a story of love and remembrance
AFTER we lost Penny, I promised myself I would never subject myself to the kind of pain I had experienced for many months following the day we had to enter her into rest. Lying next to her as the veterinarian administered the injection, I was ready to die with her. I couldn’t imagine life without our Penny. My heart felt heavy, almost hollow. Never again would I give my heart to a pet.
Penny’s arrival in our family was the result of Michael and I sneaking off separately to visit the Animal Rescue League Shelter in Brewster. After losing our two older, male dogs who had died one week apart, we had promised each other that we would never subject ourselves to losing a pet again.
When Worm and Clover died, we stumbled around in a stupor for weeks after burying them side-by-side on our property. Pink and white azaleas grow above their resting place. Every year, when “the boys bloom,” we have a springtime reminder of our incredible dogs as if we needed one. Yet despite the pain and promises to shield our hearts, a year and a half later, we finally fessed up. We’d been sneaking off on the sly to the shelter. Might as well do it together, we reasoned.
On that bitter, cold January day, with a northeast wind biting our faces, we hurried inside. A cacophony of barks and meows greeted us as we walked past cages of hopeful animals. Someone had brought in a mother and her litter of puppies. Some of the mutts were all black, while others had patches of brown or gray on their faces. Off in a corner, waddling around looking for mama, we noticed a puppy with fur an odd shade of gray, sort of light purple.
, “Looks like a lot of Labrador retriever in them,” Michael said, turning to me with a headshake. I arched my eyebrow toward the attendant.
“Who knows?” she answered in disgust. “This is what happens when people don’t neuter their dogs.”
Michael moved closer to the kennel to see if he could determine the sex of the pups. “There’s a female,” he said, pointing to the lilac puppy. Michael had a look on his face that reminded me of the way he looked at me on the day we married. The next thing I knew, she was cuddled in his arms, watching him with pale blue, nearly white eyes. God forgive me; she was the weirdest looking little thing. Not ugly, just odd. With those strange eyes, the poor thing looked blind. Then he put her in my arms, and I felt a warm wave sneak up and breaks over my head.
“Do you want this puppy?” I asked my husband as she began licking my fingers.
“More than anything,” he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. A few weeks later, when our puppy was old enough to leave mama, we brought her home.
Since I lived part of the time in Boston, where I held a demanding job in the financial district, Penny was Michael’s full-time responsibility, a role that he relished. Each day that we were apart, he phoned me with Penny updates. Every milestone was a cause for celebration. If she held her business until morning, that was a biggie! If she obeyed “come” and “stop” and “stay,” she was a genius.
Eventually, Michael taught her to obey hand signals, which I found impressive.
“How do you do that?” I asked during one of our walks where he demonstrated her obedience to his signals.
Michael laughed. “She likes cottage cheese and salmon.”
As time went by, Michael and I agreed that Penny understood everything we said. “She has a 400-word vocabulary,” we bragged to anyone who would listen. As much as Penny loved me and would snooze peacefully in my study while I wrote, our girl preferred to be working with Michael. A real Cape Cod builder’s dog, she rode proudly in the passenger’s seat of his truck. She loved checking out job sites, where she was free to take a run through the woods or along the dunes until she heard his signal to return.
Michael and Penny were the best of buddies, driving along the winding roads of our beautiful town, munching on snacks. They picked up the mail, bought lottery tickets, rented videos, and liked each other’s company. He was so proud of her accomplishments, reflecting on his hours spent training her. Dutifully, she would perform her high jumps to get a stick in front of clients. “Air Penny,” one young man squealed as she jumped five feet in the air. For years, Michael and Penny shared weekday lunches in beach parking lots, usually followed by a run on the beach. At low tide, Michael swore she could run across the clam flats at thirty-five miles an hour. I didn’t doubt him.
Our adult children loved Penny Poodle, as we sometimes called her. She walked in Scott and Christine’s wedding procession. Melissa adored her purple dog; she trusted Penny’s, unconditional love. Whenever she called, her first question was always, “How’s my dog?” Our grandchildren, Minna and Kaia, were slathered with kisses from their faithful friend. Although they went on to have dogs of their own, Penny held a special place in their hearts.
