Jun 6, 2017 3 min read

Let me tell you a story about our family dog. His name is Brick, and he is an approximately 80-pound Rottweiler mix who came to us around the same time my mom died. When he first arrived, he was wary of everyone and everything and was a bit standoffish. That is, unless you had a big rock to throw for him – hence the name Brick.

In the past few years, he has grown into a lovely dog who follows my husband everywhere.

He runs beside the side-by-side from field to field.

He has a path worn through one pasture from running inside the fence, but still parallel to my husband, when he takes a tractor down the road to the other side of the property.

He will chase squirrels or butterflies in the woods for the entire time my husband is cutting wood or dragging brush.

He’s just a really good dog who has chosen my husband to be his person.

Since my husband’s surgery has limited his ability to do all of the above mentioned activities, I kind of expected the dog to begin to follow me around instead, as I attempt to keep up with all that my husband usually does.

That expectation has not manifested itself into reality, however.

Instead, Brick still follows my husband. If he is outside, Brick is outside. If he is in the chair, Brick is curled up at the foot of it. When he goes up to bed, Brick follows him, laying down right in the middle of the floor beside him.

It’s kind of sweet, really.

Early in the mornings sometimes, when Brick thinks no one is awake, he attempts to scoot himself up onto the bed.

He sticks his front paws up there and looks around. If nobody speaks to him, he then tries to silently pull himself the rest of the way up. It is by no means a quiet endeavor, but it is hilarious to see him trying to be sneaky.

Once he is successful, he beats his tail a few times, sighs deeply, and then relaxes so fully that he seems to flatten out onto nearly half of our queen-sized mattress. If we weren’t awake before, we certainly have to wake up enough to reposition ourselves.

The dog has a short list of things he doesn’t like. This includes motorcycles, groundhogs, rats, thunder, fireworks and gunfire.

When the neighbors shoot guns or set off fireworks, he barks.

At each and every bang, he barks. (Rumor has it he was once shot by a previous owner, so I fully understand his disdain.) No amount of scolding can calm him.

But the worst is thunder. He is terrified of it. It’s heartbreaking to see the big boy shudder and shake at each crack.

He will wake me up with his cold nose so that I will talk to him and pet him while a storm rages. Once I have my hand on his back, he will lay back down, but he puts his head under the bed and hides and shakes. As soon as the storm is over, he leaves me to again lay beside my husband.

It’s OK, really. I’m a cat person at heart. But I’ll admit, I have a bit of a soft spot for this dog. If you’re around him long enough, you just can’t help it.