In Brantley's words
Meet Brantley 🐾
Distinguished Gentleman. Amateur Squirrel Inspector. Professional Grumbler.
15–17 pounds of personality, opinions, and questionable ancestry.
Good day. Brantley here.
I suppose we should begin with introductions, although I find the whole business of advertising oneself rather undignified.
I’m a mature gentleman of refined tastes, strong opinions, and impeccable manners. Mostly.
My paperwork claims I’m a Pekingese/Poodle cross. My foster mother has examined the evidence and declared this absolute nonsense.
Apparently, I’m a Shih Tzu/Poodle.
A Shih-Poo.
How unfortunate. I shall be having words with whoever came up with that name.
A gentleman fallen upon difficult times.
I once enjoyed a rather comfortable existence with my very own person, who sadly passed away. My world changed rather dramatically, and by the time I arrived in foster care, I wasn’t exactly looking or feeling my best.
My skin was terribly sore, I was hosting an unauthorized flea convention, and my breath could have stripped paint.
Absolutely appalling.
Following some much-needed veterinary care, flea eviction proceedings, a dental procedure involving the unfortunate departure of several upper teeth, and one rather personal surgical procedure, I’m pleased to announce that I’ve been restored to my former glory.
Well, nearly. I still have some reservations about the haircut.
The staff here are adequate. Occasionally intrusive.
My foster mother is a pleasant enough woman, although she insists on washing my face, removing debris from my fur, and occasionally picking me up without submitting a formal request.
Naturally, I voice my displeasure.
I growl.
When I first arrived, my skin was so painful that I was genuinely frightened of being touched, especially around my back end. I’ve made tremendous progress, but I still occasionally grumble when handling makes me uncomfortable.
I’ve never attempted to bite my foster mother, but my growling is my way of asking for space. I need someone who respects my boundaries, understands dog body language, and continues building my trust through gentle, patient handling.
A little courtesy goes a long way, you know.
Regarding the other residents…
When I arrived, I was apparently known for barking and lunging at other dogs on walks.
I was quite intimidating.
Or so I believed.
My foster mother has since informed me that a 16-pound ball of fluff throwing a tantrum at the end of a leash is not nearly as terrifying as I’d imagined.
Rude.
Initially, I found the other dogs rather overwhelming. But something extraordinary happened.
I discovered I actually LIKE them!
I now seek out their company and have even started playing chase with the resident Boxer.
A BOXER, I tell you!
Ridiculous activity. Absolutely splendid fun.
My daily routine.
I enjoy excellent meals, supervising household activities, following my foster mother everywhere, and inspecting the garden.
I’ve recently discovered squirrels, mysterious smells, and the joy of rolling in questionable substances.
Unfortunately, my foster mother insists on removing the little sticky bits I collect in my fur.
I provide a running commentary throughout the procedure.
I also enjoy curling up on the back of a comfortable chair where I can monitor neighbourhood activity through the window. Occasionally, I feel compelled to announce suspicious developments.
My foster mother redirects me, and I generally oblige.
Eventually.
I’m fully house trained, sleep beautifully in my crate, and stay there when my foster mother goes out. I do, however, announce departures and arrivals with some enthusiastic barking.
I enjoy short walks, although my leash manners around unfamiliar dogs remain a work in progress.
Car rides? Dreadful business. Far too much activity outside the windows, requiring constant vocal commentary. Travelling securely in the back seat with a limited view helps, but I wouldn’t describe myself as an enthusiastic road-trip companion.
Toys don’t particularly interest me, but food, comfortable furniture, and Sunday afternoon naps? Now we’re talking.
My preferred living arrangements.
I enjoy meeting new people, but because I can be sensitive about unexpected handling, I’d be happiest with adults or older, dog-savvy children who understand that I am not a stuffed animal.
I don’t appreciate being physically pushed or forced to move. Calm encouragement, patience, and a little negotiation are much more effective.
I could happily consider sharing my home with a compatible dog, provided introductions are thoughtful and nobody expects me to become a professional wrestler overnight.
A home without shared walls would be ideal, as I occasionally feel compelled to make announcements.
One last thing.
I’ve lost someone I loved. I’ve been uncomfortable, confused, and through more changes than a little gentleman should have to navigate.
But something rather wonderful has happened in foster care.
My skin has healed. My mouth feels better. I’ve made friends. I’ve discovered squirrels.
And I’ve remembered how lovely it feels to belong.
Underneath this slightly scruffy, opinionated exterior is a funny, affectionate little fellow who would very much like to be someone’s companion again.
I promise to follow you around, keep your chair warm, supervise your meals, and provide unsolicited commentary on neighbourhood activities.
I may even let you have the best spot on the bed.
No promises.
Yours, with cautious optimism and considerable dignity,
Brantley ❤️
P.S. Applications for the position of Permanent Human are now being accepted. Previous experience with eccentric gentlemen is considered an asset.
P.P.S. If you own a squirrel-free property, I shall consider that a serious deficiency.
