The Little Man Who Wasn't There - Living With Brownies

I'm not sure if Grandmother brought the brownie tothat he had selected us to be his family, but she was
live in the coal bin when she came to stay with us.cautious.
Perhaps he was a built-in feature of the house at 145"We don't know anything about him," she said. "He
Madeline Street in Pittsburgh. I do know that he wascould belong to someone on the very next street."
there until we moved away, and I imagine that he still"Then why doesn't he go home?" I countered.
bedevils the inhabitants of the house - unless theyGrandmother thought for a moment, then went to
have replaced the old coal furnace with athe kitchen closet and drew out a burlap sack. "We'll
new-fangled gas heater.put this on the back porch and leave the gate open.
All winter long, I could hear him skipping about in theIf the dog wants to stay, he'll let us know by coming
coal bin as I played above him in the living room,into the yard and sitting down."
never straying far from the hot air register whereFrom his distant spot on the cold ground, Rex
the furnace updraft warmed me on very cold days.watched Grandmother place the sack on the porch.
My invisible friend, Dahlia Brown, heard the brownieNo sooner had she come inside than he bounded
too. We never crept close enough to talk with him,through the gate and onto the porch, his tail wagging
but when we surprised him by descending the cellartentatively.
steps very softly, we could glimpse the shadow of"I guess we'd better give him something to drink,"
his peaked cap flit across the cement block wall andshe mused. She found an unused bowl, filled it with
disappear into the depths of the coal bin.water, and placed it by the doorway. He lapped it
Each morning, I faithfully served him a saucer of colddry.
milk, as Grandmother instructed, and when I returnedClose up, we could see the outline of his ribs. "That
later in the day, it was lapped clean as a whistle.dog needs some nourishment," Grandmother
Grandmother was an expert on brownie behavior.declared.
Having had numerous brownies in her background,She located scraps in the icebox. As soon as she put
she knew that families who treat them with kindnessthem out, he consumed them. By the time Father
and share their homes peaceably will be rewarded byreturned from work, Grandmother and I had decided
good luck.that the dog deserved to come indoors. Mother was
The only time the brownie expressed displeasureless certain. The dog was scruffy from his bout with
with our household was when he was compelled tothe elements, she pointed out. There was no telling
share it with a dog. The first pet we acquired waswhat kinds of germs he harbored. Mother regarded
Pal, the while collie puppy. Pal seemed friendly enoughgerms as her mortal enemy. At other times, mere
the day he arrived by crate from my aunt's farm inmention of germs silenced further discussion of
West Virginia, but it did not take the brownie long towhatever subject was at hand, but now that my
convert him into a monster.chin was trembling and tears were welling in my
For neatness' sake, Mother tried to relegate Pal toeyes, she looked to Father for help. With none
the basement at night. As soon as she hustled himcoming from that direction, she placed her hands on
down the cellar steps and closed the door, leavingher hips and ruled that the dog could not enter our
him in the dark, the brownie began pestering himclean house without a bath.
unmercifully. By morning, Pal was in a state ofSmiles reappeared all around. Father had little trouble
perpetual animation. The moment the cellar door wascoaxing the dog into the cellar through the basement
opened, he raced out of the depths howling anddoor. With some effort, he lifted Rex into the
began throwing himself about the living room as iflaundry tub and Mother, clad by now in her oldest
trying to shake off an invisible little man riding on hishouse dress, scrubbed him down. After Rex dried
back.next to the warm furnace, he proved to have a
The larger Pal grew, the wilder he became. My fathersleek, handsome coat, and after a few weeks of
built a rugged, twelve-foot fence surrounding oursteady meals elapsed, his ribs disappeared and he
backyard. It could not contain Pal. So distraught wasacquired a distinguished air, not unlike the of the royal
he after his nightly encounters with the brownie thatcoach dogs from which he was descended.
he ripped down the fence and fled destructivelyRex was a kind and gentle dog and would not have
through the neighborhood. The third time he escaped,harmed the brownie for anything, but the brownie,
he found a friend in Reo, the localautomobileremembering how Pal had invaded his sanctuary, was
mechanic.petulant. In his insidious way, he worked on Rex until
Reo chewed great chunks of tobacco. I mistookthe morning Mother opened the cellar door and found
them for Hershey chocolate bars and eagerly noddedhim frothing at the mouth, sad of eye, as if to say,
in assent each time he offered me a "chaw." He was"The brownie did it."
happy to provide a corner for Pal in his greasyOur next dog traveled all the way from Parkersburg,
garage and could not understand why we had troubleWest Virginia on the B&O baggage coach. He was a
with such a calm creature. We knew that thebirthday gift from my Great Aunt Jen who visited us
brownie was the problem.twice each year while her hair transformation was
Our next dog, a beautiful Dalmatian, came to ourbeing renovated at Joseph Horne's Department
house when I was six. Rex first appeared one lateStore.
winter evening when my father was taking out theA "grass widow" (Grandmother's refined euphemism
ashes. Rex approached him timidly, wagging his tail.for "divorcee"), Aunt Jen was oblivious to the clock.
"Hi there, fellow," my father said, before returning toShe routinely sat up all night devouring books on
our warm house.astrology and underlining key prophecies. On this
Snow was still on the ground, but it had begun tooccasion, she telephoned us at three o'clock in the
wear off the earth in random patches, and it was inmorning to announce that a puppy was on the way.
one of those barren, muddy spots, on a strip of land"He's full-blooded," she assured my drowsy father.
next to the alley that Rex spent the night. My father"His mother was a full-blooded Scottie and his father
noticed him there again the next morning andwas a full-blooded Bulldog."
thought it strange the dog had not gone home.Aunt Jen never did understand that her assessment
He was there the following night...and the next. Byof the dog's lineage was flawed, but despite his
now, my parents were certain that he had beenmixed parentage Bruce was primarily a black, bonny
dropped nearby on purpose and needed shelter.little Scotsman whose only traits inherited from his
During the Depression, money was scarce and fooderrant sire were short hair and bowed front legs.
for such a large dog cost dearly, perhaps depriving aFrom the day we brought him home from the train
needy family of basic meals. Father believed that thestation, Bruce refused to stay in the cellar with the
dog's owners delivered him to our neighborhoodbrownie. He earned his freedom by scratching the
hoping he would find a good home there.door and chewing a chunk out of the top step.
During the day, Rex sat forlornly in our alley avoidingHorrified at the thought of having to account for
the ash man, as well as the iceman and the bakerdamage in our rented house, Mother relented and
who hawked their wares at the kitchen doors facingoutfitted a box for Bruce under the Chippendale legs
the alley. Grandmother and I watched him from theof the kitchen stove. There he found peace, just as
comfort of our overstuffed chair. I was convincedthe brownie was granted solitude.