… many more stars winked out
sisters
Page Seventy-seven
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it was hard to decide where to put this page: here in all my stars, or in another animal book of mine, stolen stars. I want to ramble a little about two dogs of mine who were sisters. one of them fits into this book, since she died of cancer before the holocaust that tore me and fourteen animals apart ever happened; and the other sister was one of the stolen, one of the ones whose fate after the day of the theft I do not know.
braon and brainse were together from the womb. their mother’s, that is. braon died after a short life of five years, seven months, the anniversary of which death is tomorrow. anniversaries flow around inside me when they come, and very often this flow of memory drives me to a keyboard.
I never had a sister. my sisters-in-law were never much interested in me. so that mysterious relationship that exists between sisters is something I have always had to watch from the outside: sister animals, sister humans. I watched brainse and braon from the day they were born, studying the way the dynamics of their interaction changed as the rest of the puppies in the litter, as well as their mother, disappeared out of their lives forever. I watched their jealousies, competitions, affections, their sticking up for each other, their contented cuddling. I watched how they would sometimes gang up on me, the sisterhood presenting a united front against mean old mom.
this relationship fascinated me every single day it lasted, right until the day of braon’s death, when, if things had turned out other than they did, brainse was going to have to donate some blood for braon’s post-op recovery.
how many days was it, how many weeks? I wish my memory held many more details than it does, because these details are the salient facts of my failed life. but even in a failed life, there are those things that are precious, that one wishes one could call forth out of memory at will.
how many days did brainse go and sit at the bedroom window, gazing over at the vet’s office where she had seen me take her sister in, but had never seen me bring her back out again. how many times did she wiggle and wag when she saw a black dog get out of a car over there, only to figure out pretty quickly that that was not her sister?
I wish I remembered. braon now nine years dead, brainse now six years stolen, probably having ended up in the hands of the very psychotic veterinarian who was our landlady, who threw us out illegally, and who had always had a special fondness for my dog brainse. one way to get her, of course, was to throw us out and to then participate with my social worker’s underhanded agenda to scatter my animals hither and yon.
so braon is dead of a particularly fast-growing cancer nine years tomorrow. and brainse is stolen (probably by the sick landlady) six years next month, and I the still grieving, erstwhile “mother” of these two sisters cannot force out of my memory the number of days it was that the living sister sat at the bedroom window waiting in love for the dead one to reappear.
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read… Stolen stars… Neverending solitaire…
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shiloh-chailin
Page Seventy-six
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when I started writing Shiloh-Chailín’s page back in 2009, I did so on one of my blogs. later I copied it and moved it to the end of the foreword page of this book. don’t know why I did that, why I didn’t just give her her own page from the start. well, she’s getting her own page now.
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2009
from the blog
after fifty-five years of having multiple animals, after the stealing and killing of my last fourteen in 2008, I’ve been a year and a half with no animals at all, two years with no apartment. I ‘m renting a bedroom in a woman’s house, and on 30 october she suddenly said I could have an animal. I wasted no time. bought a guinea pig at the pet shop the very next day. here is a bit about the princess, the only animal I currently have while I still starve for another family.
when comes a new october… a line from a poem I wrote in 1993 when kimmy the brown tiger cat died on october 14. I’ve had reason to think of that poem many times over the years at kimmy’s anniversaries, and when other animals have died or arrived in october. this year it was an arrival. the bringing home of a five-week-old pinto guinea pig, who I hope will be the first member of the third continuous animal family I hope to soon have. she’s named for two of the cats (who happened to be first cousins) who were stolen from me last year.
so this small child starts her time with me living in one bedroom, and not knowing what will happen from day to day, as once again I am renting from a person of sharp vicissitudes. still homeless, in the sense that I have no apartment, no private space with no other humans in it. I was told I could have an animal, but will that still be true tomorrow or the next day? I hope so, because I’m very grateful that the landlady came out with this all on her own: that I could have an animal. I never would have dared to ask for such a thing. but when a person exhibits frequent and extreme changes of mood, I feel I’m always standing on shifting sand. I can’t count on anything.
