I'm reading this book about service dogs for children with disabilities. The chaos of the family life of those children prior to getting a service dog reminds me of my own childhood family chaos.
I could tell the story from many perspectives but for now I'll just start with our dog. My brother and I longed for a dog. We asked my dad repeatedly if we could have a dog but the answer was always no. My mother was not opposed but my dad had the final say. He would say they were too much work. He would say they made noise. He would say that he had grown up on a farm with animals, and he had had enough of animals presumably forever.
Each year, we would ask him if we could have a dog. He would say, "Who would take care of the dog when we visit your grandparents in Oregon this summer?" (My father's parents.) We visited them every summer for my dad's two week vacation. For my brother, Zack and I, we just really wanted a dog. That's all we knew about it.
By fourth grade, his parents left Oregon and moved to Oklahoma. That summer, we went to Oklahoma for two weeks.
During elementary school up to this point, we had a family that lived across the street, the Carlson's, who had three kids our ages. A boy, Robby, who was a year or two younger than Zack. A girl, Christine, who was Zack's age and Linda, who was my age (three years older than my brother). We loved the Carlson's and played with them every day all the time.
When I was in fourth grade, they moved away to Alaska. There was a huge hole in our lives. (Our mothers also spent an extraordinary amount of time together including ironing and doing other housework while talking on the phone.) In June after returning from Oklahoma, there was a vacancy from missing the Carlson's that nothing could fill. We begged dad for a dog and finally he said yes.
There was a litter of mixed breed puppies with a family a couple streets over from our house. We picked out an all black dog. My mother and brother loved Peanuts. I didn't care what the dog's name was. So, they named him Snoopy. Snoopy was the cutest puppy in the world. He grew to be around 35 pounds.
We all loved Snoopy. I loved Snoopy. Snoopy did everything with Zack and I. He followed us on our bicycles when we rode all around the school. He went with us on our adventures in the woods. He was our best pal and teammate. During the summer, when we went to our grandparent's beach house on weekends (my mother's parents), Snoopy came with us.
More than anything, I wanted to have Snoopy sleep with me at night. My mom said he couldn't sleep in my bed with me. So being a young person of infinite ideas, I slept on the floor with Snoopy in a sleeping bag all summer.
My mom told me that when I was very, very young I had a little dog. I don't know it's name. My mom told me she got rid of the dog, because she didn't want her baby girl smelling like dog. (In my head, I imagine a loss as a tiny child that I couldn't name.)
My mom kept telling me that when school started I would have to sleep in my bed and Snoopy couldn't sleep with me. She kept telling me, "Remember, Snoopy won't be able to sleep with you when school starts." I knew what that meant for me, but I had no idea what it meant for Snoopy.
When school started, I rolled up my sleeping bag, put it away, and crawled into my bed. From an adult's perspective, naturally, Snoopy crawled up on my bed to sleep with me. But, from a kid's perspective, "How do I make him stop?" The answer was, I couldn't.
I would start out at night with Snoopy on the floor. Then, at some point, Snoopy crawled onto the foot of my bed and went to sleep. He never woke me when he crawled up. Then, at another point during the night, I was awakened by my father yelling at Snoopy to get off the bed and hitting him.
This was an outcome I could not have predicted and no adult assisted me in avoiding. For months, it was a nightly occurrence unless when my dad came home drunk he just forgot to check on me and the dog.
Unfortunately for Snoopy and I, this same scenario played out when we went to my grandparent's beach house on Vashon Island. We would take Snoopy who was Zack's and my best friend. At night, we would sleep on a couch that folded flat into a bed and sometime during the night, Snoopy would crawl onto the foot of the bed. Also, every night, I was rudely awakened by my Grandpa yelling at Snoopy to get off the bed and hitting him with a newspaper.
