I spent the majority of my childhood conversing with animals. While my ancient babysitter Ruby watched her stories, I dressed my stubby Welsh Corgis in drag and danced with my Golden Retriever. I didn’t have siblings to boss around, so when the dogs tired, I held court over a ragamuffin menagerie of stuffed animals. I appointed Janie-the-Rabbit in charge while I was away at my father’s. She wore a wrinkled nightgown and was missing an eye. I had taken her in after she had escaped from an asylum.
My elementary school was five blocks from home. On three occasions in third grade, I found my Welsh Corgis racing around the playground. They scheduled their visits according to my recess time. My classmates treated me like a celebrity when this happened, but the school faculty was appalled. After recess, my prickly teacher lined up my class and pumped soap into our hands. Who knows what the children could catch from those mangy, conniving dogs. And then, I’d spend a good hour in the assistant principal’s office with panting Cowboy and Rugby stinking up the place. My wary mother would arrive in her Talbot’s suit and haul them off. A year later, I found my majestic Golden Retriever sitting at the busy cross walk waiting to escort me home. My mother really should have invested in a better backyard fence. Every summer, I visited my grandparents in northern Michigan. Most afternoons I could find Willy the chipmunk hiding near the old-fashioned water pump. If I put my palm out with peanuts, he’d stuff as many as he could in his cheeks and scurry off to the wood shed. There, I presumed, he would present them to his lady friend Willameena who would swoon over her suitor’s generosity. One August day, my grandmother announced we would have a tea party. All the stuffed animals were in attendance. It was a wonderful fete hosted on the deck looking out at the lake.
Town & Country should have covered it. One-eyed Janie was the belle of the ball.
[artwork by amber alexander. prints may be purchased
here.]
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