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| Tamara, Mommy, Bryn and Barley at CRF |
Today I heard the very sad news that my Bryn's brother, Barley, left for the Bridge. I hope he was met by his "big" brother Harley, our precious Heather Burns, and all of the majestic wolfhounds waiting in the mist.
In honor of this majestic boy, here is an excerpt from Bryn's book,
Clobberpaws, from Bryn's first meeting with her brother at the Carolina Renaissance Festival. We will see you again, big boy - now watch over your mum and dad because they miss you so much, and keep an eye on your little sister here. She has grown into the name Clobberpaws many times over, and I'm so grateful to have had time to spend with her big brother.
“I didn’t know I was a wolfhound till today, Barley. I just thought I was a greyhound like Daisy who was built wrong. I thought I deserved the name the greyhounds call me.” She hung her head.
“What name?” Barley asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Clobberpaws,” Bryn whispered. Barley was quiet for a long time, and then Bryn noticed that he seemed to be holding his breath. “Are you all right?”
The large male wolfhound burst out with a deep, rumbling laugh that made Bryn smile in spite of herself. “Clobberpaws? Really?” he managed in between heaving gasps and more laughter. “You’re not even a big wolfhound, Bryn! What if your paws were the size of mine?”
Bryn stared at Barley. “But I don’t like that they make fun of me,” she whined.
“Oh, Bryn, wear that name as a badge of honor,” Barley replied, still chuckling. “When those thin-skinned lightweights get in trouble, we have to step in and take care of them because that’s what we do.” He paused a moment as the humans stopped to pick up something that had fallen down and took advantage of the moment to swipe one of his own huge paws past his cheek, satisfying an itch.
“I did hear Mommy say that ancient Wolfhounds were the dogs of war…but is that what that means?” Bryn asked, eyes wide with wonder.
“Yep. Some of them could pull a man off a horse,” Barley said, his chest swelling with pride. “So Clobberpaws is pretty accurate, I suppose.”
They walked the rest of the way to their cars in silence as Bryn mulled over what he had said. Too soon, it seemed, Auntie Tamara and Uncle Marc were loading Barley into the car and getting ready to leave.
“I will see you again, won’t I?” Bryn called as Barley stuck his head out the open car window.
“Of course you will, little sister,” he replied. “Be kind to that greyhound sister of yours. She’s probably as unsure of you as you are of her.”
“Maybe.” Bryn scowled a moment and then beamed a wolfish grin at her brother. “Love you, Barley!” she called out.
“Backatcha,” he said, winking at her just before pulling his massive shaggy head back inside the car as Auntie Tamara rolled up the car window.
Bryn positively floated to the car with Mommy. She had a brother who thought she was normal. NORMAL! Not Clobberpaws. She was a wolfhound, and that was all right. In fact, that was just perfect.
