A writer friend of mine, Virginia Llorca, who I think is an extremely talented writer - you can see what I mean by catching her blog at www.dittymac.blogspot.com - recently wrote about having pets. It started me thinking about the pets in my life.
I grew up with a dog at my side, until I was about 16. I'm not sure where Stuff came from, but she was a mixed breed, mostly short-haired terrier. She was black and white and seldom barked. A small dog, but bigger than a chihuahua, and without the attitude. She was just a great companion. Where I went, she went. However, she used to go to a few places I didn't when I wasn't around. As she got older she started showing signs of the wear and tear that life causes in general. She had cataracts and walked stiff legged; sure signs of old age. Didn't eat well, and left occasional deposits here and there. Not enough to make you angry, but enough to feel concern for her, because she never did that before. All in all, she was about as good a dog as a boy could ask for. And, she was my dog. She tolerated my parents, but slept at the foot of, or on, my bed. No one else's; seldom her own.
Then, one day when I was 16 or so, I came home from school and things were different. Usually, Stuff would be waiting at the door for me, tail wagging, tongue hanging out just waiting to shower me with licks as she jumped up and pranced around. It hadn't been as joyous lately, but she still still gave it the old college try. She wasn't there. I walked into the kitchen and noticed her water bowl was missing. I swear that dog could count. Towards the end she like her water with ice in it. Three cubes. Not one or two, or four, but three. She would stand there waiting for you to put in the right amount. If you didn't, she would look at you with her head tilted to one side, as if saying, "Come on, you know how I like it. What are you doing?" When you finally added the third cube, she would step over and take a few licks. Then look at you again as if saying, "Thanks," and then she would resume drinking until she was happy. Then she would wander over to her bed and lay down, her nose tucked under one paw and generally nod off to sleep. Like I said, she wasn't home when I got there.
So, I asked my step-mother, (I would normally have said mother here, but over the years we'd grown estranged, and after she died I took to calling her my step-mother when I talk or write about her.) "Where's Stuff?"
In just a matter of fact way as I said those words, she answered back. "She wasn't doing well, so I took her to the vet and had her put down."
At first, what she said didn't register. When it did, I blurted out, "Without telling me? You had no right to do that. She was MY dog, not yours. Where is she?"
My step-mother, not really taken aback, but surprised I guess, simply stared at me for a minute before answering. "The vet has already taken care of the body," she said, and then turned back to what she was doing.
"I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye." Anger isn't a strong enough word to describe my emotions. Rage comes to mind. Knowing I might do or say something I would regret, I left the kitchen and went to my room. I was to angry to cry, besides, I was a foolish teenager, and it was a fact that big boys didn't cry in those days. So, I just harbored dark thoughts and in general talked to myself about appropriate punishments for people like her. I think that was the start of our troubles. Her indifference to my feelings.
When our conversations resumed sometime a few days later, she figured it was over and actually brought the business about Stuff up. Didn't apologize, but came up with what she thought was a good reason for her actions. I just shut her out. I went through the motions, but I realized at that moment, our relationship would never, ever be the same. She never apologized to me for anything that she ever did, even when she was egregiously wrong. And that's a shame.
Next time I'll tell you about the time I came home as an adult and my wife greeted me with this comment. "Either the dog goes, or I go! Pick one!" My answer is legend in our family.
I grew up with a dog at my side, until I was about 16. I'm not sure where Stuff came from, but she was a mixed breed, mostly short-haired terrier. She was black and white and seldom barked. A small dog, but bigger than a chihuahua, and without the attitude. She was just a great companion. Where I went, she went. However, she used to go to a few places I didn't when I wasn't around. As she got older she started showing signs of the wear and tear that life causes in general. She had cataracts and walked stiff legged; sure signs of old age. Didn't eat well, and left occasional deposits here and there. Not enough to make you angry, but enough to feel concern for her, because she never did that before. All in all, she was about as good a dog as a boy could ask for. And, she was my dog. She tolerated my parents, but slept at the foot of, or on, my bed. No one else's; seldom her own.
Then, one day when I was 16 or so, I came home from school and things were different. Usually, Stuff would be waiting at the door for me, tail wagging, tongue hanging out just waiting to shower me with licks as she jumped up and pranced around. It hadn't been as joyous lately, but she still still gave it the old college try. She wasn't there. I walked into the kitchen and noticed her water bowl was missing. I swear that dog could count. Towards the end she like her water with ice in it. Three cubes. Not one or two, or four, but three. She would stand there waiting for you to put in the right amount. If you didn't, she would look at you with her head tilted to one side, as if saying, "Come on, you know how I like it. What are you doing?" When you finally added the third cube, she would step over and take a few licks. Then look at you again as if saying, "Thanks," and then she would resume drinking until she was happy. Then she would wander over to her bed and lay down, her nose tucked under one paw and generally nod off to sleep. Like I said, she wasn't home when I got there.
So, I asked my step-mother, (I would normally have said mother here, but over the years we'd grown estranged, and after she died I took to calling her my step-mother when I talk or write about her.) "Where's Stuff?"
In just a matter of fact way as I said those words, she answered back. "She wasn't doing well, so I took her to the vet and had her put down."
