These Boots
I’m not sure how or why the sweetest
poodle terrier we named Boots became a member of our family during my Pre-K
years but I’m awfully glad she did. She was one of the best friends I’ve ever had.
Wherever I was, she was too. If I was watching TV on my bell on the floor, she’d
be laying across the back of my legs, if me and my shower cap were in the bathtub,
she’d sit on the bath matt and wait for me to finish. She was my shadow. It was
my job to feed her. Twice daily we’d walk together to the cupboard, I’d take
down the box red and blue box of Gaines Burgers, unwrap the hamburger-like
patty and crumble it up into her bowl, all the while she’s looking up at me lovingly
and expectantly, tail wagging. I am of the mind that families with young
children should have pets. Kids can learn valuable life lessons early on just
from having a furry sidekick. They inspire confident feelings and can boost
self-esteem. I can tell you, for a kid with a mixed bag of abandonment issues
mounting by the second, having Boots to focus on gave me somewhere to put my trust.
And, in that, I grew to be compassionate, empathic – that’ll happen when you
learn early on what it is to care for a living breathing thing. When I think of
her now, those are the things I think of and thank her for. Nerdy but true.
Boots was with me the day I swore I’d never
speak to Father Mine again. I planted sunflowers in the back yard, choosing the
far-left corner of the fence so they could grow in peace and in direct sunlight
as suggested on the seedling packet. Father Mine arrived while I was at Pre-K
to mow the endless lawn on our Cow Bay property. He was gone by the time I got
home. I grabbed a cookie for myself, slipped Boots an extra Milk Bone treat while
my Mother’s back was turned, grabbed my watering can, and we set off to ‘sunflower
corner’. When we reached the sweet spot, I stopped dead in my tracks. The
young green stems that had sprouted so proudly from the well-tended plot were gone.
Leveled. History. An angry spray of tears flew out of my face as
I stomped my sneakers toward the house, Boots trotting along beside me. I stood
before my Mother, heartbroken, defeated, I threw my hands up dramatically, “What
happened to my sunflowers!?” She was drying dishes, her hair rolled up in
curlers setting under a favorite kerchief when I accosted her with my plight. Her
face fell. She stopped drying the large dinner plate in her hands, the
expression on her face read as oh shit, “Your father mowed the lawn
earlier, he must have forgotten they were there.” My eyes bulged, “Yeah
well, see how fast I forget HIM! I told him to be careful on the phone last
night! He promised he would!” I flew to my room and threw myself face first
into a pillow and screamed into it. There was Boots, right up beside me like, I
know girl, I got your back. At least up to the point where I cried all over
her silky fur and then I’m sure, based on her doggy body language, her thoughts
were more like, ok slow your roll, they’re just flowers. The after-supper
phone call with Father Mine was a quiet one. I still wasn’t in a forgiving mood.
He apologized and said he forgot me telling him about the flowers. And, then I
got myself in big doggy doo-doo because I barked something brazen that he
forgot because he only thinks about himself. Out of the mouths of babes, eh?
Boots was such a fun pup. Both of us
garnered endless hours of entertainment from a simple towel. I twirled a towel
above her once and she grabbed hold of it and pulled. Kept pulling until I was
in a fit of giggles. We quickly graduated to the floor. We’d run off to a long
hallway, I’d get down flat on my belly, Boots would grab the other end with her
teeth which had to be hard as knockers because she’d pulled all the way down
the hall from Way Cooler Big Sister’s bedroom door to my Mother’s. We’d do this
until we were both tuckered. Some days it went on for ages and either of us minded.
My Mother, on the other hand.
Somewhere along the way, Boots learned how
to run around the wide circumference of our front lawn carrying a ball on the
tip of her nose. And, the only time she’d perform, was when Father Mine
would visit. I remember countless days where he’d stand on the cement walk way
in his long tan trench coat, suit, and shiny shoes (his work clothes), I’d be
next to him, Boots down below, tale just wagging, waiting for him to drop the
ball, “Ready, Boots? Show Daddy how you put the ball on your nose.” Father Mine would drop the ball. Boots, in
her expert way would maneuver her snout between the fresh cut grass and the
ball, flick it up in the air, catch it on the end of her wet nose, run the whole
way around the lawn, and fast. It was a marvel. She’d return the ball
back to Father Mine like a prize and wait for the treat he always had in his
coat pocket. We’d show off her circus act any chance we could and joke that she’s
really a seal disguised as a dog.
The one thing about Boots, she never left
the yard. She’d bark at passers-by, but her paws never left the driveway or fence
edge. This one day I was busy drawing a very Salvador Dali-shaped hopscotch in
the driveway and Boots started barking at one of the neighborhood bullies
driving by on his bike. This bully, with his shaggy hair, furrowed brow,
pinched lips, and bad manners, without so much as a thought, flung his gangly
leg way from the rusted petal and sideswiped Boots hard in the ribs with his
rotten sneaker, “Shut the fuck up, you mangy mutt!” So much venom in his
voice. Boots recoiled and squealed in pain and fear. I ran to her and shouted down
the road, “Pick on something your own size, ya big dummy!” It so happens
that Bookend Brother was visiting that day. He saw everything from the kitchen
window and flew out of the side door and down to where me and the dog were, “Who
was that!? Where does he live!?” Tell me right now so help me God!” I had
no problem coughing up the information. I was so mad I could have spit nails.
