Brutus was the first Rottweiler I’d ever met and the standard to which I held most other dogs. Unfortunately for “most other dogs,” it was a very lofty standard. I’d say puppy Ray had suffered in comparison several times during our early months together. I met Brutus when I was in my early twenties and living in Chicago. He belonged to the guy who would eventually become my ex-fiancé and huge nightmare, but boy did that guy open my horizons to Rottweilers.
|Brutus with my sister and her schnauzer. As you can see, I’ve been dandy-fying dogs for decades.|
When I first met Brutus, I didn’t think too much about him mostly because he didn’t think much about me. By that I mean he completely ignored me until he saw me hanging around more. “The guy” had gotten Bru from a repo-man who used to pop the locks and have Brutus sit in the car he was about to repossess. And Brutus was good at his job. He was a dignified, stoic “little” guy until someone came near the car he was in and he was given the word to protect the car. I don’t remember why the repo-man rehomed Brutus, but “the guy” got Brutus when he was about two, so it’s a mystery by now.
Brutus was as close to perfect as perfect can get. When leashed (which was rarely) he was perfectly loose-leashed. When off leash, he rocked heal. I never saw him jump and he took snacks from a friend’s baby so gently that he barely got any in his mouth. Although we had two other Rotties, one of whom was more “mine,” Brutus was and always will be the sole reason for my deep and unwavering love for the breed.
I don’t think I can finish this story today.