Michael and I structured our free time together to almost always include Penny. We walked with her in the Beech Forest, put her in the back seat at the Drive-In Theatre, walked her, ran her, praised her, and loved her with no restraint. We reveled in the pure pleasure she gave to us. There would never be another Penny.
Although her mother looked like a Labrador retriever, we weren’t sure of Penny’s genetic makeup. Dog DNA testing had not yet arrived. However, one summer evening, when I chose to catch a flight back to Provincetown instead of fighting traffic, we got a tip. As Michael, Penny, and I walked out of the tiny airport terminal, a man with a thick Southern accent approached us.
“What’s a Catahoula hawg dawg doin’ this far north?” he drawled.
“Could you spell that?” I asked.
“Well, ma’am, that there’s the State dawg of Loos-ee-anna!” We went home, and sure enough, there was some Catahoula leopard dog in our girl! Most likely, it was from her daddy, sashaying around Cape Cod, then finding a Yankee pooch in heat. He was probably from the summer folks who bring their animals to Cape Cod to run wild and free and sometimes leave them here..
When I took early retirement, also known as when I got fired from my job as a partner in charge of a profitable division in an international consulting firm, I promised Penny that she would spend the winters with me in Florida. “Papa will come every few weeks,” I promised. Now it would be my Penny time, just me and my girl. Wouldn’t that be great? She’d become a little arthritic, already had a knee replacement, so an easy Florida winter might be just the thing to soothe her aging bones.
It was not to be. Cancer took her within months. We said, “Never again,” and we meant it.
Michael and I traveled, found pleasure in being with each other, and enjoyed our comfortable life. We watched glorious sunsets, ate junk food at the movies, and spent as much time as we could with our loving families. Granddogs from both of our children, Gogo, Max, and Bella, all gave us pleasure. We loved our sisters and brother’s dogs and cats, but not so much that we would ever open our hearts up to suffer as we had when losing our beloved pets. Nope, never.
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Three years after we lost our Penny, I received a charming email from our daughter. Melissa wrote that she had been at her friends’ home and was helping them look for a dog to keep their elderly, deaf dog company. They had found a blind dog that would be ideal. Now, Helen Keller would live with Ray Charles, they exclaimed. Perfect!
There was an attachment to her email, which I presumed to be a photo of Ray. I almost didn’t open the jpeg file; I was watching a movie on television. Still, I was curious to see the dog that would be joining our neighborhood. With one click, my life changed. Here was a photo of a scruffy, brownish dog wearing a rainbow lei around her neck. I looked more closely at the little dog. She was sitting proudly and crazy as this sounds; she reminded me of the way my grandmother had sat for a portrait. ‘Olga’ was a rescue, being advertised for adoption on Petfinder.com. Oh. Uh uh. No.No.Noooo..
While I yelled at Melissa over the phone and railed, “How could you do this to me?” I couldn’t stop looking at the dog’s photo. Her huge brown eyes were boring into mine, and God HELP ME, I knew she was mine. That was my dog. She was waiting for me to take her home. Where had I been? Her message to me was clear. We needed each other.
Thoughts swam in my head. I had to run this by Michael, and he would be aggravated, but this dog had chosen me, and I had to grab her before someone else would. Obsessed now with the fear of losing her, I filled out the online form, called the number, provided my vet information, and pleaded to have the dog. I emailed her photo to Michael and waited for his phone call. Ever the softie when it came to animals, he said: “Well, she has a lot of soul in her eyes.” Bingo, I thought. Never say never.
She’d been named Olga by her rescue organization, who had pulled her from a high-kill shelter in Miami. There was little data on her, except that she was very young and pregnant. It was unclear how she had arrived at the shelter, but given her pregnant condition, she was not a candidate for adoption. When the founder of newly-formed ‘Pekes and Pals’ visited the Shelter around Christmastime, they found her in the backroom, curled into a ball, terrified. She would be euthanized later that day.
Whatever it was, that face, those eyes, her quivering body, something told the Pekes person that she should save this dog. She would be their first rescue. Two months later, after being aborted and then fostered by a loving mom, dad, two little girls, and their standard poodles, Olga was ready to be placed for adoption.
After passing inspection, including a home visit the day after I applied, I was notified that she would be mine. I said I would call her Stella, using the “l” and “a” sounds but wanting a prettier name. I called Cathy, my best friend from our childhood in Maine, to see if she would come with me. After all, Cathy had been with me when I bought Pedro on our way home from Green Lake. Pedro was a genius of a dog, loyal, friendly, and devoted to my family.
