or two. But after two weeks had passed, Beans began to realize Bode wasn’t going anywhere. They have since developed a routine where Bode finishes his food in seconds flat and hovers over Beans while he eats. When Beans is done–and he takes his sweet time as if to torture Bode–he lets Bode lick his bowl. They do this every single meal.

When one of them sees something outside, they both race to the window and bark, even if the other one doesn’t know what they are barking at. They walk next to each other on walks, proud as peacocks, for all the world to see.

And when they are tired, they even share the same couch on occasion. Sometimes even the same portion of the couch.

I once asked Beans if he liked having Bode around and he replied, “Of course, dad. He’s my brother.”

“I love him too, pal,” I replied as I hid the garbage can in the laundry room to prevent a possible assault on it while we went out for dinner.