A Tale of Brutus

Fourteen years and a whole other life ago, I had one pug, Ramona, who I rescued with an ex boyfriend. She was the best most feisty girl and I loved her so much. She and I were in Florida visiting family when I received a call from a good friend of mine who had two pugs of her own. She lived on St Mark’s Place in the east village and was friendly with a bike messenger who did delivery for Paul’s burgers on 2nd Ave (really good, delicious, greasy burgers that were some of my favorite in the city). He would always see her walking her pugs and confessed his dream to own one some day. She saw him some weeks later, riding around doing deliveries with his very own pug, “Rook” tagging along in his messenger bag. A few months later, he came knocking on her door in tears. Bike messenger guy had been living in “C Squat”, a fairly notorious squat house on the lower east side. He was trying to turn his life around and met a girlfriend who he planned on moving in with, which was a great plan-only it didn’t include poor Rook. The girlfriend had some fluffy dog who didn’t play well with others and moving in came with the stipulation of giving up his best buddy. He knew my friend loved her pugs so much and was hoping she could take him in. Being that she lived in a small NYC apartment with 2 dogs of her own, she had to decline but said “I know someone who can”.
Being that Ramona and I were away, I called my boyfriend at the time to make sure he was on board, and he volunteered to go pick Rook up from our friend’s place.
Apparently his owner was heartbroken about leaving him, making sure to feed him a giant steak and left him with plenty of toys. Both my friend and boyfriend claimed that from the time his owner left, poor Rook just sat in the hallway, staring at the door. Every once in awhile he would walk around the room to greet everyone, but kept going back to look for his person.
My ex boyfriend brought him back to our apartment in Queens, reporting to me that the dog seemed quiet and a little aloof. Ramona and I returned 2 days later, excited to meet our new buddy (well, me more than Ramona…she was a boss who preferred her own space).  The minute I walked in, that dog took one look at me and his entire face lit up like a cartoon bugs bunny hearts-in-the eyes situation. He was obsessed. Clearly I had given all of my affection to my main girl, and was thinking he would be more of my boyfriend’s dog. Nope! He even remarked that it was the first time he had seen little Rook so excited since they’d met .
Though I was flattered, I was a bit creeped out as well. I would wake up with him having jumped on my chest, 3 inches from my face, staring, snorting, and actually smiling. If I went to the bathroom, he had to come too. If I made any move, he was under my feet, ready for action. We lived near a fire station and found out quickly that he liked to howl along to the sirens (unfortunately so did everyone else in my building…). The name Rook didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, and though it generally takes me forever to make any decision, I picked his new name “Brutus” in about 10 minutes. We moved into a bigger place, and found out some other weird quirks…
Since he had lived in a squat house and ultimate bachelor pad, he was taught to pee in the shower (I suppose better than the floor). He knocked over the garbage can and once ate an entire tray of lasagna, leaving him unable to use his back legs. He was army crawling around the house when I panicked, rushed him via cab to find a vet, and he hopped right out of the car and walked in like nothing had happened……
He was pure, adorable, loveable, anxiety ridden mischief. He had the worst separation anxiety, and it took me months to train him to go in a crate so I could put him in the car. If he met anyone for 10 minutes, he’d scream when they left. His favorite past time was to lay upside down on my lap, gazing in my eyes and snorting (and of course eating, because he was after all a pug). He could jump onto kitchen countertops and once ate 16oz of chocolate covered cherries….. This dog loved to get into chocolate and give me multiple heart attacks.
Ramona was a self contained, independent, fierce woman, but Brutus was my needy child.
Everyone who met him loved him, as he would cuddle up and snort on them; just needy enough to be adorable but sprinkling your clothing with enough pug hair to be annoying.
Awhile later, my boyfriend and I had broken up. He wanted to keep Ramona, which was not going to happen, then thought to ask “Can I at least keep Brutus?” I just looked at him and he said “yeah no way, never mind.” It wasn’t either of our decision; Brutus had chosen his person on day one.
Later on when I met my husband, the jealousy was real….my husband’s, that is. He would laugh, calling Brutus and my relationship “ridiculous” and “sick”, since Brutus’ main goal was to become permanently physically attached to me. Brutus loved every creature, animal and person alike, who he ever met. This sweet, loveable 18 lb nut job used to require 3 people to cut his toenails….he had “brut” strength when it came to anything he didn’t want to do.
We spent a lot of time at the dog park,  which mostly consisted of him sitting in the other owners’ laps, being complimented (his favorite).  About 5 years ago Ramona passed, and Brutus was an only child (his dream come true, no offense, Mona). We were inseparable. About a year later I started thinking about what I would ever do without him, and it scared me. Although he was seemingly in good health at the time, I would think about the inevitable and cry. I had thought to adopt another dog just to soften the blow, when eventually the time would come. (This was the long and wild tale of how we ended up with Stanley, but that’s a whole other story for a whole other day). Around the same time we rescued Stanley, I also found out that I was pregnant. I used to cry at times, hoping I’d have enough time for Brutus and I to be “us”, worried about the change in the dynamic.
“Brutus” was the theme of my baby shower and maternity photos. He was, after all my first baby…

People had told me that having a baby would be this feeling like no other, and while surely that’s true, my feelings for Brutus were certainly up there and comparable. I viewed them as siblings instead of competing species.
Things were okay for a few months after the baby was born, but changed quickly in a year’s time.  Brutus started collapsing. He was diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension, which caused him to lose oxygen and essentially pass out anytime he exerted himself or got too excited. I ran him to specialists, often times piling him on top of the baby in the stroller as we rolled in to his appointments. Of course since I was his main source of excitement, I’d have to sneak into the house upon returning home from any outing so I could grab him, and he wouldn’t run to me and faint. It was a very difficult time, and carried on for 2 years. The fainting episodes were so scary, often times leaving me panicked and weak in the knees. The vets couldn’t believe he made it that far with this affliction, but I knew my headstrong determined guy. The last two years have not been nearly as cuddly, as he was more comfortable in his bed. The last year has been very, very hard. He made it to about 15 years old give or take (we never had his exact paperwork or knew where he really came from)
I know that I’m so lucky to have had him and so happy we somehow found each other.
He was my first real baby, my little Brew, and I will miss him forever.
I’d mostly like to thank that prissy pug-hating girlfriend of that poor misguided bike messenger for having fate bring me my best friend. I know I got the better end of that deal.