The night before we were to travel across Florida, I received a phone call.
“We feel there’s something you should know,” said Kelly, her foster mom. My heart sank. She continued, “Stella was pregnant when we got her. Although she has been aborted, her teats are full.” Kelly paused, then continued. “They hang down.”
I cracked up. “So do mine!” I answered. “ We will be there by one, can’t wait!”
Kelly wept when I took Stella from her arms. “She was such a mess,” Kelly explained.
“Not to worry,” I said. “I am going to love this dog like there is no tomorrow.”
And I did, for over fifteen years.
Stella stretched warily across the back seat of my car. She did not move as we drove across Alligator Alley to our home on the east coast of Florida. Once she arrived at her new home, she dutifully did her business outside and never had an accident in her fifteen years except for once when she was sick. Still wary, Stella ate her dinner and then studied me, eyes locked on my every move. She wandered around, exploring, sniffing, always looking back at me. She had already determined that I was the source of her food.
It was still light out when I suggested that we go to bed. She followed me up the stairs, then into my large bedroom. I placed a bowl of water in the adjoining bathroom, showed it to her, and waited while she took a drink.
“This is your new bed,” I said while lifting her onto our king-sized Tempurpedic. The little dog looked confused as her short legs sank into the four-inch foam topper. At the lower corner of the bed, I had made a special place for her by stacking two down-filled pillows and placing a small, soft toy for her to snuggle. Stella climbed onto her throne, settled down, exhaled, and looked at me. “That’s where you will sleep every night,” I said. She thumped her tail a few times, stretched her body, and closed her eyes. Already she trusted me. Our lovefest began in earnest.
Although I found Stella to be extraordinarily beautiful, with her soulful eyes, shaggy coat, and mohawk hairstyle growing on her head, some were not so enthused. “A hot mess” was a term sometimes used as people laughed when I raved about her physical beauty. Yet, everyone agreed that with her gentle nature and devotion to me, she was, indeed, a great dog. “She’s like an old soul,” more than one friend said.
Stella was an Alpha female and boy did we ever have that in common. She put up with little nonsense, especially from her nephew down the street, a tiny Yorkie Maltese. Gogo was an army of one. He rarely behaved and was a real prankster. Stella would have none of this. She liked nothing better than to grab his leash and drag him down the street when he was acting up. When they were together, which was often in Florida, Stella would slap her paw on his back to straighten him out. She would have been a great mother.
When I was finally able to be a full-time partner to Stella, I began to see things that I’d been too busy to notice. I have learned that a good dog, treated with love and respect, is both a mind-reader and a great communicator. When Stella and I got together, I had just retired. She and I would start new phases of our lives together. Now I could finally write a new novel, and Stella would be living the life of a snowbird, snowdog – whatever.
They say it’s risky when you adopt a stray; you don’t know what the dog’s been through, yadda, yadda. I had adopted Clover from a shelter, and Worm had appeared as a stray that adopted Michael. Those two were both fantastic pets. And Penny was a goddess! With Stella, ours was indeed a love story – I’ll let her tell it.
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I don’t like other dogs. When I was a puppy, a dog about my size did something to me that made my stomach grow bigger. That made my first dad angry, so he put me in his boat, pulled up to a dock, and he left me there. I waited for him for a long time until it started to rain hard, but it didn’t matter. I thought I heard his boat a couple of times, but he didn’t come back.
The rain was cold, and I began to shiver. The next thing I knew, someone picked me up and took me into a house. A lady wiped my fur until I stopped shaking. She gave me water and some delicious chicken. Then she took me for a ride in her car, which I liked, but the place she took me to was pretty bad; it was a madhouse. Dogs and cats were carrying on, screaming and crying. No one sounded happy to be there. A guy put me on a cold table and felt me all over. He said I was going to have puppies and that no one would want me. That was not true.
Starting with the Pekes lady, lots of kind people helped me until it was time for me to meet my forever family. There were Kelly mom and Greg dad, their little girls, and their big dogs. They made me feel good again. They told me that I would stay with them until they found someone who would love me, love me, love me. And I would love that person back with all my heart. That’s what they said to me. Then finally, she came for me.