having an animal of my own again, after nearly twenty months since my family was stolen, is both wonderful and terrible. I suppose I’ll say more about that in the days to come. here she be:
the princess at five weeks old
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2010
august… now we live in turners trolls, in a ponystall of a unit that I could never call an apartment. it’s more a large walk-in closet with a bathroom and a microwave attached to it (and I am claustrophobic). in a few days she will be eleven months old, and I’ve never yet elaborated on in what ways it is both wonderful and terrible to have another animal again after the holocaust that was perpetrated on me and my fourteen in 2008. maybe no one would understand anyway. even a somewhat mild version of asperger’s syndrome is enough to keep me incomprehensible to neurotypicals, and they to me.
I am not kidding about the princess part. shiloh-chailín has evolved into a tin-pot dictator, and I am at times her humble servant, at other times nothing more than slave. she is the most demanding, bossy and spoiled guinea pig I have ever had. she may well be the most demanding and spoiled of any animal I’ve ever had. the spoiled comes from being an only child, getting all the doting that I normally would share around with all of the family members. I don’t know where the bossy and demanding come from. but she’s also affectionate and loves to cuddle and casts me worried looks from her cage when I’m in a lot of pain from autoimmune attacks. and she is one very smart and very observant princess. I tease her about the demanding, the princess mindset, but part of me roots for her: yes, demand what you want, assert your right to my doting. you deserve it. your very smart, very loving, beautiful, and my first animal after the horror. you know perfectly well what you mean to me. capitalize on that all you can, because you’re a guinea pig and your life will be short.
photos from two months ago, when she was nine months.
chomping broccoli, which she has only recently come to like, on the floor of the ponystall in which we reside.
and here we are in our travelling basket. we go to the river with mommy in this basket. and so far, just once, we’ve made the longer trek to the canal. the princess is not delirious about these outings, but she tolerates them well enough, as she understands that mommy has had dogs and cats to walk outside with all her life, and now has none. you will note that the princess travels with her fischer-price teddy bear. she also owns a stuffed dog she’s very partial to. I’ve never before given such toys to any of my guinea pigs, and my other guinea pigs probably would have shown no interest in them if I had. but the dictator is extremely fond of and possessive about her two stuffed animals.
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further ahead in the future again. now it’s Saturday 30 October 2010, and the princess of peruvian cavies and I are having our first anniversary. it has been a year of servitude and ever-increasing spoiling. she always manages to think up something new that she wants to have exactly her way, so that every time I believe I’ve learned every single thing that will meet with her approval, she comes up with yet another idea on how I have to adjust things to please her.
two weeks ago she climbed into the bottom of the refrigerator and peed in it, claiming it as her own. our refrigerator is a mini-model, and she has known for ages that her treats are kept in it. she comes waddling and chattering every time I open it. for a while it was okay to just stand there at the open door, waiting for what I would bestow. then it became necessary for her highness to stand up with her little hands on the edge of the open vegetable drawer. finally even that wasn’t enough. we had to pee on the fridge floor and thus mark our royal territory.
no, she doesn’t run loose willy-nilly. I’m not stupid. she has a daily supervised playtime outside her cage for two-to-three hours. this gives her ample time to exercise, take a cat-nap with her stuffed animals, survey her queendom and decide what needs to be changed to suit her.
for our anniversary offerings I’ve presented her with a big bag of sweet meadow hay (a type of hay she hasn’t tried before), organic carrots with the greens still on (organics with greens are her most favorite carrots), and an addition to her stuffed animal collection. she now has a skunk, black-and-white as she is, and the skunk is a standing skunk. he doesn’t lie or sit lazily like her other animals. he stands up and puts his face right in hers. she’s still studying this new kind of standing animal very intently, and I, the slave, wait to see if she will decide to love him. she appears to know that she and the skunk are the same colors, and when she wants a certain type of comfort (comfort comes in different sorts), she goes to the skunk rather than the dog or the teddy.
