About the same time we stopped going to the dog park, our neighbors decided to add a canine companion to their family. As Diana tells it, they wanted a docile dog who was easy to manage. They went to the shelter and picked one who they thought was the perfect fit—Brady.
Brady weighed about 70 pounds. His coloring was the black and tan of a German Shepherd, but his body shape resembled a Labrador Retriever. We never found out what breed he was.
And his personality, well, let’s just say that when Diana and her family went back to the shelter to bring Brady home, he was led out on a leash by an employee yelling, “Who’s here to pick up Wild Man?”
That was not what Diana expected.
When Alex left for college, I thought it was going to be hard. It wasn’t.
Alex moved into a four-bedroom apartment with three other girls. It was chaos.
Four mothers trying to be in charge of organizing and decorating. Four teenage girls about to get their first taste of freedom wanting to assert their independence and make their own decisions.
I just stayed out of the way. I carried boxes and did whatever Alex needed me to do. As soon as I was no longer needed, I left.
The next day, I called my brother who had just returned from moving his oldest daughter into college. I told him it wasn’t as emotional as I expected.
“I probably would feel that way too,” my brother replied, “if I didn’t think she may never live in my house again.”
That hit me like a ton of bricks.
Just today, I saw a reel about “The Rule of Lasts.” We recognize firsts in real time—the first time your child speaks or walks. But lasts often pass unnoticed—the last time you carry your child or read a bedtime story.
Or the last time your child lives under your roof.
That just happened to me and I didn’t even know it.
When my brother spoke those words, I thought about Alex. She was as motivated and independent as they come. She would want to move forward, not back home.
I hung up the phone, went upstairs to Alex’s empty room and just stood in the silence.
That was not what I expected.
Brady had a big yard in which to play, but it could not contain all of his energy. Many times, he escaped and led the family on a merry chase through the neighborhood.
Evan would chase after Brady shouting at him to stop. Brady did—just long enough to let Evan get a few feet away before taking off further down the street. He did it again and again, until Evan was fuming when he finally brought Brady home.
Diana walked Brady every day. He enjoyed the exercise. She enjoyed making mental notes on the comings and goings of everyone in the neighborhood.
But Brady needed more stimulation to burn off all of his energy. Fortunately, he lived next door to three willing companions—Roxy, Blitz, and Kal-El.
My pack met Brady on a Saturday afternoon in May. It was Memorial Day weekend.
The pack marched into Brady’s yard like they owned the place. Actually, Blitz did own it—as he owned everything in his mind.
Brady was a little uncertain at first, but he came downstairs to meet the pack.
Roxy said hello, but she was much more interested in the treats she smelled in Diana’s pocket. Once she was satisfied the treat supply was exhausted, Roxy went off to explore.
Kal-El was the perfect match for Brady in both age and size. They hit it off right away.
Kal-El was used to new dogs from the dog park, but Brady was a little more exuberant than the dog park dogs. He chased Kal-El, jumped on him, wrestled with him—his play was relentless.
When it got to be too much for Kal-El, Blitz came over. He was the peace officer, just like at the dog park. He put himself between Brady and Kal-El, or put a paw on Brady’s back as if to say, “Calm down.” And Brady complied—for a minute.
When the dogs were tired, my pack went home, but Brady’s day was not over. It was a holiday weekend and, at Diana’s house, that meant a cookout.
If Diana was famous for two things, they were her endless stories about the emergency room at Franklin Square Hospital and its sainted leader, Dr. Pipkin, and her cooking—holiday feasts throughout the year and, in the summertime, cookouts.
Her son, Jeff, fired up the grill and everything that came off was perfect. Diana made a huge assortment of appetizers, side dishes, salads and desserts. I still make many of those recipes to this day.
Dozens of friends, neighbors and family members would come and enjoy the feast.
This was Brady’s first cookout. He was very excited. He decided to keep this family.
So right in the middle of the yard, with dozens of guests looking on, he walked up next to Diana, lifted his leg and marked her as his own.
It was just Brady being Brady.
While Brady’s house got more full, mine got more empty. Alex went off to college, followed by Jake two years later.
I was right about Alex. She set her sights on Florida. I wasn’t sure about Jake. But he decided to pursue a Ph.D. at the University of Oregon.
I was happy for both of them. But I wasn’t prepared for the silence when they left.