Bookend Brother bound down the road and disappeared around the curvy bend of
the Bay stretch. I sat on the lawn with Boots, consoling and hugging her. She
shivered. Bookend Brother was back before I could even blink. He was followed
by the bully and his mother who walked him all the way to our yard by his ear.
No joke. When she forcibly let go, his ear lobe was blood read unwilling to
bend back to its normal shape, “You apologize to these people RIGHT NOW! No
son of mine goes around kicking god damn animals …” I’m paraphrasing
because she was losing her marbles, so I didn’t catch every ghastly word that
came out of her mouth, just bits and pieces. The bully took his grand ol’ time
coughing up an apology, but it came. Bookend Brother nodded reproachfully, “I
ever hear tell of you bothering this dog again or my baby sister and I’ll snap
you like a twig, do you understand me, son?” Bookend Brother’s nostrils
flared, the bully shrugged in agreement and he and his mother left. She
screamed and kicked at him the whole back around the curvy bend of the Bay stretch.
So, Boots was raped. I woke up early one
morning to this God-awful noise coming from the back yard. Like, someone was
being murdered. I bolted out of my blankets and peered out the window. And,
there she was, my best fur friend, being overpowered by some old lab. To be
clear, at my tender age, I had no idea that they were fornicating. I
just knew that my dog was in trouble. I ran out of my room, tripped over the
hem of my nightdress and wiped out, knees full of carpet burn, all the while
yelling for my Mother, “Mommmmmm, something is murdering the dog!!” I startled her out of a dead sleep. Way Cooler
Big Sister emerged from her room too, also started out of a dead sleep, “What’s
all the bellaring for!?” I forced them to look out my bedroom window to
see. The three of us gawking out into the back yard. I was frustrated that
either of them made a move to go save her. I insisted they try. Way
Cooler Big Sister shook her head and said, “Those puppies are locked, no getting
them apart now until they are done.” I was so confused, “Done what?”
My elders exchanged funny looks and my Mother said, “I hope she doesn’t get
pregnant.” Ohhhh. Yikes. And, guess what. She did.
Boots gave birth to a single puppy. A soft
chocolate brown mass she refused to feed. The newest member of our family, named
Brandy after a dearly departed stuffy of mine, looked like a little deformed alien.
Boots, immediately after giving birth, hid under the living room chesterfield
and stayed there for days. She wouldn’t eat or go pee. Nothing. And, if we so
much as thought of putting Brandy near her, she’d growl. A first. She barked
some but never growled. At anything. I was terrified the little alien muffin
might die. I told my Mother that if she did, I’d bury her where I tried to grow
my sunflowers. Luckily that didn’t happen. Brandy, hungrier than a hippo, found
sustenance in teeny tiny baby bottles. It was my joy to hold her in my hand and
watch her suckle the milk from the bottle. A few days of that and we tried laying
her next to Boots’ belly. This time, Boots didn’t resist. They slowly started
to bond.
Brandy grew into hyper little thing. Father
Mine said she was bonkers because she was the only pup Boots had and her birth
was unpleasant. She didn’t like the Gaines Burgers so we bought her something
wet from a can, feeding her was also my responsibility. The crazy thing would
pretty much have the food swallowed by the time the dish hit the floor. Brandy
quickly became my other shadow. She got big and fat and an even deeper
chocolate brown with dark blue eyes. She lolled around like a pot-bellied pig.
Boots didn’t mind her as much once she grew more independent. Boots was brooding
and watchful while Brandy gallivanted without a care in the world.
My world came crumbling down when Boots fell
ill. I was sick with worry the day Father Mine took her to the vet for a check-up.
And, he figured since Boots was going,
he’d take Brandy too. He came back later that evening with either of my
furry friends. He told me Boots needed special care and because the dogs loved
each other he sent Boots with a doctor who could provide the care she needed,
and Brandy went with her so she wouldn’t be lonely which made since because
Boots was her mother. I cried and cried and cried and cried. I still cry sometimes
when I recall that vicious hole that tore through my chest to know I’d never
see them again.
Years later, at a Sunday dinner at Father
Mine’s and Step Mum’s house, the subject of Boots and Brandy came up. It was
revealed that he had actually put Boots down because she was gravely ill and
sent Brandy off with good friends of his who had a tons of farm land for her to
run. I wanted to be mad, like I was about the sunflowers, but I understood. The
truth would have hurt me more. The lesson, sometimes the things we don’t know
won’t hurt us. And, the people who love us most, no matter our perception,
always have our best interests at heart.
***
I would never have been able to do this
project without dedicating a few pages to my fur babes. Family is family is
family.
In propinquity,
Nic
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