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2012
a family now, a tiny one, after almost exactly four years since the stealing of the family I had. on thursday 9 February in this year, shiloh-chailín and I became the proud mother and big sister of two four-week-old parakeets. one is mostly bright yellow (with some accents of lime-green), and the other is sky-blue and white. the naming process resulted in canarie-canajoharie and cerulie-cerulean.
I guess that when I use the word proud, I’m speaking strictly for myself. miss princess guinea pig does not seem delighted to finally have siblings, something I’ve wanted for her since the day I brought her to my rented bedroom two and a half years ago. now the siblings are finally here, these bright birds that turn us from a couple into a family, and she is distinctly less than thrilled. jealousy is a great part of it. she has been an only child for so long, and so pampered, that sharing mommy with a couple of little brats who talk too much is rather beyond the pale. I hope that in time she’ll come to have at least some small appreciation of her yellow and blue sister and brother. —– 2013 note: she did.
we’re allowed to have one more family member in our new apartment… a cat. still seeking. who will it be?
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who will it be? she is judah-meredith (judy-mery for the nickname), eight weeks old, black and grey tabby, arrived on 21 March, the second day of spring, the birthday of bach. the family that I am now allowed by someone else to have is at last complete: we are all together now. I wonder how long will that last. you only have to read in my book stolen stars (link below) to understand why I have apprehension about how long we five might have together.
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2013
light the candles again when the night presses in… there are no words to say at the death of the day that cannot be said best by this light ………………………….. (from a poem I wrote in the 90’s)on the 12th of december, twelve days ago, shiloh-chailín poopy died. four years and two months old. among all the other things she was, she was a list of corny phrases: the apple of my eye, the darling of my heart, the center of my life and of this little family. it often happens, to me at least, that in moments of the strongest emotions, the clichéd phrases come.
it’s christmas eve for most others, but not for me. the trees and lights are here, little gifts for the remaining animals, only chicken for my dinner tomorrow because I just don’t care. the center of my life was taken away too close to the holiday for me to have it this year. it just isn’t in me. I had my christmas last year. it was my first one in a real apartment since 2007, and my first one with a little family in the same length of time. there was more money for gifts and a feast last year, and a friend was coming to dinner. and of course, there was poopy, and her little brother cerulie blue. none of these things are true this year. it isn’t christmas for me. I offer myself what small comfort I can: I had my christmas last year.
of the hundreds of animals I’ve had in my life, from the tiniest new-born guppy up to my 105-pound dog Brainse, this newly lost guinea pig has a significance for me that no other has ever had. she came to me when I was homeless. she was the first animal after the holocaust, the greatest trauma of my multi-trauma life. she had health issues all her days. we were alone, just the two of us, for two years and four months, before I could get her any siblings. for all of these reasons, she holds a place no other has ever held. she leaves a kind of empty hole that no other has ever left. she was indeed the center of my life for these last four years and one month. and how, really, could anyone have christmas only thirteen days after the center of one’s life was taken. to my mind that would be a very shallow heart, a flimsy love, if christmas could dwell in me now. and my love for her is neither shallow, nor flimsy, nor simply dealt with.
all will find me biased by a mother’s grief and love when I say that she was startlingly intelligent. think on this: in 2010 I gave her a little metal christmas tree all her own to play with. and one day I was complaining that I wished she would let me know when she peed during playtime so I could go find it and clean it up right away. just a few days later she began ringing a jingle bell on her tree right after she peed, and then I could go and find the pee. and that’s only one example of her great brain. she was keenly interested in every single thing I showed her: a bracelet, a rose, a handbell which I would then ring. everything I put in front of her would bring forward the charming little nose to sniff, to find out what the thing was and what it did. when I was bedridden with pain, only able to drag myself up to give her food while I waited for the prednisone to kick in, she would watch me intently through her glass walls, her face all concern. many more tales could be told about her impressive mind and her loving soul.
