So I can only suspect that I love this crazy kid. Within a few minutes of being in my house, he lifted his leg on the doorway into the living room. I admonished him and he appeared genuinely apologetic. He just didn’t know. And I wasn’t the least bit angry. The next morning, he walked out of the bathroom (he likes to be by my side during most of my mundane tasks like brushing my teeth) and lifted his leg without thinking. Again, he apologized and I wasn’t upset.
Day three, when he vacated the bathroom while I blow-dried my hair (the one task he’s not up for being around for), he was out of sight for a bit longer than I suspected, and my spidy-senses started tingling. A short inspection of the house revealed that he had tagged a bookcase in my office. Luckily, he chose the bookcase with glass doors, so no literature was destroyed.
For him, where to take a shit is the most monumental decision of his life each and every time. He even changes his mind mid-squat, so I had no fear of him pooping in the house. But then, also on day three, shortly after our afternoon walk while I was outside talking to a fencing contractor for fifteen minutes, he quickly chose my bedroom bookcase in which to take a dump.
After he flooded my kitchen, I invested in a placemat for his water bowl because the ratio of water that ends up in his face versus on the floor every time he drinks is about 3:7. I also have a washcloth handy in which I wipe his face so it doesn’t act as a mobile waterfall on my hardwood floors.
Just this morning while I took a shower, he chose a cardboard box in my room to chew a hole through rather than destroy one of the many toys he’s allowed to eviscerate.
His farts are deadly. Even he leaves the room after laying a good one.
None of these things anger or annoy me. His goofy smile, his joyful spirit, his need to snuggle all make up for the things he doesn’t yet know and the things that are intrinsically him.
I initially thought I’d keep the name Bruno, since that’s what he was used to at the shelter. However, after only one evening with him, I knew it had to change. With the rescue being in Hemet, I was leading this campaign to get him adopted, and a name like Bruno for a pit bull isn’t a great start. It also simply didn’t fit him. He wasn’t a brute; he wasn’t even big (well, maybe he weighed a lot, but like a brick; he’s only up to my knee); he wasn’t mean. He wasn’t any of the things you think of when you hear or read the name Bruno.
Shakespeare posed “What’s in a name? Would a rose by any other name smell so sweet?” Well sure, it would, but if it was called a “muculent sore” I’m pretty sure people wouldn’t be excited to get one for Valentine’s Day. Words describe an entity through and through, and Bruno was an inaccurate description of this gangly, goofy pocket pit bull.
My favorite summation of him is what a friend said after watching him romp around the yard: “He’s like a ballet dancer that’s got all the moves but none of the grace.”
He falls off the couch, he bangs his head into the refrigerator, he slides across the floor into the wall, he leaps up onto the deck, he leaps off the deck and tumbles onto the ground, he chases a toy, only to miss it and get it back on the rebound. He falls into my lap to chew on a toy with his ass in the air and his front legs collapsed backward. He slides off the couch headfirst and upside down until he’s completely under the coffee table. It’s like his limbs aren’t fully attached yet and the soul inside him hasn’t yet figured out how to coordinate the earthly body it’s inhabiting.
I enlisted the social media for nomenclature suggestions, and after much deliberation and trying out words, Bruno was officially renamed Tucker. Now after only a few days of calling him Tucker, I can’t imagine him being a Bruno. He’s a Tucker: with his sweet goofy smile, his loving snuggle, his playful romp.
Now I just need to find his forever person. I’ve said that I’ve only fallen in love with a couple of the dogs I have met on their journeys. Well, Tucker goes in the record books. He’s going to break my heart when he goes. So, the sooner he gets a home, the better.
A friend of mine pointed out his physical resemblance to Tia. It honestly hadn’t entered my conscious mind, but maybe that was the initial attraction. Looking back at old photos though, I don’t see many similarities. Whatever had drawn me to him also drew Jen in and his shelter champion, so I don't think it's a personal thing. There’s just something special about this kid. He’s got a big life ahead of him, and I need to find it for him.
It’s crossed my mind that maybe he is meant to be mine; maybe he is my partner in crime. He loves other dogs, he’s affectionate, he’s eager to learn and please, and clearly he’s made himself at home both in my house and in my heart.
But.
There’s always a but.
I have a bucket list. It’s like the list of things you want to do before you settle down and have kids. I’m not procreating, so it’s my list of things to do before I get my canine life partner. I’d like to see Europe before I’m fifty. I need to work out of the country at least once, if not many times. I want to travel the world—and you can’t do that with a pit bull. (Or maybe you can, and then write a book about it…)
For now, I’m following my gut. It got me where I am on this path right here, right now, and I have no regrets. The campaign has begun—the quest to find Tucker’s person. I believe he or she is out there… or right here… but no, I’m going with out there. He’s had his photo session, I’ve adorned him with the adopt-me bandana, I’m taking him to adoption events, and I’m making it known that this special, handsome, funny, smart, and loving boy is looking for his forever home.
If you think you're his match, drop me a line. I will warn you that I have high standards for Tucker’s life partner, and I won’t let him go to just anybody. I believe Tucker has a great life ahead of him and that the universe is going to lead us to his co-pilot. Just as my instinct told me to take Tucker in, I know my instinct will tell me when it’s right to let him go.
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