10/24/2023
Brownlow Newman, aka Sh****ad, Boo, Stinky, and Bocephus, passed this morning having finally succumb to an aggressive cancer which ripped through his body over the course of the last year. Stoic and stubborn to the end, he never let on that he was bothered by the tumor in his gut even as it spread throughout the rest of his body. He was the exemplar of a good dog.
A handsome dog, his coat was a brindled masterpiece of brown and orange stripes which children loved as they thought he resembled a tiger. That same brindled coat made him invisible in his natal environment along the banks of the rivers of East Tennessee and served him well in his favorite pastime of hunting muskrat. A tremendous judge of character, Brownlow was wary of riffraff, ne'er-do-wells, otters, any vehicle which possessed straight pipes (or no muffler at all), and let’s not forget trains.
Brownlow was the Andy Griffith of dogs. Sly and cunning, he employed a country dumb persona while bending all he met to his will. Brownlow was always holding the best hand; we just never knew it. Having come into our lives as the result of the passing of his original owner, Chris Kelly, I always claimed that Brownlow was never really my dog. I still hold that as true though I know for fact I was his human. His outright refusal to defecate in our yard relegated me to a decade of morning, lunchtime, and evening walks. Cold, rain, or snow, these were never short jaunts as Brownlow required at minimum a mile to find just the right spot.
Like all dogs, Brownlow served as a bridge to the chapters of my life. Acquired during the ‘divorce years’, he was the impetus for the completion of the fence in the backyard of the then new house. As it came to pass, an unnecessary task for a dog who refused to stray. He served as defacto mascot for more than a few of the boys’ soccer and lacrosse teams. And to all those that knew him, he was the quintessential shop dog at 3 Rivers Angler. He helped me see the boys through childhood, early adolescence, and finally young adulthood. Together, we were champions of the pandemic.
Though his age was not known precisely, Brownlow lived a long and glorious life full of jet boat rides, fishing trips, long walks with rolls in the grass and a weekly tradition of sharing a T-bone steak. He was my constant companion, a task he deemed requisite, and he will be sorely missed.
