Thoughts from Bryn's Mommy on her Retirement

This is right before I introduced the photographer to my Clobberpaws.

This past Saturday was Bryn's official retirement from performing and I want to share my side of this journey if you'll indulge me. The GARF cast was so incredibly kind to us, and we owe a debt of gratitude for the good wishes, hugs, and the gingersnaps/turkey leg-shaped stuffy toy.

We had no idea what we were getting into when I brought home that 5mo old Jack Russell in a greyhound-sized body, but Anne and I packed her up and took her to the faire the very next day, hoping we would at least wear her out.

What we actually did was create for her a home away from home, where everyone adored her. No one said she was too big or loud. No one worried that she was in the way, or that she would break something. Everyone there quickly became part of Bryn's Faire Family, and they loved her and made a fuss over her - and that is something every rehomed dog needs, I think. 

Don't get me wrong, Bryn knows that we adore her and that we would do anything for her. She knows that she is home and will never be given up again. She knows that even when she chews up the oven mitt or flips over her bowl like it's a table in a bar, we will always be there. But I think it was a new thing for her to meet people that sometimes, quite literally fell to their knees in front of her, hands either outstretched and trembling or pressed against their mouths in sheer disbelief that she was real.

I get that way sometimes too if I'm honest. I was looking at her yesterday and thinking of all the hands that wound their way down her back, fingers tangling in her fur as faces softened and eyes smiled right along in wonder and gratitude that they got to know her...and I was feeling indulgently lucky that I got to sit there on the sofa with her or have her nose nudge under my elbow while I'm driving. I am irreparably hers.

And while I'm not sure where my faire journey will lead me next, I know that it will be with a bit less stress because I won't be worried about her...is it too hot for her? Are her legs getting stiff? Will she forget her training and nip at someone? Is all of this too stressful on her elderly body? 

But as I was walking her out to the car Saturday afternoon, my heart soared and shattered into pieces. I overheard patrons as we passed and, for once, did not stop to greet them. "That's an Irish Wolfhound!" "Those dogs are amazing." "Such magical hounds!" 

"Oh, that one's name is Bryn, I met her here years ago. I'm so glad she's here again."

As much as I wanted to acknowledge that last one, I couldn't because it was impossible to remain in character and not be Bryn's human who frequently becomes overwhelmed with how incredibly fast the last eight years have flown by...

Thank you, my Bryndled Beastie, for all the times you tried to chew through my seatbelt on the way to Faire, and for all the chai lattes that you knocked out of my hand as we wandered the lanes. Thank you for the food I had to replace for patrons after you snatched it off the tables. Thank you for the raised ears and BOOFS at the jousting horses. Thank you for making me interesting, and for letting me show you off to hundreds of thousands of patrons at four Faires in three states.

Thank you. I promise to let you nap as long as you like now. You've earned it, Brynka-Boo, a thousand times over.