I am a big sister. Not by much, just 23 months, yet I'm still the big sister. It's a job I take quite seriously. It's my job to protect little sis from all things bad and evil and hurtful. I've only stepped into this role over the past fifteen years or so, but that means nothing. I am a fiercely loyal big sis. Perhaps making up for a 20 years of failed big-sisterness? No worries, lil' sis, big sis is here to take care of you.
Little sister is no slouch, and certainly doesn't need big sis looking out for her. She's made a dandy life of her own on the South Dakota farm. After a long day of putting pills in bottles and directing losers to the fishing license counter, she comes home and works the land with her 3 dogs. With Baylee and Belle running amok, she tends the garden with her baby dog Deuce. The Holden Trio of dogs is quite remarkable. Beautiful Chesapeake Bay Retrievers, 2/3rds of which are fine hunting dogs. Deuce, not so much. Little sister grows her vegetables and then turns them into edible works of art. Green Tomato Bread, Cinnamon Pickles, salsas, relishes, everything you'd expect from a South Dakota farm girl. If she were named Laura Ingalls Wilder, maybe.
I called Little Sis the other day to hear her laugh and giggle. She was busy. She was making brownies and said she'd call me back. I thought...okaayyyy, you can't prop the phone up with one ear and open the box of brownies while talking? No. Evidently not possible. She calls back a short while later, brownies in the oven. "Sorry", she says, "my chocolate had just melted and I was getting ready to add it to my dry ingredients". Little Sister was making brownies from scratch. Big Sister beamed with pride, as if she was the one to bring out this culinary talent in this girl.
Later that night, big and little sis would chat online, little sis IM'ing big sis about her puppy dog Deuce. Deucie was snuggling up with her, she would say. Deuce says hi, she says another day. Deuce was her girl, anyone could see.
Let me tell you about Deuce, the 1/3 of Chessie Party of Three that cannot hunt. She was born to be a hunter, considering her parents Baylee and Belle lived for the hunt. One day, Bethany left her husband and her 3 pups and headed off to the pharmacy. "All I ask is that you fold the laundry", she tells her husband, and then zoom she's gone and away. She returns 10 hours later to find a muddy Grant folding laundry. She waves to him, says a hi to Belle and Baylee, and then heads off to find her Deucie Girl. Except Deuce isn't there. Panic arises. "Hmmm, not sure" says Grant. They pile in the vehicle to find Deuce. There she is, lying injured in a ditch. "WHAT HAPPENED??" Bethany wants to know. "Well.....I loaded 3 dogs up in the truck at my Dad's house", says Grant. "And you come home a mile later and only two dogs are in the truck and you DON'T SEE THAT AS A PROBLEM???" demands Bethany. Well....I thought Belle had jumped out and chased a rabbit and it was Deuce and Baylee that I was unloading. Bethany begins to put together pieces of the story. "YOU were working the farm with your Dad all day, looked at the clock, realized I would soon be home and find a pile of unfolded laundry. You threw the dogs in the truck and FLOORED it to beat me home, and when you did , you threw Deuce out of the truck!!!" Can't quite argue with her logic.
The rounds of surgeries begin to repair Deuce's fractured hip socket. Consultants are brought in from neighboring states. After a few failed attempts, the choice is made to cut off the ball of her socket and hope that a muscle capsule will form to keep the leg in place. Deuce goes under the knife again, her hunting days over.
Deuce made a decent recovery, going to her physical therapy and doing all her exercises like a good little 6 month old pup should do. She wasn't too fond of her new modified leg and preferred to keep it tucked up when she ran. Bethany and Grant began to wonder about the need for this leg in the first place. In the end, Deuce was a happy, non-hunting dog who preferred to stay home and snuggle up with Bethany while her Mom and Dad went off with Grant to fetch the bird for that night's dinner of pheasant stir fry. They loved each other, Mom and Pup.
Bethany headed home from work on Friday night and called me on the phone to chat, since she has a long drive to her farm. "A shooting star!" she exclaims on the way home. "let me make a wish". Life is good. She has a great husband, a great job, a great farm, a wonderful baby on the way, and her Deucie girl waiting for her at home. I lose the phone connection with my sister at the same place as always, when she switches towers. I know she won't call me back because between the tower and her house, there is limited connectivity. I hang up and go back to doing my crossword puzzle, knowing I'll hear from her in the morning.
