Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs Read Free

old, I
think he understood. He must have, for his power and mine were
similar; his world was also full of larger, stronger people
who set rules that had to be obeyed. I hugged
him-the memory of that warm, slightly greasy black
coat, of that rich musky dog scent has stayed with
me all these years-and he leaned into me, wagging his
tail. With tears in my eyes and newfound doubt in
my heart, I left him standing in the sunshine and
returned to Sunday school, infinitely older and
wiser.
    How people interacted with and reacted to animals was
endlessly educational. I learned, for instance, that many
adults were not nearly as brave as they seemed. The
    summer that I was ten, I carried a coffee
can with me at all times. Sweetly patronizing
adults would ask what it was that I had in there, and ever
eager to share the amazing world of nature, I would open
the top and show them my pet stag beetle, Benjy.
I do not know what they expected from a ten-year-old
kid and a coffee can, but the three-inch-long,
impressively fierce-looking Benjy was
decidedly not it. A few shrieked before they could
recover their composure and
his smile weakly at me; some actually blanched.
All looked at me with new eyes after that, and quite a
few never again asked what I had, no matter how
provocatively I might carry a container.
I suppose every child blessed with siblings carries
resentments for youthful incidents long past. Ask
me what I remember of being four years old and
I'll tell you that was the year I had turtles.
Ostensibly, one of the two turtles was mine and the
other belonged to my sister Sheryl. Two years younger
than I am, Sheryl wanted to do everything that I
did, though our interests were considerably different.
She found babies [human babies!)
indescribably fascinating; I found them of
far less intrigue than an earthworm drying on the
sidewalk after a rainstorm. Happily playing with
my turtles, enjoying the prick of their tiny claws
on my hand, I was mildly annoyed when Sheryl
asked to hold one. But at my mother's urging, I
agreed to share the joy. More than three decades
later, my lips still automatically lift into a
sneer of disgust when I recall how, upon my placing
a turtle upon her outstretched hand, my sister
squealed, "He's got claws!" or something to that
effect and flung the hapless turtle across the room.
The turtle survived the incident, which in my
memory has far outlived the turtle itself.
Sheryl has grown up since then. She now has the
sense to avoid handling reptilian creatures, and
I know better than to let her. Endlessly
kindhearted, she loves animals best from a distance,
though she does not always understand them; and there have been a
few animals that she has loved up close and
personal, muddy paws, drool and all. She
earned high marks from me the day she discovered that an
intermittent ear problem was caused by a lone dog
hair curled neatly upon her left eardrum, the
result of a bed shared with her dog. I love my
sister, but despite that redeeming dog hair
in her ear, I'll go to my grave remembering the
turtle incident.
    My father and I frequently tangled over
animals. There was a pair of kittens I
recklessly accepted and hid in the car overnight. It
was his car, and despite my best intentions to wake up
long before he did and sneak the kittens into the house,
I never stirred until his roared "Suzanne!"
broke the morning wide open. Those kittens taught
me several lessons. First, set an alarm if you
really do have to get up early. Second, don't
put kittens in your father's car, at least not without
informing him first.
Last, providing food (and lots of it) and water
(lots of it) is not entirely sufficient for a
kitten's needs. One must provide a litter box
as well. The kittens went off to the local shelter,
and I lost my allowance and quite a few privileges
for a while.
    I also forgot one night to mention to my father that a large
Collie had