Hey Leroy Brown is back! 

Oh and I should warn you this is adult themed humor...

I was sitting in the clutter of my office watching the dust hang in the air like a fog off the ocean.
 
Just enough light was getting in through the windows to make this pest hole I called my office viewable.  It had been a while since the maid had shown her face around here.  The last time was in, never. Never could afford a maid or a decent secretary that would do dusting or even take a memo without getting upset.

The last secretary I had on the payroll was a bit high strung. Sexy as hell, but crazy as a man with no finger nails trying to scratch his butt. (Doing a lot of work with little satisfaction).

I looked over the stack of photos of the current case I had been working on. It was a simple stake out, take pictures of some middle aged rich broad in her nightgown while she seduced the pool boy or some other hard bodied young fool. After I got the money shot, I’d give the photos to her husband and then he would pay my fee and sometime in the future I would read about Mr. and Mrs. so and so getting a divorce. I hated every minute of it, but it paid the bills.

I used to be something. Back in the day I was a detective with the Milwaukee Police Department. I investigated some high end crimes and brought a few lowlifes to justice. That was before that dame ruined my life. Before I had to pack up the badge and moved across the country to Palm Springs, California to hopefully out run the scandal. Sniff around the wrong woman once and you end up in a small dirty office full of old memories, a half bottle of cheap booze and maybe a rat or two. I typed up the report that would accompany the photos (good shots of half-naked women aren’t hard to look at, one perk of the job) telling my client the who, what, when and where of the stakeout. I piled the report and photos together and stuffed them into an envelope. Tomorrow was the hand off date.

The plan was to meet my client at the diner over on Sunrise Avenue. He would get the pictures and I would watch him do what they all do, sit there with that dumb shocked look on their face and cry in their waffles and that thought reminded me I was hungry. I picked up the receiver on the phone and was going to order from the Chinese restaurant down the street and have them deliver the usual, white rice with fried wantons and something with pork in it. It wasn’t even good Chinese and I’m not sure if it was ever pork, but anything you wash down with scotch tastes like five-star dining.

I had just dialed the first couple of numbers when the door opened, letting in a blast of the hot desert air. Framed by the door and back lit by the sun was a vision of womanhood you only find in scotch fueled dreams.

She walked into my office one hip at a time, every movement sang of grace and good breeding stock. She was short, the top of her head about half way in between the top and middle hinges of the door. What she lacked in height, she made up for in figure. She wore a black and white dress that clung to her body like a second skin. Cut just low enough up top to hint at what was underneath and the hem dropping down midway between her knee and calf. The dress hid nothing; I could see every curve her body had. Curves that made a mountain road look straight.

Her face was covered with a scarf that wrapped around her head to also cover up her hair. It didn’t take a smart detective like me long to figure out that she was above my pay grade and she was hiding something.

I eased back my chair and with my voice doing battle with the squeak from the spring under my seat I asked, “Can I help you?”

“Are you the Private Eye Leroy Brown?” was her muffed reply. That was a stupid question; my name was on the door. The paint may be faded but it’s there.

Muffled through her scarf or not, I knew that voice. Then her scent hit my nose like a left hook. It was the smell of hot dirt and oatmeal. A smell that one never forgets and it could only belong to one person.

The dame that landed me in this spot of hell that I find myself in.

As we locked eyes and as she moved with all grace of a flying swan, she pulled down the scarf to reveil her face. The face that was etched into my dreams like hieroglyphics in the Pyramids. It belonged to Evans Lee McGilicuddy and whatever she wanted, this was not going to turn out well for me.

If you like more of Leroy Brown, you can catch him Hiding out on Facebook at:  Leroy Brown the Boston Terrier

Edited by Julie Bradford

Celebrating Herman: Goodbye dear friend Herman. Job Well done.

This is not my first walk to the rainbow with a beloved Boston. Several years back as a foster parent, I decided to be the home that took in those that were needing a quiet place to end their walk.
Herman will rest beside several others, in a special place in my backyard. Under the shade of an Oak tree.