At first, what she said didn't register. When it did, I blurted out, "Without telling me? You had no right to do that. She was MY dog, not yours. Where is she?"
My step-mother, not really taken aback, but surprised I guess, simply stared at me for a minute before answering. "The vet has already taken care of the body," she said, and then turned back to what she was doing.
"I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye." Anger isn't a strong enough word to describe my emotions. Rage comes to mind. Knowing I might do or say something I would regret, I left the kitchen and went to my room. I was to angry to cry, besides, I was a foolish teenager, and it was a fact that big boys didn't cry in those days. So, I just harbored dark thoughts and in general talked to myself about appropriate punishments for people like her. I think that was the start of our troubles. Her indifference to my feelings.
When our conversations resumed sometime a few days later, she figured it was over and actually brought the business about Stuff up. Didn't apologize, but came up with what she thought was a good reason for her actions. I just shut her out. I went through the motions, but I realized at that moment, our relationship would never, ever be the same. She never apologized to me for anything that she ever did, even when she was egregiously wrong. And that's a shame.
Next time I'll tell you about the time I came home as an adult and my wife greeted me with this comment. "Either the dog goes, or I go! Pick one!" My answer is legend in our family.
Was that step-mother Peggy? I only met her once or twice I think but I am pretty sure the Llorca's were unaware of this undercurrent.
ReplyDeleteIt is interesting how patterns about pets change over the years and the current generation has no idea. My mom complained about a pet and my dad put him in a box and attached it to the running car exhaust. We were told he went to live on a farm. Louie was always bringing dogs home and after a few weeks I 'd say"out" and it would be gone. I didn't ask questions but I am sure he didn't build a cardboard gas chamber. Nowadays I put up up with the most outrageous stuff without a thought of "getting rid of it". Learned from living with Lou I'll bet.
When we were living next door to the Llorca's the undercurrent had only started, but wasn't to the stage I talked about in the story. It cot even more ugly than that by a long shot. The dog business was just the beginning.
ReplyDeleteBy the way, I was there the day Louie Sr. took a litter of kittens, about 5 or 6 of them, and made a gunny sack gas chamber and hooked it to the car exhaust, exactly like you mentioned. You're right. Today someone might be going to jail. Two kids killed a couple of kittens here in Vegas and are facing jail time. Cooler heads, hopefully, will prevail. So many bleeding heart liberals out there. Send a kid to jail, save a cat. I wouldn't dream of harming an animal that way today, but I don't think these kids are destined to be serial murderers either, unless of course, they learn that in jail.
When I was 16 my older sister died suddenly. After a very short stay with my father whom I had been estranged from most of my life I went to stay with my grandfather and your dad and Peggy at the end of my junior year. I did my best to keep my head down and did well in school. Peggy would pick me up every day after school. She was strict but mostly fair. Then came my senior year. Seems she disliked everything I did. She became a travel agent for guilt trips. I picked the wrong college. I didn't need a summer job. Why would I be seen with such and such their whole family was trash! Are you really going out with your friends again this Saturday? It was relentless. My grandpa did his best to run interference. So did your dad. They took me on a summer trip out west. We got to see you and Cathy and the kids. It was a great trip and I really thought things were getting better. Then 2 weeks before I was to leave for college, my friend Lori and her family were in a horrible car accident and I was first on the scene. Her mother and father and twin sister Lisa (17) were all killed. Her little brother Danny (9) and sister Erin (3) were killed. Lori and her sister Cindy (12) were rushed to Springfield to the hospital. The funeral was held at our high school. The saddest thing you ever saw. Seven coffins each with their picture on top. Largest to smallest. Lori broke down. She had been allowed to leave the hospital just for the funeral. Her sister Cindy had a broken back and was still strapped to machinery that turned her every hour while she screamed. Lori's boyfriend Scott sat with her while I held Cindy's hand. Days turned to a week. Then I called Peggy. She asked what I hoped to accomplish by sitting up at the hospital all day. To her I was committing some crime I did not even understand. I told her I was just trying to be a good friend. She said "well since you know all the answers you don't need me. Your stuff will be on the porch." I went back to Licking two days later and found my clothes on the porch. I put my things in my car and went to stay with friends until I left for college the following week. I could live my whole life and never understand people like Peggy. I am sorry about your dog.
ReplyDeleteWow, I never knew any of this. After she died, Dad didn't talk about her at all. I know her life was rough growing up, but she couldn't rise above that. I always felt I had to 'earn' her love, instead of getting it unconditionally, as it should have been. Honey, don't feel alone, I did live my whole life without understanding her. It wasn't the fact Stuff was put to sleep. It was time, but it should have been MY decision, and I should have been the one to take her to the vet and be there to say goodbye. That is only one of several stories I have. I could write a book...ha ha.
DeleteHave you been thinking about the power sources and the tiles whom use blocks
ReplyDeleteI wanted to thank you for this great read!! I definitely enjoyed every little bit of it and I have you bookmarked to check out the new stuff you post.
VFD distributor in Bhubaneswar
Its look like you are doing so much of R&D for these Site content, I really appreciate you very much.
ReplyDeletepediatric dentist in india