I walk the streets, and my memory places, in my usual tears. memories of and tears for the 14 who were stolen from me, and for others who died before our holocaust, and now for my princess. as with the other animals, I hope that some of her energy might be in the tree I reach to touch, or in the grassy places where I harvested grass this summer for her to eat, or in the snowflakes that fell on my skin a week ago today in our storm. einstein has taught me that energy cannot be destroyed. every living body produces energy until it dies, and if einstein is right, all that energy is out there around me in the universe. I don’t believe the soul survives the body, though I deeply wish I could believe that. it would be a huge comfort to think that my animals’ souls are all around me as I walk, and that in some way those souls could still feel my soul, feel my love, my grief, my gratitude for all they were, feel my missing them. but since I don’t believe this, I have just the energy. hoping I’m meeting their energy in leaves or bark or snowflakes or clouds… meeting it in all of nature. hoping that it’s touching me when a snowflake lands on my skin, or when I touch a pine bough.
I had my christmas last year. this year it’s forfeit. but on a certain level that’s as it should be, as grim as this day is. for certainly the great love and bond that we had, that significance that she and no other animal has, are profound enough to be worth a ruined christmas.
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ON FEBRUARY 28, 2011 AT 2:52 PM LEAVE A COMMENT EDIT THIS
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sarge 2
Page Seventy-five
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once in a while it comes about that I bond with an animal who does not in fact belong to me. when this happens, I do my best to maintain the contact for as long as circumstances will let me, but the circumstances that take these honorary family members away are varied. one of those circumstances being death.
it’s been a tough year… again. late last year, a cat I was very close to vanished from my life, and then in february cerulie blue and my younger brother both died. also in february a white goose I was very close with disappeared. in july, I lost a little mouse.
for months I’ve walked the places where I used to meet the cat (boots), and the separate places where I used to meet the goose (sarge), looking for these valued friends. not a glimpse, ever. I’d last seen the cat on veteran’s day, and the goose the day before valentine’s.
in july, right after the mouse died, I finally decided, grudgingly, that it was useless, that I had to stop actively looking for them. the cat was either dead or had been given to a new owner, and the goose was surely dead and gone. I formally said good-bye to them then, though for me, good-byes go on for the rest of my days. but that was the first one, the first time I began the process of convincing myself that boots and sarge were gone from me for good.
that was in early july. and each time I’ve walked the river since then I have not looked for my white, honky pal. he (she?) had been on a sheet of ice the last time I’d seen him. on the ice on february 13th with one canadian friend, sharing the corn I’d brought. I have remembered that when I’ve been down there, but I haven’t looked for him anymore.
on sunday 25 august I was walking down that way, down at the very spot where I’d last seen and fed him. I had my back to that spot because I was examining something across the street. then I heard canadian geese flying in behind me (I refuse to call them canada geese) and speaking their sounds that I’m so used to now. they had flown in from further down the river and were in their gradual descent to the water’s face when they flew by me. I was in the process of thanking them for coming along and speaking canadian goose at me, when I suddenly saw white. white in the little flock of about twenty birds. and not just one white body, but two. this discouraged me. sarge has been the only white body in among the canadians for two years, and the fact that there were two made me believe that these were two new white geese who had come to the river to live wild.
they landed a little distance from me in some lily pads, and as I walked towards them, hope began to chatter, in that annoying way that hope does. one white body was larger than the other. I whistled my old sarge whistle and the face on the larger body turned towards me.
it was him (or her), I saw when I got there. and he still knew me, after six and a half months. remembered that I’d brought him things, climbed out of the water onto the rocks, spoke barnyard goose to me, waiting to see what I’d give him. I had nothing. I was just on a sunrise walk, with no thought of seeing him again and no intention of stopping to feed water birds, so I hadn’t brought any treats.
I stared, stared, and talked to him. it’s probably not likely that anyone will be able to fathom the great love I have for this goose, who doesn’t even belong to me, who lives wild, though he didn’t start out his life that way. but for him to have come back from the dead — since that’s just how it feels to me, as if he had returned from death — absolutely stunned me on that day little more than a week ago, and I had an extremely hard time making myself leave him to come home. two hours later I went back with camera, corn and bread, but they had gone.