No, it never gets easy to say goodbye.
For some it is downright frightening. Especially the feeling of helplessness. Then the guilt sets in… “I did something, I did not do something, I did not get him/her to the vet in time, I took him to the wrong vet. I did not spend enough time with her. I did not spend enough money to stop it in time.  I am a totally failure!"  If you did your best, then leave it at that.  You are not alone.  I have to push back the guilt each time, trying to second guess myself.  This dark feeling of guilt is an enemy that interferes with reality of our life.  Most of us do the best we can with what we know to do.

This is my passionate belief that we (humans and our beloved animal friends) should leave this side without fear, knowing there is a greater plan than we humans will ever be able to understand. We should not fear death, if we believe in God the creator. We know this passing is natural. We should celebrate the lives that pass before us, rejoicing that they will soon back in the arms of their creator.

Do not get me wrong, I am not judging the decision to try to stop the dying process: but it is what it is, we cannot change this. I personally believe this is many times a reflection on how afraid the owner is of their own death.

 Although I will greatly be missing him, Gracie Mae will even more. Even though I will be deeply saddened and will greave his passing, Gracie Mae may be more impacted. He was who she tucked away treasure (a bit of a treat)from, just so she could guard him from getting the hidden treat, even when she did not want it (a game? Not sure) Herman would do his darndest to sneak into her hidden treasure pile the moment he thought she was not looking, and steal it much to her immediate anger.  I know he gets a big kick out of doing this, beyond the taste of the food.

No longer will there be anyone to bother, or taunt into playing. No one to rush over and grab a bite from under his nose.  Gracie will miss the competition of finding before Herman, all the good stuff.

Please forget all of the guilt.  Remember this:  Whose death are you most afraid of? Yours? Or your beloved pet? If you are secure in the thought that everything that is born will die and this is a natural process, it is a little easier to deal with. We humans contrary to all the hype are not in control. 

Each creature has a natural life period.  There is nothing in this world that can change that. Not all the money, time, care or love can change the time allotted on this earth.  However, neither should we judge others on how they deal with impeding death, their own, their family members, friends, or pets. But I have seen several cases where the fear of an owners own death, caused a delay in putting down a suffering, untreatable pet, far beyond what most vets and experience pet owners would understand.  Thousands of dollars are being spent only to keep alive a dying pet, in pain, just to appease a fearful owner willing to go into debt to “save” their dog or cat.  

Do not get me wrong, I am not judging the decision to try to stop the dying process. But, it is what it is, we cannot change this. I personally believe this is just a reflection on how afraid the owner is of their own death.

Depending on the individual owner and pet, sometimes letting them die of a natural cause may be a more humane way.

But in Herman’s particular case, I have noticed his quality of life is quickly becoming very frail. The vet as assured me, there will not be any way of a heart transplant, nor funding for one, if this was possible. I have to look at what is best for Herman.

  Just now as I write this, I was stopped, Herman, having rested for several hours, wanted to go outside. I let him out in the yard to do his normal walk around the yard, with the goal of letting him do as much of the things he normally would do. I shadowed him several feet away, although from a distance, you would at this particular point, not think anything is wrong with him. I was watching him closely knowing at any moment he could collapse. The heat of the day is growing, it is supposed to be in the upper 80s here in north Alabama today. As he walked the yard he did his business and sniffed all the smelly places. Half way back towards the house his breathing was becoming labored, he was getting again close to the breaking point.

He was calm, I walked over, picked him up and brought him back inside, gently placing him on a dog mat near his favorite chair. Soon he gained enough strength and climbed the step placed there for his ease of getting into the chair. He would have been upset if I had helped him. He still wants his independence (just like some humans I know). He is resting again, calmly and as comfortably as one can be at this stage.

The hardest part of making this decision, is he is eating, drinking and doing his business normally. I just do not want him to die alone. Many days I am not home for hours. We will let our vet help make the final decision. If he agrees with me, while there is no pain, and is in my arms, would be the best time.

The most we can do is to influence the quality of life, happiness, good food, a sense of belonging, the satisfaction we get when we do the right thing, the acceptance that we cannot have it all, nor always create the change making everything do what we want.

Family and friends should be the most important influence towards a happy, peaceful, joyful ending for us all. For some, this kind of support is not there. Our pets can become our lifeline to our well being. They become our companions, our best friends and our children. We dedicate our life to them. We buy special furniture, beds and foods for them. We take them to the Vets and spend many times more on their care and medicines than we do on our own. Even after all of that, one thing still lingers out there: We cannot stop them from aging, getting sick or dying.





