Brownie, the Town's Pet

Here is a mystery. Who would know what this could be about?

A dog has his priorities, and they are not human priorities.

“May I eat it?” I frown on this during walks, as “it” is almost always decayed, covered in insects, or fresh feces.

“May I pee on it?" Usually the answer is yes; there are exceptions for unusually elegant plantings and porches where judgmental middle-aged females in housecoats loiter.

“May I smell it?” Yes, you may. Just don’t try to blow smoke up my skirt by eating it on the sly when my attention wanders.

During some smelling in the looming shadow of the town’s ancient waterworks, I noticed it. A tiny rectangular slab of stone, hard against the chain link fence. “Well,” I thought. “Here is a mystery. Who would know what this could be about?” So I took to the natural avenue everyone would in this day and age: the town Facebook group.

There was not a date on it. But the library will become important later.

Now the first appearance of actual information about the identity of Brownie.

But now Mr. Moore (who is in fact the current patriarch of the funeral home/ monument business that bears the family name) weighs in to dispute Brownie’s final resting ground.

Sonny Callahan! That name was familiar.

A book by Mr. Sonny Callahan. Now we’re cooking with gas.

(Spoiler alert: the controversy of three different locations for the resting place of Brownie’s mortal remains has not, as of this writing, been cleared up.)

I’m used to tracking down old books with no more information than I had been given here. You fire up Alibris or AbeBooks or BookFinder. If that’s not panning out, you search WorldCat or the Library of Congress.

Not a single hit.

I felt defeated, having to turn to Google. The task was made much worse by the fact that “Sonny Callahan” was also a prominent Alabama politician who swamped the first several pages of the search results. But finally I found another piece of the puzzle:

Callahan’s collection of Eastern Shore lore is appropriately titled “Treasured Memories of an Eastern Shoreman,” and was published in September 2016. The first printing, though small, sold out quickly. The interest, Callahan said, called for a second, though smaller, printing. Selling – and giving away – 250 books – doesn’t make it a New York Times bestseller, though it does offer testimony of the local interest in his recollection of Mid-Shore memories.

So there were only ever 250 copies, and he sold them or gave them away to friends and neighbors.

Anyone wishing to purchase a copy of Callahan’s book needs to contact him at 999-999-9999, or can buy one at his wife’s beauty shop, the Magic Mirror, on Deep Shore Road. Callahan also said he carries copies of the book in his car. The book sells for $24.95 and Callahan said he will personally autograph any copy sold.

(Mrs. Callahan’s hair salon was still operating in 2020, but no longer appears to be in business. I otherwise would have obscured this information.)

I had one more card up my sleeve. It sounded a little crazy, but…maybe I should have looked in the main branch of the Caroline County library, which is less than 1000 feet and a four minute walk from my front door.

Son of a gun. Maybe all this hyper-connectivity and having the knowledge of the world at the liminal boundary between our fingertips and our keyboards is missing a crucial element.

And here, at long last, is the story of Brownie, The Town’s Pet, as set down by Mr. Callahan:

“Just a little information I don’t believe too many folks know about the history of Denton. If you should have a few minutes and you would like to find out a little more about Brownie, just drive down Gay Street (one way) to Fifth Street. There is a fenced-in area on the corner, on your right, around the water tank. That’s where you’ll find out more about Brownie.

For many years, when Denton was a little smaller, Mr. Steve Browne used to walk all over Denton every day and deliver the mail. Somewhere along the way a little brown dog took up following him. It got so the little fellow would wait for Steve outside the door at the Post Office, to begin his daily routine of walking the streets of Denton, delivering the mail. A name for him was predetermined just by his mere existence, he was brown and he “adopted” Steve BROWNE, what could be more appropriate?

The exodus of Brownie will probably never be known as this was at least back in the early 1950’s and most of those present have gone to be with Brownie. If you walk over to the fence, next to the sidewalk on Gay Street, you should see a small tombstone with Brownie’s name on it. The boys who worked in the Post Office donated the stone to his memory.”¹

1. Francis “Sonny” A. Callahan. Treasured Memories of an Eastern Shoreman, p 62-63.