Bruce

I remember the day my father brought him home. He was just a ‘wee thing’, a small bundle of furry energy, running after our toes. We had come down stairs that morning to find this little puppy scampering around after everything that moved. We, children, were frightened at first, and ran to climb up on chairs to get out of the way of this uncontrollable bundle of fun. We called him ‘Bruce’, after the only dog we knew, the dog over in Ireland at our Uncle Hugh’s farm. Hugh had two dogs then, Bruce and Black, but our little friend was not black but brown, with a white collar and a long elegant nose. Bruce was a collie dog and he was brilliant.

He was the best dog on our estate, handsome, good-looking and good-natured. At first he ran wildly after motorbikes, and caused us no end of alarm. But we tamed him out of that. Mammy also showed us how to potty train him as well, rubbing his nose in his ‘doings’ until he got the message not to do such things in the house.

As he grew larger, he became our cushion, and we loved to bury our heads in his cosy and comfy long hair. He never complained. In fact he loved it. He loved to be loved, and we loved to love him. His station was outside the house, at the back door. That is where he sat. At night he was put into the shed, where he had his rug for sleeping. When washday came round, he was taken upstairs to the bathroom and lifted into the bath for a good shampoo and set! He was allowed to be inside the house at various times for us to play with him, but mostly he sat guard at the back door.

He knew when I was coming home from school. I guess he could smell me coming! As I came round the bend in the road towards our house, there was Bruce waiting for me, at the corner, and wagging his tail in welcome. And there was nothing he loved more than to hear the rattle of the dog lead when we would take him for a walk.

At school once, we were invited by the teacher to write an essay, using our own imagination to make up a story. I wrote about Bruce. It was the drama of my getting lost in a wood on the way home from school, and nobody being able to find me. But Bruce set off by himself and wandered deep into the wood and found me.

One day I went for a walk with my sister Patricia and Bruce. We went up the fields, towards Connelly’s farm. Half way along that old cobbled road, we had a disagreement about whom Bruce belonged to. I said he was my dog, and Tricia said, no, he was her dog. To settle the argument we put Bruce in the middle of the road and we both stepped away from him equidistant, like gunslingers, and at the call of three we both began to call his name.

The poor dog looked first one way and then the other, and his face went sad. He did not know whom to choose. Finally, he moved, slowly and reluctantly in my direction. I had won, but it felt like a defeat. Tricia was upset and turned on her heel for home, disconsolate at her loss. Bruce just looked sad. Oh, what lessons I learned that day!

In my teens I went away to school and my contact with Bruce was greatly reduced. One year I began to get letters from home telling me that Bruce was not well, and not getting better. When I returned to Manchester and was met by my mother and sisters, we got on the bus at Greengate for the journey home, and there, in the dark tunnel of that bus station, they finally told me that Bruce was dead.

I went very quiet, and said nothing. There was nothing to say. Bruce had been dead for a few weeks in fact, and they did not want me to be all alone in Birmingham, hearing such news. My father believes that Bruce was deliberately poisoned by a jealous neighbour, though nothing could be proved. I never saw my beloved dog again.

There are photographs of course. And there are memories, and my memories remind me of how wonderful it was to have a dog to love and to be loved by. Bruce always listened to you, and obeyed you. He was always there as your happy companion. He loved to play, and if he was naughty, he wanted to make up and be friends again. He always shook hands with you, whenever you asked him. He was loyal, faithful and true.

Oh what lessons we can learn from animals. Bruce has been with me all my life. He taught me so much about love.

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