I’ve found him a few times since, though, and fed him, but as randomness will have it, I have not found him on the days I’ve had the camera with me. I have other pictures of him, but I wanted to get a shot of him after his long absence.
our friendship the first time around lasted a year and a half, and he would never be missing for more than four weeks. now here he is again. how long will it last this time? no knowing. maybe I’ll go tomorrow and he’ll be gone, and gone the next day and the next. I saw him yesterday, and maybe that will never be so again.
all animals give us gifts, and to those of us who are devout in our animaly-ness, these gifts are many. but one that sarge gave me sticks out always in my heart like the proverbial sore thumb. friday, 23 december 2011. I walked out leaving a corned beef cooking on the hotplate in my ponystall to do some last-minute christmas things. I was having company for the holiday (a thing that just about never happens) and didn’t know if I’d have any time for these things later. the first stop was to a human “friend.” I had gifts to deliver for her and her family. not great expenditures, mind you, because I can’t do that, but wrapped up remembrances of the season nonetheless. and she had for me… nothing. not on that day, not ever, no christmas gift for me. and she’d known in advance that I was shopping for them because the friendship was new and I’d had to ask about her family’s preferences. but nothing for me.
I left there feeling as if someone had physically beaten me up. crying. I felt worthless in her eyes, unimportant, not deserving of even the smallest little gift for yule, not valued as a friend.
I dragged myself to the river. there was one more gift to deliver, but my body and my heart felt literally as though they weighed tons, tons that I had to drag along through my tears.
I step onto the riverbank, look right and then left, and on the left he’s there on the grass, sarge. the one I’ve come to see. he’s some distance away from me, so I give him our whistle. as if someone had turned on his switch, he springs into vocal, moving life. waddling towards me as fast as his orange webbed feet can carry him (which isn’t terribly fast), honking the whole way his happy honk (there are happy ones, angry ones, summoning ones, and scared ones). I walk towards him as well and meet him half way. I pour onto the grass his christmas corn. his eyes are full of pleasure, as mine are now too.
I’m still crying, but this time it’s tears of gratitude. if the human made me feel like dirt, the goose made me feel like a queen. loved, needed, valued, appreciated. of course he wanted the food: I’m not an imbecile. but that is not all he gets from me. before he found this latest flock that seems to be a permanent set of companions for him, sarge was often lonely. periodically some canadians would come to the river, hang out with him for a month or two, and then move on. and when they were gone he was very alone. he’d walk up and down the grass honking and trying to communicate with humans. if canadians flew over, he would cry and cry out to them, looking skyward, wishing for them to land. when they didn’t, my heart would wrench for this lonely creature, for I know that kind of aloneness so bloody well. so when I would come along and spend time with sarge, well he needed that too.
he was all alone that december 23rd, as he had been for months. easily as lonely as I was. he needed me as much as he needed the corn. and he was so happy to see me, so waddling and honking and eye-twinkling happy to see me that I felt like singing. that’s the gift he gave me that always comes to my mind as number one when I’m thinking back on all the great times I’ve had with sarge.
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read… Stolen stars… Neverending solitaire…
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all my stars 
Babs said,
August 19, 2010 at 9:31 pm · Edit
Ah, yes. I too, serve a furry four legged master. It has been years since I have needed an alarm clock as HRH enjoys a very early breakfast. Isn’t it funny how such a big personality can come in such a small package.
braon said,
August 20, 2010 at 4:19 pm · Edit
I always find that all animals have very large animalalities indeed, and that there is as much variation in them as there is in human personalities.
you see the feline excellence in subliminal communication. HRH understands that rising in the early morning is healthy for you, and he is doing his best to keep you well. he further knows that deep down you ENJOY the early morning, but that left to your lazy human devices, you would sleep through it. he’s giving you something you value and helping you conquer human sloth.
Babs said,
August 23, 2010 at 10:19 am · Edit
Oh, it’s a Public Service!! Thank you, Mittens for making sure that I never miss a sunrise, it is indeed the nicest part of the day.
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read… Stolen stars…