Memories of our longtime pet and partner, Brandy

Brandy Stanhope was born on the first day of 2008. She died March 4, an 11-year-old who lived a full life of love.

Brandy was my dog. And, for many years, my sidekick.

"My dog died" columns are standard issue for writers, including me. About 15 years ago, I wrote about the death of our beloved Vida. Virtually everyone with a keyboard will memorialize their pet. Heck, John Grogan wrote about his dog Marley and ended up with a novel and movie.

Brandy gets mentioned here not only because she was a great dog, but because she was a regular part of my column and occasionally "sat in" for me while I was "on vacation." A few readers have a passing interest in her.

Brandy's death wasn't a surprise. Like many dogs – particularly larger dogs (she was a Weimaraner, weighing about 70 pounds) – she stayed a puppy seemingly forever, then went through a quick descent. When Mrs. Brad and I moved from our longtime Suisun City home to Walnut Creek last summer, we left Brandy to live with our son and daughter-in-law, who bought our home. We all knew she was near the end, because she was almost 11.

In February, her health slipped. In March, she died – eight days after we drove up to see her. Brandy wasn't eating. She had low energy. She got old fast.

I took her to the vet for her final visit on a Monday morning and sat on the floor with her as she slipped away.

Then I went to my car, texted my sons and wife and cried.

For her first nine years, I took Brandy for daily runs – me riding a bike, her running alongside. People would ask what breed she was (a greyhound?) as we ran on Sunset Avenue or on the path along Highway 12.

I left her in charge of the house when I would go to work ("You're in charge, Brandy. Don't let anything happen and have a good day.").

Mrs. Brad and I took her on walks and took her on vacations, including some amazing trips to Trinity County when Brandy went on hikes into the wilderness, running double the length of our trek, since she ran ahead and behind constantly.

Our sons were teenagers when Brandy came along and in a short time, she endeared herself to them and their friends.

Brandy loved people. Desperately. She would howl when she heard someone come home, acting as if she'd been alone for months. Weimaraners are weird that way.

This is no breaking news: Dogs love us unconditionally. Dogs make us laugh and comfort us when we're sad. Dogs are tied to memories.

Brandy will always be the dog who was smart and desperate for attention. She will always be the dog who could run faster than I could ride a bike.

Brandy will also always be a dog that was smart enough to figure out how doors worked, despite our repeated efforts to stump her.

She's also the last dog we'll have. Our new home doesn't really make sense for a pet, so Brandy retires as family champion.

She was loving, smart, energetic and loyal. Now we know how she felt when we left her behind, except she's not coming  home at the end of the workday.

Brandy's gone and the old saying is true: It's impossible to forget a dog that gave you so much to remember.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.