..it was the summer of 1981. And mom and dad packed the five of us angels into the wood paneled station wagon, and for good measure piled in leaky coolers filled with generic cans of orange soda and soggy tuna fish sandwiches, a portable playpen, diapers, crayons and colouring books, beach toys, blankets and pillows, osh kosh kid clothes, underoos in every size, a map, potato chips, and enough candy to keep us steadily sugared up. and off we went. Destination, Cape Cod.
A few long suffering hours later, we pulled up to our supposed dream motel on the beach. Well, it was a motel indeed. I am not to sure about the dream part. We spilled out of the wagon, like clowns out of a circus car, and started running around the parking lot in wild chaotic kid ways, while our poor overburdened parents, had the task of unloading everything, and trying to turn the "Family Deluxe Suite " complete with vibrating beds, and threadbare brown covers into a suitable home for a family of 7. Tara's crib was tucked into one corner, and Alyssa and I were assigned to the adjoining twin room, and Brett and Erin, slept in the big bed with mom and dad. Once, everything was perfectly in place, we decided to set off for the beach.
It takes about an hour, to get 5 kids into swim suits, and slathered in sun block, and rations that were unpacked must now be re packed. We climbed down the cement stairs of our ( sub par) Dream Motel and began the trechorous path to the supposed beach. Well, about 30 bug bites later, and numerous complaints about hot asphalt and sharp pebbles, we made it to the muddy clump of sand. that was our beach. It was far from the beach on the brochure, but the water was cool and off we ran, our starfish limbs spread out in joy as we dove into the Ocean. Salt water invades your entire being, your nose stings and the saltiness makes your throat sore, but you do not care, because it is such a spectacular feeling to be in the embrace of the waves, floating in the rolling tide. We collected the slimy shells and filled our buckets over and over, not caring that as fast as we built the sand castles, the possessive sea came roaring back and reclaimed it. It was us against the speed of the ocean, our long legs running into the water, scooping up whatever we could and racing to the receding shore to try it all over again. an endless game that plays out, on every sandy shore in the world. and that was when we first spotted him
I was pouring water into the sand moat, when I looked up and saw a yellow dog, happily chasing a frisbee. Two tanned college age shirtless boys, in courdoroy shorts with lean muscled torso's I can only now appreciate, were tossing the frisbee to one another. And the yellow dog, would run between them barking, and sometimes hurling himself into the air, and stealing it mid toss. and when he did, his cheeky shenanigans would make the boys laugh. I was mesmorized by this scene, not even stopping to notice the water swirling around my feet, as yet again, the sea swept clean away, my sand castle.
I watched for a long time, and then ran to my towel for some shade and to get a snack. Shortly afterwards, my parents decided to call it a day, and packed up our things and off we headed, Begrudgingly, limping behind them, bringing back, what seemed like half the sand, from the beach, inside our swimsuits. We showered and changed and polished our faces, and combed our hair, and went out to dinner at some random barnacle House of Crab Restaurant/shack.. Only the family best, for the best family. Six plates brimming with deep fried offerings from the sea. and buttery garlic bread. and me lingering by the lobster tank, looking into the sad eyes of each and every one of them, and begging my parents to buy them, so we could set them free. and getting back into the family wagon, crying, because they said no. and then pulling up to the motel, and 5 very sleepy children, stumbling up the steps to our room, number 16, with a broken 6, and seeing that the door, is slightly ajar. This is puzzling, and then we can hear a sound coming from the room, it sounds like something rattling. My mother is nervous, and my father, pushes open the door, and tells us to all stay outside on the balcony while he checks it out. He inches forward, grabbing a toy baseball bat for protection should he need it. And, of course, we disobey completely and all file in slowly after him, and walk through the one room, and we can see discarded luncheon meat wrappers, spread out on the floor. Very myseterious indeed! A hungry burglar? and still the rattling sound is edging closer, and with our hearts in our throats, we peek around into the little back twin room, and there *he* is, looking at us, quizically. It is the yellow dog The frisbee bandit.
We are thrilled, and squeal with delight,. Five little kids, throw there arms around his neck, and my parents realize that the rattling sound had been yellow dog's collar. My parents are not to pleased, but relieved it is not a burglar. Five little voices start begging in unison" can we keep him, please? Can we keep him?? huh ? Huh? please??" My father says of course not, that he must belong to someone, and off he marches to the motel office, to report the disturbance, dragging yellow dog with him. And 10 minutes later he returns, with yellow dog trailing his every step. The people in the office said, that he had been hanging out with 2 college kids, but they had checked out. and told my dad, to just leave yellow dog outside . While he was telling this to my mother, we were all clustered around, my fathers leg, tugging on his arms, pulling on his trousers.. please please can we keep him? our highpitched rant in many beseeching squeals. " absolutely not" answered my father and then he walked yellow dog to the door, opened it, and motioned for him to go out. Yellow dog, smiled and bouced out the door, and then looked back, as if to say " aren't you coming too?" and then my father emphatically slammed shut the door.