Just now, Herman climbed down from his perch and followed me into the other room just to be close, but did not want to he held, just close by. When I returned to the computer desk he went back to his perch in his chair. In the background I have soothing calming music for both of us. The other two dogs are sleeping.

The joy of making things happen, is such a powerful energy maker. This will seem weird to some, but I think that Herman just sparked an idea to me. Take this time in celebrating his life, to make an offer to give something away from our Boston Terrier Network Shop, in his name. I will think about this a bit to see what comes of this spark of an idea.





I remember when I first fostered Herman. He was an imp of a dog. A fun loving prankster, whose one mission in life, seemed to be to see how many ways he could come up with to escape. Even today, when his energy was strong enough to indicate he wanted out, there was that look in his eye, a smile spread across his face, “The door is open!!!! I am going to ESCAPE!” Off he went bouncing through the doorway, scampering past me, across the patio. By the time he had come to the grass, he was slowing down, as he was walking. His breathing was beginning to be heavier.

Oh how the tears flow. Selfish me. I cry not because you are now across the rainbow in peace.  No, I cry because I already miss the pitter patter of your paws across the floor. Your demanding bark telling me to get immediately to the door and let you in... The shape of your body sleeping in your favorite chair.  Tonight when there will be a smaller chorus of snoring. I will miss you the most.

Edited by Jan Mitchell

Welcome to “Leroy’s Comfy Couch”
A place where I’s get to share my wisdom on all things Boston type terrier related.

Today’s topic is: “How should human types pick the food us Boston's eat?”

Well, it all boils down to three things; taste, nutritional value and presentation. There might be a fourth thing, but we’ll cover that later.

So the first thing is taste. Any human type can go to the local grocery store, pet store or even that gas station on the corner and pick up a fifty-pound bag of dry tasteless beef by-product chunks and toss a hand full or two in a bowl, stick the bowl on the floor and we is gonna eat it.

So, I’s guess taste really don’t matter. Some of us BT’s has eaten some unmentionable stuff off the ground that would truly taste horrible if you tried it.

Which brings us to the second food picking requirement: nutritional value. Some of those bags of dry tasteless beef by-product chunks have the nutritional value of a desert rock. And I’s might add, the same teeth cracking crunch of those desert rocks. So the rule of paw is, if the first ingredient is something you human types would eat, stuff like real beef, chicken or pork, that’s the good stuff!

If you can’t pronounce the ingredients and them words look like something that could make a nuclear boom, NO! Bad human type! You don’t want us Boston type terriers poop’n Legos in the backyard cuz you fed us something that might only be missing one ingredient to make plastic.

Now once you has found a good natural and pronounceable food, you gots to think of presentation.

I’s ain’t talking about putting our food on a plate with a parsley garnish, drizzled with a wonderful gravy sauce and with a side of potatoes. mmm… gravy… Oh wait?  Where was I’s?

Presentation! Put our food in a dish that we’s can get our stubby little faces into. I’s hate fighting the depth of the bowl to get my grub.

Now to that fourth picking requirement, it’s got to be something we like. I’s personally don’t like the smell of fish, so I’s ain’t gonna eat it. So maybe I’s lied and taste does matter. Anyway…

I’s once tried a can of cat food, about vomited up my tail. So to recap, taste matters, it’s got to be good for us, we need easy access and we got to like it.

Don’t be afraid of doing a little trial and error, we’ll let you know when we like the food you picked out.

In case you was wonderin' what my dinner time meal consist of: I’s get ¾ of a cup of Canidae all natural, grain free, and for older dogs chunks, sprinkled with a little fresh cooked chicken.

That combo keeps all five of us Boston type terriers in the Wonder Pack fit, trim and as regular as a ticking clock.

 BOSTON TERRIER NETWORK COMMENT:

We are happy to have Leroy Brown join us and share his wisdom. Look for more of his wit and wisdom in the near future.  In the meantime, if you would like more of Leroy Brown, you can get your daily dose of his wisdom on his Facebook page at: Leroy Brown the Boston Terrier.

 Edited by Jan Mitchell