Between Alex and Jake leaving for college, my wife left as well. While it wasn’t a happy thing, it was probably for the best. We weren’t getting along very well.
So it was me, Roxy, Blitz and Kal-El living in a house that was far too big for our needs and spending our afternoons in Brady’s yard.
Play dates became a routine. Brady got excited each time Diana told him his friends were coming over, and my dogs loved Brady’s house.
Brady had a big yard with lots of room to run. It was surrounded by large trees, and there were always plenty of sticks to chew. It became the new dog park.
Brady had an ample supply of toys, even if he wasn’t fond of sharing them. And, to Roxy’s delight, Brady had an endless supply of treats. And a great variety too—way better than the standard Milk Bones she got at home.
Best of all, Brady had a pool. Roxy loved to swim. Kal-El enjoyed it too. Blitz would go in if I was in the water or to fetch a ball he wanted.
At first, Brady was uncertain about the pool. Diana got him a life vest to help him keep his head above water. He didn’t get it in the beginning—raising his front paws out of the water and splashing them back in to propel himself before he learned the more efficient doggy paddle.
By the end of the summer, though, Brady was the canine Michael Phelps—diving into the water from the pool deck and propelling himself furiously through the water to get a toy he didn’t want the other dogs to have.
That was our summer routine for the next four years—during the time that Alex left, her mother left and then Jake left.
Then came my cancer diagnosis in 2015. I wrote about that here.
And just a week after surgery solved my problem, a call from Alex that changed our lives. Ewing’s Sarcoma. Chemotherapy. Surgery. More chemotherapy. Radiation. Then recovery, before moving off to Florida
Finally, when Alex’s treatment was over, the decision to leave the house in which Alex and Jake grew up and figure out what came next.
Through it all, there was Brady’s pool.
Diana worked at night and I worked at home, so afternoon playdates were part of the routine—swimming in the summer, romping in the snow during the winter and racing through the yard playing with toys during the spring and fall if it wasn’t too muddy.
Every day I would get a text.
“Play time at noon?”
And every day we would sit on the pool deck and watch the dogs. We would talk about the challenges in our lives. Lament about the local sports teams, and argue about who made the best cheesecake. (Mine was award-winning. Just saying.)
After an hour or two, I would bring my dogs home. They never went to the door. They lined up at the fence, looking up at Diana’s deck.
Diana would emerge from the house like the Queen of England walking out on her balcony to greet her subjects. In her left hand, she had a box of treats. With her right hand, she regally tossed treats over the fence to each dog.
Every day.
It got ugly once. Brady decided it was his yard and he was going to be the boss. He didn’t understand that Blitz was always the boss, no matter whose yard it was.
I was able to separate them, but Blitz and Brady were never in the same yard together again. Still, Blitz participated in the play dates by racing with Brady on opposite sides of the fence. Then Diana always threw him some treats.
Roxy, Kal-El and, later, Dakota continued to come over until we moved away from Bel Air in 2016. We visited a few times after that, but left Maryland for Illinois in 2019.
Today, my life is full in a way I never thought it would be again. There were no picnics on Memorial Day this year. Instead, we welcomed our second grandchild. I am not alone. I am part of a growing, loving family.
Really, I wasn’t alone when my family went its separate ways before.
Thanks to Diana’s friendship and hospitality and, of course, Brady’s pool.
This story is one of those that matter—the lessons from The Great Dog Pack that reflect what the Alex Lebovic Foundation carries forward.
If you’d like to support that work, you can make a donation, explore The Great Dog Pack, or visit the shop. And if you’d like to follow along, you can subscribe below to Stories from the Pack.
Kal-El Learns to Swim
Here’s some video footage of Jake teaching Kal-El how to swim in Brady’s pool. This was before Brady came along. But Brady’s family was a part of our lives for a long time.
Here’s another clip of the pack enjoying Brady’s pool. Roxy and Dakota loved the water. Dakota, in particular, never wanted to come out. Kal-El enjoyed it too. Blitz would swim if I was in the water or if there was a ball he wanted that he couldn’t reach from the edge.
Brady turned into the fastest swimmer in the pool, largely motivated by his desire to keep his toys out of the mouths of the other dogs.
I enjoy your stories soooo much.
I remember all of your stories. Keep writing.
Diana’s still cooking and miss you at the cook-outs. Stay well.
Pat
Thank you, Pat!
I still make Diana’s recipes. Glad she is still at it.