The lady with the soft body has a lot of names: Mom, Mummy, Charlotte, Sweetie, Honey, Baby, Carlita, and Ma. I guess that’s why she calls me lots of different names. I am Stella, Stella Bella, honey, darling, love child, best girl, gorgeous, little mouse and most beautiful dog in the world. My favorite name she calls me is Little Mummy. Oh, and sometimes she calls me Nushka, which is what she called her dog before me. That dog was Penny, and she called her Panushka sometimes. My sister, Melissa, calls me Banana, my dad calls me Stella Bella and my aunt calls me Stell Bell, Bell, Bell. I know, it’s confusing.
The Intracoastal Waterway is at the end of my street. At low tide, Mummy lets me run on the beach. I love racing across the warm sand. The first time I ran, Mummy was worried that I would run away from her and not come back. Seriously? Why would I leave a place where the food is excellent, the belly rubs first class, and the ear scratching is fantastic? Anyway, to make Mummy happy, we worked out a signal. She flaps her arms like a bird, and I run back to her. It makes her so happy every single time we do this. “Good girl,” she says.
A few times at the beach, I’ve heard a sound like my first dad’s boat. I stopped to take a good sniff of the air and watched as the boat went by. One time, Mummy asked, “Did someone you know have a boat?” I pretended I didn’t hear her. Then she pretended she didn’t ask. “No way we’re splitting up this dynamic duo,” she promised while giving me a good ear scratch. I agreed.
Mummy and I have to babysit my nephew, Gogo. His real name is Fortunato Jerace, but my sister, Melissa, calls him Gogo. He is tiny, speedy, and very naughty. He goes potty inside; he bit the UPS man; he even pooped in Mummy’s shoe. Everyone says he gets away with being bad because he is so handsome. He wins beauty contests, whatever that means. Mummy laughs when she tells people, “On Halloween, Gogo dressed in drag as Marilyn Monroe and ended up in the Palm Beach Post” I have no idea what any of that means, but it must be a big deal. I only know that drag is what I do when he doesn’t walk down the street next to me, and I have to take his leash in my mouth and yank it until he behaves.
I am just getting settled in my new home when mom tells me we are going to our other home. We will have to fly there, she explains and starts walking around, raising her arms in the air, and making funny sounds. “You and I are snowbirds,” she says. I cock my head and look at her. I am sure she knows that I am a dog.
Next thing I know, Mummy puts me in a comfy bag called a carrier with one of my new toys and tells me to go to sleep. Mummy pushes me into a dark space, and all I can see are her feet. Whoa, we are going fast, and then I don’t know. I fall asleep until Mummy wakes me up. “We’re here!” she says.
My forever dad is waiting for us, Mummy explains, as we walk outside. She reaches into my carrier and fluffs my hair. “There’s your daddy!” She is excited, I can tell.
Mummy and my forever dad kiss each other, and I can tell that he likes her. Then Mummy takes me out of my carrier. “Are you ready to meet the world’s sweetest dog?” Mummy asks. Daddy puts his hand on my head and scratches it. Wow, I thought. My daddy’s a big guy. I sure hope he likes me, too. “She’s not bad,” he says when he looks at me. Bad? No, bad is not a good word. I know bad. Uh, oh. I snuggle closer to Mummy as we go for a long ride to our other home.
We have to stop so we can all go potty. Mummy goes inside a big place, and my forever daddy takes me for a walk. I dutifully do my business, and he says that I am a good dog. Phew! Then he picks me way up high, so his nose and my nose are pretty close. “You really are a cutie,” he says, smiling. Then he rubbed my head and scratched behind my ears. Right then, I knew he would be a good daddy.
“Welcome to Cape Cod, Stella!” Mummy was so happy. The car stopped riding, and she opened the door. Right away, I noticed the fresh air and new smells.
“You’re home, little cutie,” Daddy said. I liked it when he called me a little cutie.
There were new smells everywhere! This house was different from our other home; it was huge! At first, I thought it was weird that my food would be up the stairs, but when I saw that I could see everything outside from inside, it wasn’t confusing anymore While I ate my dinner, Daddy sat in his chair. When he got up, I tried it out. It was so soft, filled with pillows, and perfect for an after-dinner snooze. Mummy patted her hand on what she called an ottoman. “This is your seat, Stella,” she said. “Look, you can see outside.”
