Dear Journal:
I thought that I’d seen everything in my long life, until I watched Brother and Tiny play. I really shouldn’t have been too surprised at the idea. After all, Brother was the biggest Roman I had ever known, weighing over three hundred pounds and about six feet six inches tall. All of that mass being solid muscle.
Tiny, without a doubt, was the biggest dog in Rome, weighing in about the same as Brother (give or take a ton) and the size of a small horse. The two of them had been drawn to each other by mutual needs. For them, the world around them was too fragile and a little undersized.
Both Brother and Tiny were throwbacks to the age of the Titans. Remnants of a legendary past. So, the two of them could roughouse with each other as much, and as hard, as they liked without either of them being seriously injured. The furniture and masonry usually weren’t as fortunate.
One fine day I was sitting in a windowed alcove (enjoying a moment’s peace and taking in the sun), when down the hallway strode my brother, heading in my direction. He didn’t make it. Behind him padded a wrinkly behemoth, trying to be very quiet so as to stage an ambush.
The problem with Tiny sneaking up on anyone was manifold. Tiny’s feet were quiet. Tiny wasn’t. He mumbled and rumbled, breathing like a bellows. Also, Tiny wasn’t used to being sneaky.
Normally, he would just overawe anyone or anything he wanted to impress. So it was that Brother, apparently, knew Tiny was there all along. Suddenly whirling around, Brother stretched out his arms and yelled “BOOO!!!”. Tiny let out a loud “MEEP!!”, slamming to a stop, and scrunching up to about half his normal length.
I’d never seen Tiny surprised like that before. It was definitely a novel experience. Then I saw Tiny’s razor sharp smile. It was all part of their game. With a hall shaking roar, Tiny leaped at Brother, knocking him flat against the floor. Straddling his downed prey, the Mighty Mutt of Rome began to slurp Brother into submission.
Laughing, and trying to dodge that monsterous tongue, Brother began to tickle Tiny in the ribs. The mammoth mutt started giggling and fell over sideways. Brother then began to rub Tiny’s tummy, while Tiny rumbled with pleasure. After a few minutes of further play, the two Titans stood up and headed back in my direction. So much for ‘gentle’ play.
The reason Brother was coming to see me was quickly explained. Per my orders, the Legions had pulled out of Judea as well as most of the other eastern provinces. The former governor of Judea, it seems, couldn’t resist a final verbal shot at the people he was leaving behind.
As his troops marched out of Jerusalem, the governor turned in his saddle, looking back at his former subjects, and said, “See ya’! Wouldn’t wanna’ be ya’!”.
So much for Patrician humor. So it was that the legions began to return home and my headache got much worse. Only time would tell if my plan was a success or a catastrophic mistake. Anybody want my job?
The Roman View 
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