My Drooly Baby

When I got my house in El Paso, I finally had room for a dog. And I knew just the kind of dog I wanted. A German Shepherd. Typical cop dog. I looked at different rescues, breeders, but it wasn’t until one of the MPs I was working with was about to move and couldn’t take his second dog that I ended up with my first canine family member. An 11 month old Boxer-American Bulldog mix.

My first thought? That’s not a German Shepherd. My second thought? What did I get myself into?


When he came home with me his name was Harley. He had a Harley Davidson collar and matching leash. Did he answer to that? No. Not even close. He didn’t answer to anything. So I thought up a new name for him, gave him some treats, and he started answering to Brooklyn. (Why Brooklyn? Because of a joke I’d seen about “you know you’re a bowler if…” with one of the 10 being “you have a dog named Brooklyn.” Ever since I thought it’d be an awesome name for a critter.) As he was still a puppy, he was a hyper little terror.

He ate the garden hose. I bought another so the grass wouldn’t die, and a wheel for it to spool up on. He pulled it off and ate that one as well. The next hose I put within a small fenced in area of the back yard, thinking he couldn’t get it with chain link separating it from him. I was wrong. That was when I gave up on the idea of grass. He ate two plastic patio chairs. He ate his bed. He ate part of his dog house. Once he figured it out, I couldn’t give him rope toys anymore because he’d have them in pieces within minutes. I had to resort to buying the tough rubber Kongs that were designated for “Extreme Chewers.” And even that ended up with gashes in it!

I finally understood why the tend to dock the tail on boxers. His never was, and that thing is a club! Seriously, he could knock out the reigning heavyweight champ with that thing. It doesn’t seem to phase him at all. He gets going, knocking it into corners, walls, the washer or fridge and never seems to feel a thing. Sometimes he even gets his whole body into the tail-wagging and hits himself in the face with his own tail. What a goof.

Destruction and painful tail aside, he’s made me a softy for the “bully” breeds. He’s sweet and affectionate (just ask him for kisses!), and he would often rest his chin on my lap. Unfortunately, he would do that right after he took a drink of water, so he’d end up drooling half of it onto my leg because of his jowls. But seriously, who could say no to (or stay mad at) this face?



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