Mary Jo points out that a year ago today, Sept. 26, she brought Brodie home.

Which seems as good a time as any to post this:

This is a picture of our bedroom door. The little mark on it, on the left side, is about 12 years of The Greatest Dog Who Ever Lived butting his way into the room. (You can click on the photo to enlarge.)

It’s always taken some effort to actually get that door to snap shut. TGDWEL knew that. It wasn’t very often that he head-butted that door and it didn’t give way.

We find these little remembrances all the time, in the dog bed that still sits under the window in our room, in the living room, where we point out that the air conditioning grate is not being occupied. In something that Brodie does or doesn’t do.

But time moves on, and Brodie has grown into a major part of our family. He and Mary Jo are pretty much inseparable. When Luke gets home from school, Brodie’s waiting for him, and a wrestling match on the living room floor almost always follows.

When I’m alone with him, he’ll stick close, sometimes. Oftentimes, though, he’ll pull a Crash and stretch out on the steps, looking out the front door until Mary Jo or Luke returns.

At night, he’s on the foot of the bed until I get there, then I slip my hands under him and move him to the couch. In the morning, you can hear him unfold onto the floor and pad his way over to Mary Jo’s side of the bed, where he’ll nuzzle her hand until she gets up.

He has his quirks, for sure. Mary Jo’s taken him to some classes, where she’s learned he is “reactive,” which means, from what I gather, that he goes ape around other dogs. Spins like a little canine maniac. Barks menacingly sometimes. Pulls at the leash.

But, of course, Brodie is a pushover. Mary Jo has set up play dates with other dogs, and he runs around and wrestles with them but never, ever gets mean. And he’s never been mean with a person. (After a good 15-minute slap fight, he did nip at my brother Charlie’s hands a few times. He thought that was the game. Get the hand that was slapping at him. I blame that entirely on Charlie.)

He likes bananas. Which I find weird. He enjoys a good squeaky toy, which has had us scrambling for the mute button on the TV a few times. He’s emerging, at a little over a year old, with a real personality.

He evidently is scared of the water — he clung to the trainer for his little furry life in a pool class the other day, I’m told — and he loves the marble hearth on our fireplace. That’s his spot, especially when it’s warm outside.

Yeah, we’ve had him a year, and he’s worming his way into the family. Brodie is starting to make his mark.