Wow! From here I could see everything! Grass, trees, flowers and –whoa, I think an animal ran by. Then Daddy pushed open a big door like the one we have in our other home, and we were outside, high above everything. The smells were fantastic. I sat down and just sniffed and sniffed.
“Come on, let’s see how she likes the beach,” Daddy said.
Daddy carried me from the car and set me down on the sand. It was cold, not like at the Intracoastal, but it didn’t matter to me. This beach was amazing! Deep sand and there was just me and Mummy and Daddy. I ran for a while, but when Mummy flapped her arms, I came right back.
“Good dog,” Daddy said. You betcha!
Like me, Daddy had a lot of names. Mummy called him, Michael, honey, sweetie, darling, Migo, baby, Papa, and handsome.
It was a long day, and I was ready to sleep. Now I just have to find our bed. I sure hope Daddy knows that I sleep with Mummy.
Umm, so does he! That’s okay. He is kind to mom so that we can share her. While he is in bed, I stay near Mummy’s feet, but when he got up, I move closer to her in case she wants to scratch my belly.
In case you were wondering, the place we live in is called Truro on Cape Cod. It is way different from where I was born. Mummy takes me everywhere, and there are many beaches and different kinds of water next to them. In the morning, Mummy takes me in the car to Corn Hill. She likes to follow me onto the path and stretch out her arms and legs while I make potty. When I poop, Mummy picks it up and puts it in a little bag. She always says, “That is a beautiful poopie!” Or sometimes she just says, “another perfect poopie.” I don’t know. It isn’t a big deal. It’s just something I kind of have to do. And it’s not just Mummy. Other Mummies and Daddies pick up their dog’s poopies and save it in a bag. Maybe that’s why we dogs have to look out and protect them. I mean, no one picks up their poopies.
After we all eat dinner, they like to take me to a different beach that is so big you can’t see where it begins or ends. It smells different from my morning beach, and there are big waves that scare me. I don’t want to walk near those waves. I let Mummy know by rubbing against her leg, and then I just have to look at her until she understands. “That’s okay,” she says. “We’ll just walk next to the dunes.”
A dune is a giant pile of sand. It’s a great place to sniff and then sit with your family. Sometimes I sniff things that don’t smell like dogs. I don’t like their smell. Mummy sometimes knows what I’m thinking. She says, “you probably smell a coyote, or maybe a fox. “I don’t know coyote or fox, but I know I don’t like them.
Like I already told you, I do not like dogs. Ever since I was little and the bad thing happened, I prefer to keep my distance. When mom and dad take me out, and we run into other dogs that live near us, I just ignore them. The big dogs practically drag their moms to try to sniff my butt, and the little ones act like they are afraid of me. Boring. Give me a good cat like my cousin, Ducati, any day of the week. I have dog cousins who live with my brother and his family. A lot is going on in their house. So when I go there, I stay in the corner under a table unless it is time for me to eat. Don’t get me wrong, they are nice dog cousins, and I love all the people in their house — and the bed that we sleep on is so comfortable! I just like to be close to Mummy all the time, that’s all.
Mummy and Daddy do something they call work. Daddy builds beautiful houses for people. Mummy sits at her desk and writes stories all morning. I have a particular spot in her study where I just snooze while she is working. Then it’s lunchtime and my time. We take rides to the post office, the food store, and sometimes, we stop, and she buys food that she eats in the car so she can share it with me. She gets a clam roll, and I get a cheeseburger.
I have a perfect life. Mummy and Daddy are always nice to me, feed me tasty food, give me baths, take me for rides, and bring fresh water in case I need a drink. And Mummy tells lies for me. As I said, I don’t like dogs. When we are walking on my beach, and somebody comes with a dog, I just raise my lip and show my teeth. Then I growl, low and mean, as scary as I can make it. Mummy lies and says, “Stella is a little grumpy today.” It always works.
Did I tell you that Mummy has a bad hip? Or I should say she had a bad hip because she went to a hospital and got a new one. She has been away from our house for a long time. I missed her and worried so much until Daddy brought her home to feel better. Every day, a nice lady comes to rub her legs, and Mummy says it is lovely. Then a nurse comes to check out Mummy to be sure she is getting better. When the nurse left, I got back on the bed and just pressed myself as close to Mummy as I could so she would know that I would always take care of her. Daddy was great, checking on Mummy all the time. Aunt Peggy came every day and sat at the pool “with one ear toward the bedroom.” Aunt Jade showed up with a funny hat on and bought delicious food made by Angels. Aunt Helen and Aunt Jane both brought something called deli from Barry’s. I never told Mummy, but Daddy ate most of it. Oh, he would toss me a little corned beef so I would keep his secret, and I did.
