Family Portrait

We lived in a ranch style home, built from starch by my father, grandfathers and other member of my family. Like your typical family portrait out in the country included the family dog. We called her Sheena, a beautiful golden retriever with reddish long hair, deep brown motherly eyes, a wonderful companion for us kids.

Sheena was a roamer, but always knew her way back home. There were no sidewalks on the road I grew up on. We’d just walk along side the dirt and tall grass, or we could walk the four-wheelin’ trails through the woods, as did the dog. She was never spaded so when the times came when she went into heat, she would run frantically around the house dripping droplets of blood onto the linoleum of the kitchen floor, just begging to be let out.

We spent many of our summer days out to camp and Sheena usually would come with, but not in this condition. On hot days, we’d leave the back door open, and latch the screen door to keep her in. There were lots of other dogs around these parts, in heat, it didn’t take her long to scratch through that screen and find herself doggy-stylin’ it in some yard down the road.

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She had several litters in her life time I remember one in particular. Mum made a bed for her to lay her pups in the corner; she was very territorial of this space. Curious little children we sat in the middle of the living room floor watching inching our way forward till we heard Mum’s voice yelling from the kitchen, “You kids better leave her alone!”

When they were born six in all, they were covered in mucus and some blood, and there was this little sac that came along with them. We watched from a distance as she licked them clean with her motherly instincts. They were tiny whitish and blackish things, their eyes still shut, whimpering, shaking, and huddling together; and their scent very distinct yet indescribable.

Soon thereafter we were sent off to bed. I woke in the middle of night, to the sound of a puppy yelping repeatedly. The house dark and quiet, except for a lamp, I climb down off my bunk-bed and head down the hall. Sheena lay with all her pups nestled up to the warmth of her belly, except this little one all by his lonesome, shaking and whimpering.

I try to nudge him up to the rest, Sheena wrinkles her snout at me. The action that occurs just before a dog shows their teeth. With her fatigued body and protective instincts, she softly growls at me under her breath. My eyes swell with tears.

“I’m just trying to help you Sheena.This puppy wants you too.” I lie on the floor and watch as she nudges him away again, she just doesn’t want him near. I didn’t understand, and took my sleepyhead back to bed.

The next morning, my brother, and my little sis and I sit around looking at them. We discover that one of them only has three legs, so he is appropriately named Tripod. I pick up the little one from the night before, hold him coupled in my hands; tiny, black in color not really hair just pigment, covered in that scent. I hold him and admire his cunningness, when suddenly his body goes limp. I breathe in, in shock and hold my breath. His little heart beat stopped, the movement of chest seized and that little pup died in my hands before me.

“Mum…Mum…” The tears swell in my eyes. “He just died, I was only holding him.”

Sheena lost two that day, few hours later Tripod went with his brother. Mum and Dad explained to us that they were runts,and survival of the fittest.Together we packed the two dead pups into cereal boxes, dug holes in the earth and buried them near a rock out in the backyard.

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Few years later, our family went on a road trip, something we rarely. I brushed Sheena out on the back deck,. She took her paw and placed it in the palm of my hand, almost like a goodbye. I hugged her and told her we would be back in a few days.

Then we were off to the White Mountains in New Hampshire. My grandmother had gone over to feed her and let her out, but the day we returned she didn’t come back when let out. Dad made a quick stop at Doug’s, and sent my sis and I, to the meat department to get some marrow bones for her for when she returned.

We pull into the yard, the driveway dark and there she was under Dad’s truck. Something she always did to hide from the sun and cool herself in the shade. The headlights still on in the minivan, but she hasn’t come to greet us yet. She just lay there. She too had died. I recall the moment days before when I brushed her, and she placed in paw in my palm, it was a goodbye. So we prepared for another burial in the backyard.

How we could be so young and watch life and hold life and then to watch death and hold death in the palms of our little hands? Sheena was more than just a companion for us kids she was an anchor for some of life’s lessons learned. One being that portrait of the ranch style home out in the country along with the family dog, sadly includes a shovel.