BRENNA, THE “NEWF”

Brenna was a full –pedigree Newfoundland, coal black, except for a small patch of white on her chest. She was actually born on April Fools Day. Her previous owner lost his house in a fire and had to her up along with the other canines he had. My vet knew the owner and was boarding all these unfortunate dogs at his farm and happened to ask me if I could give the Newfoundland a new home. I agreed to accept her sight unseen. Leaving for the vet’s farm the next day I was rather excited to see what this creature looked like. His wife greeted me at the doorway of the barn where I could hear the barking of many dogs. Soon she appeared from behind a inner door, a huge black furry mass. For a second I was shocked and startled, for I saw no dog heading my way, but rather what looked like a small bear. Her girth almost matched her length, she was a massive canine , perhaps 180 lbs. She kind of wobbled over to greet me. I instantly knew she was friendly as the heavy tail was wagging a mile a minute and that red tongue was licking and slobbering over my hands. I was acquiring the largest canine I ever owned. Even for a Newf, she was overweight, and the vet admonished me to put her on a strict diet, about a few cups of kibble for the next few months.

She was about the friendliest and comical dog as one could desire, getting along splendidly with our Golden Retriever mix, “Chrysos”. The only time that we had a problem was in the very beginning, when it came to feeding them. I was keeping them penned up together for the first few days and gave each their own food bowl. Unfortunately, Brenna, thought that both bowls belonged to her. She could wolf down the kibble within a few seconds and then proceed directly to Chrysos’ bowl , who was a slower eater. Forcing him back with that large head of hers and causing and inevitable Battle Royal as she stuffed her mouth into his bowl. Chrysos was a fierce fighter, but she was quite out of his weight class. So before Brenna could make mince meat out of him, I would have to pull him away, for when it came to food Brenna was very serious. In fact, as soon as I would pick up the bowls to fill them, she would begin a series of whinning, howling and weird barking sounds, that could have waken the dead. This cacophony would not cease until the grub was placed in front of her. Of course, by this time, Chrysos was eating in a separate place for his own safety.

I remember one day being delayed by a phone call, when I was preparing to fill the food bowls in my house. Her wailing had already started, and for the whole time I was on the phone, it went on non-stop and was loud enough for the party on the other line to wonder what the Hell was all that noise coming from. She was developing her personality from the very beginning and it only got more interesting.

She managed to break out of the pen a few times and would head straight for the smelly compost bin. Gouging herself on old watermelon rinds, rotten tomatoes and even potato peels. She and that enormous pit for a stomach were a virtual canine garbage disposal unit. There really much that didn’t appeal to her insatiable hunger, but I remember one day taking her some scraps from the table, which included some kale from the garden. As I approached her with the these items, she would be hard to contain herself, making those alien sounds of joy and sadness. I stood by the fence and tried to carefully drop the food into the her, knowing all along that most of it would never get to that destination with her big mouth intercepting it and chopping it away. Was she even tasting it, I thought for a moment? Then I quickly noticed that the green stuff , the kale, was being adroitly discarded from both sides of her muzzle, all during the process of chomping and swallowing the rest of the scraps. She continued to look up for more, completely oblivious to what a small feat that was to her. She was having no parts of that green stuff and it seemed to be the only food she ever rejected.

Whenever, I took the dogs for their daily jaunt in our woods, Brenna would run along with Chrysos . She would try to get ahead of him on the trail and then roll over on her back to block the trail for him. This would provoke Chrysos in a playful attack. He was quick and would get his friendly bites in, but, would always be respectful of the big jaws and her wild kicking hind legs. Sometimes he could not move fast enough and would be caught by her catching him under his chest with those powerful haunches that could send him reeling through the air like his 65 pounds was shot out of a catapult.

Another interesting behavior was her timely charge into the woods on the side of the trail as Chrysos and I stayed on the trail. She could then be heard growling and running around in these larger and larger concentric circles eventually crossing over the trail before us a few times in some strange show of power. She then would narrow down these circles, moving at full speed, as she closed in on her target, which, of course, was Chrysos . As she got closer you could hear her galloping paws carrying all that mass and branches snapping with her large frame preparing to hit poor Chrysos, who foolishly believed he could stand up to the onslaught. A bone- jarring collision would inevitably take place with both animals decked out, confused and wondering what just happened. Usually these were broadsides, but once I remember her coming at full steam straight at us on trail, which made me jump into the woods to avoid being taken out, but Chrysos stood his ground again and took the crushing hit head to head. It was a nasty smashup and both dogs were slow to get up after all the tumbling. As both sat up after the ordeal, I got a huge belly laugh, at these two crazy animals. Looking at their dazed faces, I noticed a piece of black fur stuck to Chrysos’ mouth and a piece of his tan fur stuck to Brenna’s mouth. It appeared so silly to me, as though they had exchanged furry goatees to one another. Both watched me as I enjoyed my hearty laugh at them for the next few moments.

One night, my Newf, was visted by a straying porcupine that paid him an unfortunate visit. I’m sure she tried to eat him. I found out the results in the morning when I went to get her water bowl. There she stood behind the fence with about two dozen well placed quills in her nose and mouth. She seemed oblivious to it, but I didn’t. It has to be a dog’s worst nightmare, but not Brenna. Well, for me, it was time to get the pliars and to face the challenge of holding her down to get at them. I got the first six by head locking her with my left arm and grabbing the longest ones rapidly, but she was struggling with those legs in trying to get away from me and this unpleasant activity. It was like pulling teeth without nocaine. She was prevailing in this wrestling match so I needed another plan: I had to out fox her. I went to the freezer and got a large meat bone, and then allowed her to see it, through the space between the planks of the fence. Instantly that large muzzle of hers protruded through the space, as I allowed her to lock on to the large bone so the she couldn’t pull it through the fence. I knew instinctively that she would lock on to that bone with those powerful jaws of hers and not let go. I t was like holding her head still in a vise, as I adroitly extracted all the other quills. She never let go of the bone despite the pain. She bit the “bullet” like a real trooper, or shall I say “bone”.

There was another breakout of the pen, when she headed over to my neighbor’s house, who had very menacing German Sheppard named Spike. As I ran after her with a leash, she was already creating one hell- of -a -commotion as she did a bee line straight to his food bowl, completely ignoring him as he barked, growled and bit at her to no avail. Brenna was impervious to his attack as she growled back flashing those big pearly whites that looked so threatening against that black fur of hers. Spike had to back off, and she left him bereft of his canine dignity and his food. Newf’s are tough dogs, and usually will not engage in battle unless severely provoked. There is a story in the literature where one fought off a mountain lion.

One morning I came over to her dog house, where she was lying very peacefully with her massive head resting on one of her out-stretched paws. I called her, to show her the milk bone I was bringing her. She remained silent and still, I knew, at that moment, she had passed away in the night. I couldn’t help noticing her face had a kind of dignity and majesty to it, that I had never seen before… gone was the comical expressions, antics and endless hunger of that wonderful creature that was born on April Fools Day.