Like me, Daddy doesn’t like loud, sharp noises. In the summer, there is something called the Fourth of July, and Daddy does not like it one bit. He yells at the lights in the sky and says, “You oughta see Willie Peter!” And he gets mad, and he smells scared, especially when one of the booms goes, eeeeeeee – boom.
Mummy closes all the doors and windows and turns the tv up loud so he can’t hear the noise outside. I sit next to him, but I am scared too. When I was tiny and lived with the boatman, there were a lot of loud noises in the sky—too many. The air would boom, boom, boom, and bright lights hurt my eyes. Then the sky opened up, and if I was outside, I got wet, really fast. Boom, boom, boom – that’s what it does on the Fourth of July. I try to stay really close to Daddy when he takes me out for a quick potty. When we get into bed, he keeps moving around, snoring, moving, talking, and then Daddy screams. He jumps off the bed and gets down on the floor. Mummy wakes up and rolls to the edge of the bed to be near him.
“You had a bad dream, honey, a nightmare,” she says. Daddy is curled up on the floor. So I go down my bed stairs to lie next to him. He pulls me close and says, “Don’t worry little one. I’ll protect you.”
Did I tell you I have a Grammie? She’s Mummy’s mummy. Grammie lives a long ride in the car away, and when we go to see her, she gives me chicken from the soup to eat. Grammie likes to sit next to me and rub my back. Sometimes, when Grammie is making food, she talks to the stove. Other times, she talks to no one in particular, but when we are alone together, she talks to me. She says, “Charlotte always brings home nice dogs.” Then she tells me about Pedro and Zsa Zsa, Mummy’s dogs before Clover and Worm, and Penny.
Grammie said that Pedro was a genius. He liked to walk the rabbi’s wife to shul, then wait for her to be through praying. Then Pedro would walk her home. He also understood makes of cars. “He would never chase a Chevrolet.” I hope you know what she means because I am clueless. First, Grammie tells me how marvelous Pedro was, next she says he chased cars! How dumb is that? Mummy taught me to stay out of the road so I wouldn’t get hit by a car and have a giant boo-boo, or more. I guess she likes me more than she liked Pedro.
After a forever time of my happy life, something happened with Mummy and Daddy. I remember it was when the flowers come out of hiding and smell nice. Mummy and I had just come from a visit to see Grammie, so she decided to surprise Daddy at his job and take him out to lunch. Mummy left me at home. Something bad happened. When Mummy came home, her body was shaking like Daddy’s, and mine does on the Fourth of July. I rubbed next to her leg, but she didn’t pat me. Mummy sat in Daddy’s soft chair, and I jumped up next to her, then waited for her to scratch my ear. She didn’t. Something was different with Mummy. When she finally spoke to me, she said, “Daddy broke my heart.” Then she patted my head. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It will be okay.” She lied.
Daddy had to sleep in the other room, so I had Mummy in the bed all to myself. Everything was different, though; she didn’t sleep the way she used to. Sometimes she cried while she was asleep, so I licked her face with my tongue to dry her tears. She pretended that she was okay, but I knew she wasn’t. I’m a dog, and dogs know, we just know. I started to worry about Mummy because I could feel her heart beating differently. I started licking my paw to stop worrying so much, but it didn’t seem to help. Then Daddy went away for the whole summer. When he came back, he wasn’t really home. I knew that Daddy didn’t want to be with us anymore. Worse, Mummy knew it, too.
All the smells around me were different. Mummy smelled like sadness while Daddy’s smell confused me. I could smell his warm heart when he looked at Mummy, but he had another smell, too. I later figured out it was the smell of risk, and it smelled old. Daddy didn’t seem to care that he was losing the love and caring from me and Mummy. He wouldn’t be around to watch out for Mummy. He told me, “Take care of Mummy,” and just like that, he gave all his responsibilities to me. A dog.
