Meeting the new foster: Big Boy Bruce

It’s only two weeks into the new year and I already need a vacation. 

 

Besides spending the whole first week catching up on work and stressing about finishing stories on time, Jack and I decided to foster another dog. Instead of two puppies this time, we went with a 120-pound St. Bernard named Bruce. As big in size as Bruce is, he has an even bigger heart. He’s a giant cuddle bug, but if he’s going to be a “lap dog,” it takes both my boyfriend’s and my laps to hold him when he climbs onto the couch with us. 

 

The only problem is, he sheds like I’ve never seen a dog shed before. You look on any surface in our little apartment, and there’s dog hair. We’ve been wearing the same clothes for the past four days because he just gets his hair and slobber all over us and we don’t want to get all of our clothes that way. We look like dogs ourselves with the amount of hair that clings to us. We go to take a bite of food, and there’s a hair on the fork. I go to use my computer, and my keyboard is half hair. 

 

To keep the hair at bay, we’ve kept the doors of our bathroom and bedroom always closed so we can sleep in peace. Then one night as we were getting to bed, we found out that Bruce can open doors: He wandered into the bathroom and subsequently the bedroom where I was reading. He was so excited, I felt bad to kick him out again. Needless to say, we now lock the doors. 

 

But because of something in his past, Bruce has pretty bad separation anxiety. He can hear us in the bathroom or bedroom and will whine when he tries the door and finds he can’t get in. He also loves to shove his face into ours, and will occasionally block our way of moving unless we pet him. He shoves his body in between our legs as well, and it’s like riding a pony. 

 

Long story short, I’ve been spending a lot of time with a hairy oaf full of love, which means waking up early every morning to let him out in the cold, and worrying about leaving him and how often he needs to go out. I always thought having my own dog would be easy, since having dogs growing up was never much of a hassle. But I understand now how much I never really did before. Like my dad who wakes up early every morning to take care of the dogs so the rest of us can sleep in. Or my grandma, who does the same with her dogs and even chases after them to take care of the poo. I think I’ve used more doggy bags in the last couple of days than I have in my entire lifetime. 

 

It’s also funny to see how people and other dogs react to Bruce. Because he’s so big, a lot of the dogs fear to go near him, even though Bruce is the best example of a gentle giant. I don’t think he is even capable of harm. A lot of people think he is adorable and love to pet him. He loves it too, making him something of an attention hog. With him, I’ve gained the “big dog privilege” of walking alone after dark. No one will come at me in the city at night with Bruce as my companion(not that I was worried about it anyway). 

 

I love Bruce, but I can’t wait to clean this apartment. 

 

My Determination: “Honey, it's just a dog. Millions of people have dogs.” - Alice Newton, Beethoven