We tried to make Snoopy pleasant little dog beds, but nothing could compare with Snoopy's need to sleep with me. I felt bad. I was sure it was my fault, but I had no way to figure out how to make it stop. Because of the cruelty of my father and my fear, it would never, ever occur to me to simply ask him and my Grandpa to just stop and let Snoopy and I be. What a horror that there was no way for me to make it stop.
My lack of direction for dog training got even worse when Zack and I started school in the fall. Snoopy followed us to school. My mother didn't want Snoopy in the house, because he would make it dirty. Zack and I would walk to school and make Snoopy stay at home. But, repeatedly, the principal would come get me and tell me my dog was at school and threaten me with the dog catcher. I didn't know how to make Snoopy stop. I would take him back home. If he followed me, all I knew to make him stop, was to beat him just like my dad beat me. I would hit him or kick him trying to make him not follow me. How could Snoopy know the difference between going to school during the summer while we rode bikes and not following us in the fall when school started? No adults helped with the problem.
One day, my neighbor saw me beating Snoopy and told me that was no way to treat a dog. I felt so ashamed. I didn't hit Snoopy again. But, then, we tried tying him up. Snoopy would cry and cry. He would not stop. If I let him off the rope, he would stop. As soon as I tied him up again, he would go back to crying. One day another neighbor walked up to our house and yelled at me, "If you don't shut that dog up, I'll call animal control."
I was at a total loss. Mom still wouldn't let Snoopy in the house. Snoopy took to running off during the day mostly to the people where we got him from. I didn't like it, but I couldn't think of an alternative. For a few weeks, Snoopy would bring a friend back with him. He was a big German Shepherd type dog that we called Luke. I wanted Luke to like me. I wanted him to stay at our house with Snoopy. Luke came and visited with Snoopy for about three weeks and then he was gone.
Finally, we took Snoopy to the vet to get fixed. It was just Zack and I. The vet was about a quarter mile away on the highway. We took Snoopy in, and they told us to come back and get him at five o'clock. Zack and I were back at five but the doors were locked. They were closed. No one told us to get there before five.
Zack and I were bereft. We could hear Snoopy whining. We wanted Snoopy. We didn't want to wait. We called to Snoopy. I said, "Snoopy, don't worry, we will get you." We were crying. The vet and his family lived behind the office and down a story. We went in the back yard trying to figure out how to rescue Snoopy.
There was a sliding glass door and the vet's family had sat down for dinner. We begged him to give us Snoopy. I guess having us hang around was worse than taking the time to give us our dog. We went home with Snoopy.
Snoopy continued to disappear for periods of time usually not more than a day or two. In the winter, Snoopy was finally allowed to come in the house again. One night, I woke up. My dad was yelling. Snoopy was screaming. My dad was beating Snoopy. I didn't know what Snoopy had done. But, my dad was beating him. My mom was yelling, "LeRoy stop." Zack and I were crying. We were terrified.
My dad almost beat Snoopy to death. Snoopy had no broken bones or anything. But, he never went near my dad again. I wish I had that choice.
Finally, in sixth grade, my dad stopped coming home drunk. He stopped coming home at all. One night, the furnace pilot went out. Mom, Zack, and I were huddled in the living room fold out couch trying to stay warm. My mom kept calling my dad asking him to come home to light the pilot. No one else knew how to do it. My dad wouldn't come home. We were so cold.
After that, my brother who was probably nine learned to light the pilot. Women didn't do things like that in my family. We never had to wait for my dad again.
Another year went by, and my mom finally kicked out my dad. I had encouraged her to do that for months and months. We had stayed up late nights while she cried waiting for my dad to come home. I tried to comfort her. I tried to bolster her confidence. Instead, I just became her sole support. I had no way to escape my mom's need but to go to school and stay late talking to my teacher.
One day, Snoopy came home and he had lost an eye. We didn't know how. We couldn't afford to go to the vet. So, it was just like that. Snoopy had one eye.
