My first dog’s name was Sydney and she was built like a machine. German Shepherd/Rottweiler mix, and man was she beautiful. Her first night at home, she cried all night – so loud the neighbour complained. But after that, she never cried again. Even when she gave birth. Even when she got cancer. I wouldn’t imagine she cried either when she figured out the end was near.
She was a great pup, and reminds me of myself in a lot of ways. Serious. Strong. Sometimes cold.
But things changed when I met Brooklynd.
He didn’t come solo. In fact, he came with a whole human as part of the ultimate package. And what a great pair. They’re nothing like Sydney, and nothing like me. When I met Brooklynd, he was sweet and open, and gave me kisses I didn’t even know I wanted. Like his dad, Brooklynd felt things, and let those emotions show, which was a tenderness I craved – and fell in love with.
Since Brooklynd’s just a doggo, the metaphor breaks down a little—there are many ways he is nothing like Philip. Phil’s smart, creative and so dang handsome, while Broooklynd’s just…well, he’s Brooklynd. Plus, Phil doesn’t occasionally poop where he shouldn’t.
Brooklynd’s entrance in my life symbolized a fresh beginning. One where it was okay to feel and be free and silly and whimsical and energetic and so many other good things. I’m so glad his happy, little face, and his happy, handsome dad are in my life.
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