Five little kids burst into sobs. My mothers face was visibly upset, and my father, although the stern voice of reason, in one instant he was catapulted into the role of the MOST HATED MAN in the universe. And then, there was a faint rapping at the door. My father, innocently thinking it was the management offering us some kind of "sorry your room was broken into and your cooler of rations violated" upgrade, opened the door. There stood yellow dog. He nodded at my father. and calmly strolled back inside. My father was a bit stunned at this point. and clearly defeated. and he mumbled something about, " ok ok, he can stay, but only for one night! Tomorrow, I am going to take him into town and find out who he belongs to. He has a collar on kids, don't get all attached, he belongs to someone. " and we nodded our heads, never doubting for a moment, that he belonged to someone alright. he belonged to us. and he knew it. and we knew it. and that was good enough.
So, that night, we are all tucked into our assorted beds, and yellow dog was laying in the room, with alyssa and I, and in the middle of the night, he goes over to my father, and softly taps him with his paw. My grumbling father rolls over, and tells yellow dog, to " go lay down" Yellow dog, softly taps him again. The same dance continues, yellow dog, tapping, daddy rolling over, and yelling at yellow dog, and finally exasperated, my father jumps up and says '" well, fine, out you go then" and opens the door, and lets out yellow dog. and then thinking all his problems are solved, daddy climbs back into bed, and just as he is about to fall back to sleep, there is a tap tap rapping at the door, a scratching sound, if you will. Completely astonished, my incredulous father gets back up and opens the door, to what he now deems the nerviest dog he has ever met. Yellow dog came sauntering back in, and headed to the twin room, tossing a backward glance at my father as if to say " hey, thanks" .
The next morning, as we ate our rice crispies out of plastic motel room cups, we laughed about all the fun we were going to have with yellow dog that day. and my father, told us not to get our hopes up because he was taking him into town. and we were heartbroken, but knew that we could not stop him.
Off he went, to get his paper and coffee in town. He called yellow dog, to follow him, and 5 tear stained faces watched from the grimy window, as daddy opened the car door and in jumped trusting yellow dog. My father drove around town a bit, and opened the window, and told yellow dog to bark if he saw his house. Yellow dog just smiled and hung his head out the window, to feel the salt water breeze ruffling his fur and make his yellow ears flap in the breeze. When they arrived in the center of town, yellow dog jumped out, and my father sternly yelled " go home, boy" and off yellow dog ran. My father, was quite pleased with this turn of events. He figured that yellow dog suddenly remembered where he lived and went running back to his cape cod home. So, daddy bought his news paper and coffee and a few more rations, and then he got back in the station wagon, and drove back to the motel, relieved that yellow dog was now safely ensconsed whereever it was that he came from.
So, When my father finally walked back into the motel room, what to his wondering eyes did he find? Five giggling children and one beaming, clever yellow dog. Apparently, yellow dog, had enjoyed the car ride, and when my father had told him to go home, well, he did just that, indeed. Somehow he had made it back to the motel, a few winding miles away, and to add to the indignity of my poor father, he had even beaten him back home ! Kudos to yellow dog, considering he was on foot, this was *impressive* indeed.
My father knows defeat when he is looking into the warm, brown eyes, wet, soft, black nose of it. So he said, "ok ok, he can stay for the week. But he is NOT COMING HOME WITH US!!! AND THAT IS FINAL!!!!" We all bobbed our heads in unison, feigning agreement, fully knowing that if it came down to it, we would be willing to secure some kind of kiddie legal counsel, against our father, if he refused to let us take yellow dog home. But kids know how there parents work, they know all there weaknesses and the many empty threats, and how they operate, and we knew we had won. but we just didn't know how it was gonna play out. Yellow dog 3 points, daddy O !!
( part 2)The next few days were a blissful haze of summer sunshine and happy dog games. We settled into the comfortable family vacation routine, of waking up, eating a hurried breakfast, running to the beach, playing for hours and returning home mid afternoon for naps ( before long dinners out at Barnacle Bill's Shack of Fish Fun) Somehow we survived though, and we were thriving, every day bringing us more sunshiney happiness. and yellow dog was living up to his Title as the best dog in the world. He romped in the sand with us, retrieved stick after stick, and watched us eagle eyed from the shore like a fussy maiden auntie. If he believed his self appointed charges were to far out to sea, for his liking, he would just dive in after us, and doggy paddle out, and gently herd the errant child, back to the sheltering safety of the sand. The mysterious thing about yellow dog, was that he never barked. Never. As if he had taken a vow of silence, and looking back now, I think he was just an angel with fur wings.
