Our Beloved Brontesaurus

“Nothing gold can stay.”

When my husband and I had been married for five years, I started “nesting.” When we got married, we had originally agreed to have two children…we ended up re-negotiating to have one child and one dog. When my husband asked me what I wanted for my birthday, he offered to take me to look at puppies. I cautioned him that might not be a good idea because if we went to look at rottweiler puppies, we would most assuredly be coming home with one. He said that was fine.

So, off to the breeder, we went. The breeder brought out one male and one female puppy to look at. I had read that male animals tended to bond more with female humans while female animals tended to bond more with male humans; since I wanted the dog we got to like me best, I was leaning toward the male. We held each puppy in turn. They were both soft and chubby, but the little girl’s tongue stuck out. When my husband held her, she nuzzled his neck, and he said “I like this one.” Since he wasn’t particularly crazy about the idea of getting a dog in the first place, I decided to go with the girl dog, since he actually liked her. After paying the breeder, we drove away with our darling new 8-week old rottweiler puppy.

She laid curled up on the bench seat between us on the four-hour drive back home. That day my husband who didn’t even want a dog in the first place, selected and bought her her very first toy, a plush duck with a squeaker inside.

On the way home, we discussed possible names, which I suggested better be something we felt comfortable yelling from our front porch for all the neighbors to hear, as I sensed that was an inevitability. After careful consideration of dozens of names, since I was an English major and had written my thesis on Anne Bronte’s work, in the end, we named our puppy Bronte. When I told one of my dearest friends her name, she asked “Oh, is that short for Brontosaurus?” From that day forward, “Brontesaurus” became her nickname.

The second day we had Bronte, I kept her with me, brought her on car rides, and introduced her to all my family members. When my daughter was born the following year, Bronte was always near her. We even told my daughter that the dog was her “sister,” which caused some laughs later, when my daughter was at a gym daycare and mentioned her sister was home alone. When she was asked why the sister wasn’t at daycare also, my daughter’s reply was “Because she’s a dog, silly!” As soon as my daughter could walk, she learned how to feed Bronte every day, because I told her it was all of our jobs to take good care of her sister.

I even took Bronte to Doggy Obedience school, which she loved. She became especially fond of the trainer’s own rottweiler. She did, however, fail advanced training…she was too excited to meet new people and animals. But, being too friendly was a flaw I welcomed.

There are so many Bronte stories that I could go on for days. She was the best dog I have ever had. She defended my husband and infant daughter against a drunk trespasser and comforted all of us in our times of need. I remember her – then a full-grown dog (albeit petite at 80 pounds) – climbing into my husband’s lap when his PTSD flared up and he needed comfort. When my daughter told me she was scared at night, her bed also became Bronte’s bed. One morning my husband woke to find my then-four-year-old daughter on the bed, sitting atop the dog, who was wearing a toy crown. Yes, the dog was wearing the crown. She also at times wore necklaces and a hat. She was such a gentle dog that my daughter could do anything to her.

Then Bronte got older and became a “senior” dog. She developed a bridge in her vertebrae as well as hip dysplasia. Diet, exercise, vitamins, and medicine could only manage the pain for so long, and earlier this year, we had to put her down. All of our hearts have been a bit broken since we lost her.

We all still miss her terribly. We have photos, videos, and memories of her. And we have her two adopted siblings who are still here, happily wagging their tales when we come home. I tell my daughter that when we miss our Brontesaurus, we can till talk to her in heaven and tell her that we love her. Then I tell my daughter that Bronte would want us to show the furry twins who are still with us that we love them, too. Because one day, we will outlive them, as well. Because nothing gold can stay.

Original Post 09/2020