His name was Brutus and a name couldn't suit a dog more. A hienz fifty-seven combo of pointer, beagle, lab and moose, he had ears that dragged the floor which caught under his equally impressive and clunky paws. The vet assured me that the rest of his frame would grow to balance out these attributes, which only caused me to fret as I lead him into puppy training class and watch the other 6-month-old gremlins cower at his massive form.
Excited, no one could need puppy training more than he did, he mowed down a display of greenies training treats while bolting towards his new playmates. "That dog can't be 6 month old! Why are they allowing it in here with these babies!"
"I understand your alarm, miss,". The instructor began, " but I assure you that Brutus is the same age as the rest of the group and...." Brutus stepped on his own ear and cartwheeled into the protective barrier, landing on his backside with his outstretched paws fully entwined in his leash and looking at me for rescue. "...from the looks if him, he's in the right class."
"Yowl!" Brutus agreed still struggling with his leash and ears. While the other owners looked between Brutus and their own pups with a bit of trepidation, the instructor simply laughed and said thank you to Brutus for agreeing with her, then she helped me finish freeing Brutus and uprighting him. He licked both our faces in gratitude. His attention now on the daschund who was nipping at his ear.
As Brutus raised his paw to squish the playful worm of a dog, panic shot through me along with a rest in peace grave marker for the little German. Yanking the leash a screamed (a little too loudly): "Brutus no!"
"Come to the dark side; we have coffee!"