Alas, the torn calander days of our holiday were peeling away, the end of the week was upon us. Check - Out day was looming.
On the Final Day of Departure, my father was trying to use his engineering skills to devise the best possible way to load up the station wagon, maximizing full usage of the roof for luggage and yet still keeping clear the space in the back for the five of us trouble makers. Somehow the re- loading is never as easy , because in the short time we had been to the Cape, we had amassed a small army of new supplies and beloved cheap souvenirs, and bucketfuls of carefully gathered seashells that are every child's treasure.
Anyway, we had devised a scheme. to fool our father. ~ just in case it came down to it~ because we were not leaving without yellow dog
We asked daddy to lay down flat the entire back row seats of the station wagon, and using copious pillows and blankets, we magically transformed the back into a car bed. We piled in, and lay stiffly like little toy soldiers, and when my father went inside to settle the bill, we yelled for yellow dog to quickly jump in, which he happily did. Then, we tucked yellow dog in , his regal head lying softly on a pillow, and we quickly covered up his body, with a blanket. As I sit here, I can still envision the scene exactly as it played out, all of us holding our breath, as my father opened the back car door to make the final inspection, and checking to ensure that all five little darlings are safely in the car. I watched his searching eyes scanning the landscape, counting kid heads ,all tucked in, tight, blonde to brunette ,little rows- there was brett, white blond imp, head on the pillow, there is Alyssa, freckled and missing 2 front teeth, head on the pillow, there is Yellow dog, tail thumping under the blanket, ears twitching, pretending to be a kid, head on the pillow and me, afraid to exhale, staring straight ahead, trying not to meet my father's eyes, and my head on the pillow and finally mischievous Erin, refusing to lie still, twisting a bit, but her light brown head on the pillow. Four kids, all snug in a row. and one contraband yellow dog. and daddy looking at us, his eyes twinkling , as he slams shut the back car door. and we know.
we know that we have won. Yellow dog was OURS to KEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
and little Golden Baby Tara sitting on Mommy's lap, clapping. Knowing in her baby way, that we had all won. and daddy driving and not saying anything, because really what was there to say?
and on the way home, my parents stopped at a section of the Cape, that has immense sand dunes. and there are several polaroid pictures that exist, of all of us, standing atop the desert dunes, the wind blowing our hair in every direction, and me sunburnt and beaming in my new red overall's, and yellow dog,in big open snout grin, standing proudly next to his family. and as soon as the camera clicked, all of us, breaking free and running, spilling , tumbling, wildly down the sand hills, that collapse as you run. and you fall and roll the rest of the way. you roll up in a sand whipped blanket, and laugh, and try not to get sand in your eyes and mouth. and you keep on running.
and yellow dog always chases you. and brings you home again.
We named him Sandy. We named him Sandy, because of that day on the sand dunes, the day we knew that he was ours forever. and we brought him home to Rhode Island with us, and every day after school, me in my osh kosh jeans, me on my 10 speed bike, me and my best friend Liza going to the frog pond, to catch poor little turtles and frogs, just because. we wanted to hold them and give them names and marry them to one another, before we set them free. and Sandy always shadowing us. He loved the water, he would be up to his elbows in muck and mud, watching us, making sure we didn't slip on the mossy rocks. me and Sandy, growing up. Sandy and I playing tag on the strawberry hills, hiding from Alyssa and Erin and Brett. Sandy putting up with the indignity of being Tara's first pony, of suffering in silence whilst we dressed him up in baby hats, and frilly white lace aprons, and never complaining when five kids used him as bean bags and laid there tangled heads on his yellow belly to watch t.v.
Sandy moved with us, to Delaware. Noone should have to move to Delaware. and least of all, us. None of us wanted to move there. It was a horrific shock to go from the Big white Victorian house, to the dark suburban ranch home, in Newark. An ugly house. not a home. No hills to run in. Just an overgrown patch of woods. which Sandy would restlessly wander, while we were in school, trying to fill the empty hours, until we returned. And then there was the day, I looked out of our front window, and saw an emaciated dog, shivering by the trash cans. a german shepherd of some sort. and I was horrified at his protruding bones, and ragged fur. I ran to the refrigerator and grabbed the first thing I happened to see, which was an aluminum covered bowl full of cold, boiled potatoes. And I ran back to the door, and onto the cement porch and started hurling the icy potatoes towards the poor dog. At first, he was scared and ran away. but primal hunger overcame his innate terror, and slowly he limped closer, his wolf like tan and black ragged head, hunched down. He devoured the cold balls of flavorless starch. I burst into tears, seeing a creature such as this, so starving that it would eat cold potatoes. I raced back into the house, and grabbed some luncheon meat, and lured him closer to me, an inch at a time, with Oscar Meyer Bologna. When he finally reached the steps, I bent down to touch him. and he winced. he winced because he was afraid that I was going to beat him. This only made me cry harder. When I could see him up close, I could see he was in really bad shape. I was almost afraid to touch him, for fear that the sharp edges of his protruding bones would cut me . But his fur, although ragged and missing tufts, was soft. and his eyes were kind. and he lay on the porch. after his meal. he just curled up and slept.
