Wonder Dog

By Jan Bono

The dog was created specially for children. He is the god of frolic.
~Henry Ward Beecher

His name suggested a dog much larger, but Brutus weighed in at thirteen pounds and stood one foot high, full-grown. A curly, black, cocka-pomma-peeka-poo, he puffed out his little barrel chest and swaggered around the house like a big dog. He loved hanging out with us kids and we loved including him in everything we did.

We lived just north of Seattle and snow was a rarity. A foot of snow was cause for a celebration. School was cancelled, and the road to our house became a giant hill for slipping and sliding. Brutus knew something was up when all four of us started pulling on our coats, boots, mittens and stocking caps. Naturally, he wanted to go with us. He immediately started his "we're going for a walk" prance by the front door.

"No, Brutus," said my sister, shaking her head. "You're too little."

"Yeah," said brother number one, "the snow's taller than you are!"

Brother number two frowned. "I'm little, too," he said with trembling lips. "Brutus can go. He can follow the trail like I do."

"But you've got snow gear," said my practical sister. "Brutus would get all wet."

I looked from Brutus, eagerly standing by the door wiggling all over, to my little brother, struggling to fight back tears. "What if we made Brutus a snowsuit?"

I went to the kitchen and got a Wonder Bread bag. "This should fit him."

Brother number one got the scissors and we fashioned a covering for the dog by cutting out leg and tail holes in the bread sack. We pulled it on his trembling body. He looked ridiculous but I don't think he cared.

"He's a Wonder Dog!" said brother number two excitedly. "Now he can go with us!"

Mother took pictures of us tramping out in the snow, Brutus in his Wonder Bread bag scurrying along behind. But it wasn't long before we realized we'd forgotten something important. Brutus had been inside all day, and after only fifty yards or so, he hunched over to poop. We suddenly realized we had forgotten to leave the business end open.

We all screamed, "NO! NO! NO!" and chased after him to remove the sack. Of course he ran, staying just out of our grasp, thinking we were playing. We floundered in the snow until total exhaustion set in, when we literally collapsed upon the front porch steps. Brutus then took care of his business, while we all moaned from our seats on the stoop, still trying to catch our breath. Mother came out the front door, laughing so hard she was crying.

"Here," she said, holding out the scissors. "You cut the bag off him, and I'll run him a bath."

"Why me?" I asked incredulously.

"Because you're the oldest, and you should have known better."

"Why didn't you stop me?"

Mom laughed. "I honestly didn't think of it either, but you're the brilliant one who came up with this great idea."

Brutus was running in circles in the snow, trying to figure out what the bulge was trailing along behind him weighing him down. Seeing him dragging his poop behind him put us into fits of laughter. Mother called him, and he came to her for help. Together, we held him still and cut the bag off him. Brutus loved his bath time, and ran around the house dragging his towel along with him until he was dry. We'd had almost as much fun as if we'd been out sledding… almost.

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