Needless to say, I rose to the occasion. Mummy and I developed a new way of speaking to each other that was what she called “brilliant.” I could tell by a turn of her head, the way she raised her eyebrows or even just the way she looked at me what it was that she wanted or thought that I might want. We melted into one. Slowly, Mummy began to smile again. She started singing to me again, we walked more, and we went to the movies in the car once or twice in the summer.
Although Daddy didn’t stay in our house anymore, he came to see us sometimes. He would bang hard on the door to let us know he was there. The loud noise upset us. We lived quietly with soft music and the sounds of the birds and the wind and the waves. He didn’t need to bang.
To show Daddy that I was taking care of Mummy, I pressed my body close to her. I waited for Daddy to call me sweetie, little dog, or any of his other names that I like to hear. Instead, he calls me Stella Bella when he sees me, and his voice is funny. I hear his heartbeat, and I know he feels like me when I chew my leg. When Mummy talks to him, there is a crack in her voice. She rubs my back faster and faster. Then Daddy leaves again, and again, and again.
Fast forward a lot of time. My Grammie went to live in Heaven, but not until I stayed with her and snuggled close while she was getting ready to go.. Gogo had already gone to Heaven, so Melissa knew that he would be waiting for Grammie. Lucky her, I hope she brings a leash.
Mummy and I are “happy as clams.” We are regular snowbirds, jetting between Cape Cod and Florida. We are never too hot or too cold. Daddy takes us to Florida and comes to get us. His heartbeat tells me he still loves us. I hope he knows that we love him too.
We have good friends, and our families love us. Daddy’s family and Mummy’s family are like one big hug Minna and Kaia are big now. Even I can see that they are beautiful, especially their hearts. Aunt Helen has a dog, Philo, that I have agreed to babysit while she goes out with Mom. He’s okay, and I guess so that you might call that progress. Mummy has made some new friends, and she even goes out with some men who probably want to be my new daddy. Um, I am not sharing my Mummy, period. When Mummy isn’t looking, I show my teeth to these men, and it works every time. Bye.
So life is good until it wasn’t.
My Mummy started to hurt, and it was terrible. She went to doctors and hospitals, and when she came home, it was worse. Mummy couldn’t walk far enough to take me on my leash to go potty, so she opened the big door and told me to potty on the grass. All the while, Mummy kept watching the sky, scared that a hawk would come to swoop me. I understood. I was fast.
Daddy took us on the airplane to Florida. After he left, Mummy would lie in our bed and roll around and moan. Sometimes she screamed. Aunt Priscilla took her to a new hospital and then took me to sleep in her house in her bed. I was a perfect little lady because I knew she was worried about Mummy. So was I.
My sister, Melissa, arrived in Florida the next day. She brought Mummy home from the hospital, where they did not help the pain go away. Then, my Aunt Jane came and saw Mummy. She and Melissa said that they had to bring her to a clinic. Cleveland Clinic. Melissa came back without my Mummy. “I’ll take care of you,” she said. Wait! Who is going to take care of Mummy?”
Melissa talked on her phone to all of Mummy’s friends and our family. One time I heard her say, “I’m afraid she’s going to die.”
Who? NOT MUMMY! Where is she? Take me to her! I am supposed to take care of Mummy. That is a dog’s job!!! My job.
After a long time, Mummy came home different than when she left. She had something called a walker to hold her up when she walked. She smelled strange, and there was a hole in her arm where a nurse put more smelly stuff every day in the morning and at night. Aunt Evie brought her some chicken soup that smelled wonderful, and Mummy loved it. A few days later, Mummy fell on the floor, and our friends had to lift her onto our bed. Melissa rushed her back to the hospital. She almost died. Again.
When my daddy walked through the door, I was never so happy to see anyone. I tried to tell him that no one would take me to Mummy, but I didn’t have to. Suddenly, he was my old daddy again. He sat next to me and scratched my ears. “How’s my little sweetie,” he asked, and I knew he loved me still. “Don’t you worry, little girl, Mummy’s going to be fine. I’m going to bring her home, and you and I will take care of her together.”
My friend, Thomas, lives near us. He has a dog, Buddy, that I like, maybe because he smells of Thomas, and that is a pleasant smell. Before Melissa left for work in Monaco, she arranged for Thomas to feed me and give me my medicine and walk me twice a day, every day, until Mummy got all better. Thomas never forgot me, never was too busy to take care of me. That’s what a friend does. That’s why I can say that next to my family. I love Thomas the best.