At fourteen, I ran away from my mom. A couple months later, I ended up in Western State Hospital. While I was gone, my brother lived alone with my mother. I heard that one day Zack saw that Snoopy's other eye was in trouble. My mom wouldn't take him to the vet. My brother was terrified Snoopy would lose his good eye and be blind.
My brother called my Grandpa and begged him to help Snoopy. Grandpa took Snoopy to the vet. After that, Snoopy went to live with my Granny and Grandpa. Not long after, my brother and mother moved out of the house. They moved into an apartment where they couldn't have a dog anyway.
When I got out of Western, I went to live with my Granny and Grandpa. I found myself living with Snoopy again. Both Snoopy and I had a good life with my grandparents. We had regular meals and lived in safety. Snoopy slept on the floor on Grandpa's side of the bed. He was nominally my dog. But, Grandpa and Snoopy became good buddies. Grandpa took Snoopy with him everywhere.
Just before bedtime, Snoopy would sit in the doorway between the living room and bedrooms watching Grandpa and willing Grandpa to come to bed. If Grandpa didn't come, Snoopy would put himself to bed.
When I left home, Snoopy stayed with Granny and Grandpa. After Grandpa retired, he took Snoopy in his truck everywhere. Grandpa was a big recycler and had a route he followed. He disconnected the dome light in his truck so the passenger door could stay open while he was doing things. That way, Snoopy could let himself in and out of the truck. It also was a way for Snoopy to not get too hot in the truck. Grandpa called him ole Snoop because he poked his nose into everything.
My grandparents lived in my home town of Des Moines, Washington. I moved to Olympia. Snoopy stayed with Grandpa. Again, I wanted a dog. I waited until I lived somewhere stable before I even thought I could get a puppy.
In February 1984, I got Sasha. He was a mixed golden retriever, yellow lab pup. I didn't want a dog who was too rambunctious. I looked at the litter. All his brothers and sisters were jumping up and carrying on. Sasha was trying to sleep, and they were bothering him. I decided he was the dog for me.
One of the things I really needed to know about myself before I ever had children was whether I could trust myself to not hit my dog. It wasn't a problem at all. I never hit Sasha. I loved him. Sasha was a loyal and good natured dog. He just wasn't the sharpest tool in the box. But, he was always game for anything I wanted to do.
The year I got Sasha, Snoopy started having heart problems. He woke my grandparents in the night screaming. Grandpa took him to the vet. By now, Snoopy was about 18 years old. The vet said there was nothing he could do. He had a couple more of those awful bouts. I saw my Grandpa the day he had to put Snoopy to sleep. My Grandpa cried. His heart was nearly broken.
When my Grandpa came to my house and met Sasha, he fell in love. Grandpa wouldn't let himself have a dog again but he was always glad to see Sasha. Sasha was always thrilled to see Grandpa.
One day, I asked my Grandpa why he loved Snoopy so much. My Grandpa told me the story of being a teenager living in Olympia (1929 or so). There was a stray black dog that looked a lot like Snoopy who followed Grandpa and his friends around everywhere.
Grandpa and his friends hated this black dog. They couldn't seem to shake him. For reasons unknown to me, they tried everything to get that dog not to follow them. They tied him in a bag and threw him in the back of a truck. He came back. They put him on a freight train, but he came back. Then one hot day, Grandpa took that dog out into the water, held him under while he thrashed, and drowned him. Once the dog was dead, Grandpa felt really, really bad and regretted it the rest of his life. Snoopy reminded him so much of that dog that this was how he could make amends.
Snoopy's story is my story. We were both underdogs that survived. Lots of underdogs don't. It wasn't by our wit, our courage, or our beauty. It was only by our luck and the fact someone cared. It was also, of course, because my Grandpa had to make amends. Thank goodness someone was making amends. Otherwise neither of us would have survived.
8.28.16
[#1 Picture of Grandpa and Snoopy at the beach. 1976]
[#2 Picture of Snoopy, a black dog, on the porch at Vashon. 1970]
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