In May of 2017, I went to BlogPaws in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. This post was originally supposed to go up shortly after, but for whatever reason it didn’t. When I heard that Leroy had passed, I just knew I had to share this story.

I have something to confess to you all.

I’ve been wanting to say something for a long time, but I was nervous. I was afraid you would think differently of me, but now however, the dog is out of the crate so to speak, so I feel it’s time to tell you.

I’m afraid of big dogs.

I know, right? I have big dogs. WTF!

I haven’t always been afraid of big dogs. As a child, we had a German Shepard whom I adored. His name was Wolf, and despite being bitten by him twice, (my fault both times), I was not afraid of him.

If I try and pinpoint when I developed this fear, I’d have to say it was a combination of a friend’s Rottweiler and oh so many training classes with so many big, untrained dogs.

Jessie was our friend’s Rottie, and she was a big girl, she was quite friendly and loved people. Except she didn’t like people petting the top of her head, which no-one told me, and which is also exactly what I did the first time I met her. Her response was to bark at me, which was more than enough to freak me out.

As for training classes, well if you’ve been in a training class with unsocialized dogs, or reactive dogs, you pretty much know where I’m going with this one.

It’s not like I hate big dogs or anything, it’s more like I avoid interacting with them as much as I can.

When I started looking for a new puppy after my Beagle mix, Roxanne went to the bridge, I specifically told Hubby I wanted a smallish dog, forty to fifty pounds to be precise. Well we all know how that worked out, right?

As my daughter lovingly pointed out, “But Mom, you do know YOU have big dogs, right?”

Yes, that’s true, my dogs are on the large size, but they aren’t giant and they sort of grew on me.

So why am I telling you this now? Well as I mentioned, the dog is out of the crate, and I had to out myself.

For the BlogPaws conference in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, I was planning on sharing a room with Jen, from My Brown Newfies. The idea that she would bring one of her dogs never crossed my mind. So, I never said anything.

Jen couldn’t decide if she was going to fly or drive. She waffled back and forth. For months! Finally about ten days before the conference, she texted me and said, “I’m 90% sure I’m flying.” Which apparently in Jen speak means, “I’m not actually flying, I am changing my mind at the last minute, and I’m driving. Oh, and also, I’m bringing my 150-pound dog. So commence freakout.”

Yeah, the Friday before BlogPaws, she texted me and told me she was driving, with Leroy. I had a full on melt down. I won’t lie. I cried. I was scared. I called my friends. I cried some more.

I had questions. Lots of questions. What if I had to pee in the middle of the night and got up and tripped over him on my way to the bathroom? Did she expect me to take him out? Clean up that massive dump he was sure to take? What if he had diarrhea? Would I have to fake pick up poop, like Jen did?

I thought about not going. I thought about trying to find a hotel in the area that had a room available.

The one thing I never considered, was telling Jen that I was afraid of her dog. I DID NOT want to steal Jen’s joy at having Leroy with her.

It took me about 12 hours, frantic calls to my dear friend Lori (God bless her for answering after that first hysterical call), and lots of talking with anyone who would listen, but I finally decided I’d go to BlogPaws and put on an Emmy winning performance, of not being afraid.

The best laid plans, right?

No wonder it took Susan Lucci 19 years to win that damn Daytime Emmy.  That acting shit is hard.

I took one look at Leroy and with absolutely no finesse at all,  I blurted it out to Jen, who, to her credit, did not smack me upside my head, or scream at me to “Get out”!

His paw was as big as my hand!

Instead she asked why I didn’t tell her. So I told her. And do you know what she did?

She said I was going to have to watch him…WATCH HIM sometimes. Like when she went to pee, or get a beer. (Do you know how many times that is? I’m not going to spill secrets here, but let’s just say, one goes in and one comes out.)

So watch him I did. I watched him get sniffed by dogs that were clearly uncomfortable. I watched him with small dogs, I watched him with people, I watched people plop right down on the floor next to him and love all over him. I watched him in crowds.

Nothing to see here…just a lady and a dog.

And do you know what I saw?

Leroy was impeccable, unflappable.  In fact, by the time Jen won her Nose-to-Nose Award for best humor blog, I was feeling a bit cocky, a little bit like a Leroy handler.

Funny fact about Leroy. He decided when he was going to move, and it was usually exactly when you didn’t want him to. Like when Jen got up to get her award and he decided to follow her. (No worries, I’m a bit quicker than he is, so I got him before he went too far.)

After the awards we went to an after party. After being their about half an hour, Leroy decided he’d had enough and he got up and walked to the door. I was tired, so I followed him. I grabbed his leash and together we walked out the door. He walked down the hall and took a left towards the gym, so when Jen came out a minute after us, we were nowhere to be seen.

THAT WAS FUNNY.

SO…here’s the really cool thing. Unlike a lot of people with dogs, Jen actually knows her dog, and she knows what he’s capable of. And she also knew, that when I blurted out my fear, he was the perfect one to help me overcome it. And he did.

Oh, and my worry about tripping over him when I got up to use the bathroom?

Question: Where does a Newf sleep?
Answer: Wherever he wants

In memory of Ch. Bydands Badd Badd Leroy Brown, June 6, 2008 – January 30, 2020. The baddest good dog in the whole damn town.

Ch. Bydands Badd Badd Leroy Brown

Run fast, run free sweet boy, thank you for the wonderful memories.