Daddy was like the old Daddy with Mummy. He got up early and went in our car and brought her grits and a poached egg for her breakfast because she hadn’t eaten when she was in the hospital. I already knew that because when I pressed against her leg, it wasn’t soft anymore.
After Daddy left, Aunt Gail and Aunt Rose came to stay with Mummy. They brought food and made her eat whatever she could. You won’t believe this, but Aunt Gail got Mummy to eat pizza in bed! Then Kurt and Bonnie arrived with something that had me drooling. Terry made some soup that Mummy loved, and Patricia brought a big chicken dinner and a thing of bone broth that made Mummy feel stronger.
Mummy did her exercises in the pool and got stronger and stronger. She could finally take me for a walk without using her walker. I was so proud of her. We had a great summer that last summer. It was a special time for us. Mummy and I were closer than ever, rarely apart. We talked and talked for hours. I got to choose most of the tv shows we watched and even set an earlier bedtime. We were in bed by nine, lying next to each other, listening to the wind rattle the leaves. We were up by 6:30 and on the beach by 7. It was our perfect routine. Beach, buy a scone, breakfast, writing, walk, pool, walk, dinner, ocean, sunset, television, beddie. Before we knew it, we had to pack our bags and return to Florida. Daddy came a lot and stayed longer and longer.
We have new neighbors in Florida. Carolina has two little dogs, Margaret also has a small dog and whoa — Doug and Lori have a BIG, BROWN DOG. HUGE … and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Imagine this. Puppy Love has come to me late in life! Hank and I took one whiff of each other and fell madly in love. We kiss, we nuzzle, I coo, I prance, and he follows. Oh my God, now I understand what love feels like. I mean, I love Mummy and Daddy and my family, but let’s be honest. They are not dogs. They are not butt sniffers, nor can they lift their legs over their heads to chew on an itch and more. Something inside my heart has melted. Hank feels the same way, too. Although there are other bitches in the neighborhood that have the hots for him, Hank only has eyes for me. Not only did he bring me a birthday card on Valentine’s Day, but he also gave me a little white lamb. I sleep with my head on it every night.
Since Valentine’s Day, I have been restless. Mummy took me to see Dr. Grubb, and he said I have a mass in my gallbladder. He gave Mummy some pills to sneak into my food and told her, “this isn’t good.”
Slowly, I realized that I couldn’t get comfortable. By 8 o’clock, I want to go beddie even though I am missing out on seeing Hank for a moonlight stroll. Mummy started wearing her hearing aides more so she wouldn’t miss a sound if I am hurting. Although I have six beds in our house, I couldn’t seem to be comfortable in any for very long. Although it was too early for her, I asked to go beddie at right after the 6:30 news, and Mummy never complained. She knew I was trying to tell her something.
One night, my boo-boo hurt really bad while I was sleeping. Mummy heard me, and she started to cry. She kept telling me not to worry. “It will be okay, my precious angel. Don’t you worry,” Mummy said. “Your Mummy will be okay, and you will be okay.”
When Dr. Grubb said my boo-boo had tripled in size, Mummy began to choke and she held me tighter. We got in our car and drove along the ocean like we always do. That night, Mummy did special earsies with me. She did both ears, and it took longer than a whole television program. It was spectacular, never-ending. I moaned in pleasure. When she finished, I looked at Mummy and spoke to her with my eyes. I assured Mummy that I was at peace and that she gave her little rescue dog the most wonderful life ever.
Mummy sang to me as we drove along the ocean the next day. The entire world was going to be sick, she explained. She told me there is a virus, a deadly virus, and that if I need help, she might not be able to get it for me.
Oh silly Mummy. Can’t you see? I am already on my way to be with Grammie and Uncle Mac. They came to me last night and promised me that you are strong enough and well enough for me to leave. It was March 19, 2020. My Grammie’s birthday.
Mummy held me in her arms and I floated. I heard her say her Hebrew prayer. I heard her tell me I was the best girl in the world. I heard my forever Mom until I heard new voices, I mean old voices. It was Grammie and Uncle Mac waiting to give me belly rubs and ear scratches. All is fine, Mummy. Life is Good.
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