We named him Major. Because within a day, he took up the patrol of our property, like he was Chief of Security. Sandy accepted this newcomer, graciously. Kind of like they had an understanding between them, that Sandy/yellow Dog would always be the best dog in the whole world, and Major would be Second in Command. And Major's coat grew in thick and luxurious, and his waifish figure filled out, but he never did completely forget his past. Every once in a while, he would still wince, when you came close to him, and brought your hand down, to pet his angora fur.
and the days once again, flew by, and a year and a half later, movers came and packed up in boxes our entire life, my Strawberry Shortcake room, somehow fit into a box, and I never understood how it did, but it did. and we packed up the old station wagon, again, with coolers of soggy tuna fish sandwiches and generic soda again. and piled in the kids and toys and blankets and diapers.
It was march 1983
and we towed my fathers car behind our wagon. and to our everlasting amusement, Sandy and major were in the car being towed by us. Only, they were sitting in the front seat. To our silliness it looked like they were driving. And we giggled for hours. And waved to them. and told them to be nice to the cats, stuffed in their carry case's, balanced carefully, on the back seat. and then we arrived to the place that was supposed to be home,
Cold Wintery Desolate Syracuse New York.
and, Sandy could not walk. For weeks he had been having problems, but by the time we arrived in Syracuse he was unable to walk properly. His rear legs kept sliding out from under him. As we drove through the unfamilar sleeting town of Syracuse we pulled into the parking lot of an emergency Vet's hoping to fix Sandy, and make him all better. Our Strapping 6 ft 4 Father gingerly carried a whimpering Sandy into the Vet's.
Five little kids, watched from the Frosted glass windows of the old station wagon. and a painful eternity later, daddy emerged, solemn faced and alone.
Daddy came out, with only Sandy's collar and leash, and tears in his eyes. I had never seen my father cry. and then Mommy started to cry. and we knew.
and we knew. that yellow dog had gone home somewhere else.
The vet told daddy that his back legs were in the middle stages of paralysis, and that he was seriously declining. and it would be best, if he just went to sleep . and never woke up. and it was the hardest descion that my father ever had to make, knowing that he had a carful of kids, who just wanted their yellow dog back. But daddy did it for yellow dog, cause when he looked in yellow dog's gentle brown eyes, he saw pain. and when the Vet gave yellow dog the medicine to make him sleep, daddy reached down to rub his silky ears, and smooth out his soft yellow fur, one last time. and all the while, yellow dog's tail thumped with gratitude on the cold steel examination table. Yellow dog was all about love and trust.
When, daddy told us the sad news, we could see the pain, in his tear filled eyes, and then daddy, his broad shoulders shaking, and his words in a choking southern whisper, said " he was the best dog in the whole world"
and five little kids all bobbed their sobbing heads in unison.
Some Welcome to grey Syracuse N.Y.
We found yellow dog, on our first sunshiney day at the sandy beaches, of Cape Cod and lost him, on the coldest, greyest first day of our supposed great new life in Syracuse
and a few months later, our cat, Trevor had to be put to sleep. He had the same mysterious paralysis, in the back legs. And then, it was reported on the national Evening News that in the Suburbs where we had lived in Delaware, A Nuclear Power Plant had been secretly dumping Nuclear waste, into the swampy woods, behind our house~ It was one of the worst contaminations of it's time and I somehow suspect that it *caused* the paralysis. Sandy used to swim in those swampy waters, and romp in those mucky woods. and so did we. and so did the cats.
and I can't help but wonder, if someday, someone is gonna walk me into a Dr's office, and emerge with only my shoes. and necklace.
but now, when I close my eyes, it is home to the strawberry fields, that I return to. I am flying down the green hills, and Sandy at my heels, his face ruffling in the breeze of the sunshine day. and Trevor stalks us. on his mischievous way to the neighbor's Koi pond, where he spent *many* delicious hours with his twin brother, Troy, planning their sly methods of attack to capture the plump, shimmery gold fish, and occasionally dipping a stealth paw into the water, as if to say " take that!" and never ever catching a one.
but that was then, and this is now.
that was my childhood, glimpsed in a thousand words. That was The yellow Dog years, ending.
the best dog in the world gone
and life in Syracuse was stained grey. from then on.
and I was never a child again.
Not all fairytales end happily, sometimes, they just end .
Labels: beach, childhood, children, dog, labrador, loss, memories, pet, summer time