We have phones that don't actually ring, they play songs. Different songs for different people. Jeff's is "When the Saints", my Mom and Dad's is "Home Sweet Home", and Bethany's, of course, is "Old McDonald". So when I start hearing "Old McDonald had farm" play on the phone just twenty minutes later, I know it's not good news. I figured she'd be calling with a kooky story about something silly Grant did, we'll have a good laugh, and go to sleep. I only wish that was what it was.
"DEUCE IS DEAD!!" she's screaming, hystercially. WHAT???? Please tell me I heard you wrong. "DEUCE IS DEAD!!!" I said "Deuce is DEAD???" "YES!! DEUCE IS DEAD, BELLE RIPPED HER THROAT OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" "Deuce is dead and Belle ripped her throat out??" I stammer, grabbing Jeff's hands as his eyes pop out of his head at my words. "Yes, yes yes yes" Bethany sobs, panting, screaming, crying. She says "Belle ripped her throat out and now is eating her and won't stop". "BELLE is EATING her????" Why can't I wrap my mind around this?? Belle attacked her own daughter, ripped her throat out and is EATING her?? I know Belle eats dead animals, I know that dogs turn on others, but BELLE turning on Deuce? WHAT??? She says she tried to beat Belle away with a stick but Belle kept chewing at her. She's hystercial, she's traumatized at the sight of her dead puppy dog at the hands of her mother, and she's terrified. I start to get out of bed, not thinking, wanting to drive to South Dakota. I tell Bethany to get in her car and get to safety. I'm worried about her baby. I'm worried that Belle will turn on her. She drives away and hangs up.
I'm in shock. I cannot think that this has happened. Please tell me this did not happen. Oh my God please tell me this did not happen. Belle did not rip her throat out. No no no no noooooooooo. No. Baby Dog Deuce cannot be dead. No no no Bethany was wrong. Wrong!
The phone rings it's my sister again, still hysterical, still sobbing. I want to comfort her, protect her, I cannot. I ask her again what happened. She says Belle had fur and blood in her mouth. I cannot refute what she's saying, yet I cannot believe what she's saying either. We hang up.
She calls again. Somewhat calmer. Now her voice is not filled with trauma and shock, but rather grief. Things have changed. Grant had left work immediately and had made it home. He'd gone to the house. I picture him with a gun in one hand to protect himself from Belle. He finds his dogs and finds the truth. Belle had not murdered her daughter. They had been playing, as dogs do, and Belle's jaw and become tangled in Deuce's collar. Deuce had been strangled to death. Or perhaps Belle, who is 100 lbs of wiry muscle, had given a shake of her head and snapped Deucie's neck. Either way, Deuce did not suffer. She either died instantly or experienced the euphoria that precedes death by strangulation. Belle was still trapped. It had been hours, yet she was still stuck to her daughter. She was biting, scratching, tearing, anything to get herself free. The blood everywhere was from Belle. Deuce was not injured in the way Bethany had thought. Belle had worked for hours to free her self and turned her face into a bloody swollen mess.
Grant, being ever so tender to my sister, wraps Deuce in a blanket and brings her inside. He then leaves to seek help for Belle who is bleeding heavily and needs electrolytes. Bethany cares for her pup, cleanses her of her mother's blood, brushes her hair, says her goodbyes. Her Deuce is gone. She calls me back. "That shooting star, that was my Deuce".
They didn't get much sleep that night. They are devastated. Belle is depressed and suffering just as great as a loss as my sister. She wakes up in the middle of the night and looks over at Belle. She's not asleep, she's just sitting there, staring. This speaks volumes. Dogs sleep or play, they do not sit and stare. And they do NOT do it in the middle of the night. When have you ever woken up and seen a dog not sleeping, just staring? Belle is grieving as well.
Big sis is upset over the loss of little sister's best friend. But moreover, big sister is mourning those 30 minutes in which little sister experience sheer abject terror and devastation. It's her job to protect little sister from all things bad and evil, yet she had to sit helpless while she thought she'd witnessed the horrific death of her dog. I know that's not what happened, Bethany knows that's not what happened, yet still the fact that she had to experience such fear and grief and panic at what she saw is enough to make me sick. I didn't sleep that night. I didn't sleep because I didn't want my SISTER to go to sleep. Because I didn't want her to experience that split-nanosecond of peace that occurs right when you wake up and life is good. Then, your brain remembers and you think "Deuce is dead". And it all comes crashing down around you.
My sister has had her fair share of crappy turns in life. She's strong, she's independent, she's tough, yet still, what she thought she saw, for those 30 minutes, is what devastates me. She felt pain. She felt fear. She felt disgust, and big sister never could and never will be able to protect her from that.
Bethany and Grant are recovering. They've lost animals, so they know what to expect. They know that they'll look for Deuce before their brain reminds them she's now a shooting star. They'll get up to let her in and realize she's not there. They'll hear her bark and snuffle and they'll smile at their silly dog that is no longer there. And if they're like me, they'll hear her at night, walking through the house. And they'll see a blanket laying on the floor in the shape of a dog and they'll step gingerly around it, so as not to disturb their sleeping dog. But, they'll move on. They know that there are those of us who have put their animals to sleep, as have they. They also know there are others who have found two of their dogs dead on two separate, sad mornings. They'll be ok.
My eldest misses Deuce. She wants to know why Deuce had to die. I told her Deuce was a shooting star in the heaven. She wanted to name a star after her. Now, if you look in the International Star Registry, you'll find that in the constellation Pegasus, there is a star that bears the name "Deuce Holden".
Little sister is no slouch, and certainly doesn't need big sis looking out for her. She's made a dandy life of her own on the South Dakota farm. After a long day of putting pills in bottles and directing losers to the fishing license counter, she comes home and works the land with her 3 dogs. With Baylee and Belle running amok, she tends the garden with her baby dog Deuce. The Holden Trio of dogs is quite remarkable. Beautiful Chesapeake Bay Retrievers, 2/3rds of which are fine hunting dogs. Deuce, not so much. Little sister grows her vegetables and then turns them into edible works of art. Green Tomato Bread, Cinnamon Pickles, salsas, relishes, everything you'd expect from a South Dakota farm girl. If she were named Laura Ingalls Wilder, maybe.
I called Little Sis the other day to hear her laugh and giggle. She was busy. She was making brownies and said she'd call me back. I thought...okaayyyy, you can't prop the phone up with one ear and open the box of brownies while talking? No. Evidently not possible. She calls back a short while later, brownies in the oven. "Sorry", she says, "my chocolate had just melted and I was getting ready to add it to my dry ingredients". Little Sister was making brownies from scratch. Big Sister beamed with pride, as if she was the one to bring out this culinary talent in this girl.
Later that night, big and little sis would chat online, little sis IM'ing big sis about her puppy dog Deuce. Deucie was snuggling up with her, she would say. Deuce says hi, she says another day. Deuce was her girl, anyone could see.
Let me tell you about Deuce, the 1/3 of Chessie Party of Three that cannot hunt. She was born to be a hunter, considering her parents Baylee and Belle lived for the hunt. One day, Bethany left her husband and her 3 pups and headed off to the pharmacy. "All I ask is that you fold the laundry", she tells her husband, and then zoom she's gone and away. She returns 10 hours later to find a muddy Grant folding laundry. She waves to him, says a hi to Belle and Baylee, and then heads off to find her Deucie Girl. Except Deuce isn't there. Panic arises. "Hmmm, not sure" says Grant. They pile in the vehicle to find Deuce. There she is, lying injured in a ditch. "WHAT HAPPENED??" Bethany wants to know. "Well.....I loaded 3 dogs up in the truck at my Dad's house", says Grant. "And you come home a mile later and only two dogs are in the truck and you DON'T SEE THAT AS A PROBLEM???" demands Bethany. Well....I thought Belle had jumped out and chased a rabbit and it was Deuce and Baylee that I was unloading. Bethany begins to put together pieces of the story. "YOU were working the farm with your Dad all day, looked at the clock, realized I would soon be home and find a pile of unfolded laundry. You threw the dogs in the truck and FLOORED it to beat me home, and when you did , you threw Deuce out of the truck!!!" Can't quite argue with her logic.
The rounds of surgeries begin to repair Deuce's fractured hip socket. Consultants are brought in from neighboring states. After a few failed attempts, the choice is made to cut off the ball of her socket and hope that a muscle capsule will form to keep the leg in place. Deuce goes under the knife again, her hunting days over.
Deuce made a decent recovery, going to her physical therapy and doing all her exercises like a good little 6 month old pup should do. She wasn't too fond of her new modified leg and preferred to keep it tucked up when she ran. Bethany and Grant began to wonder about the need for this leg in the first place. In the end, Deuce was a happy, non-hunting dog who preferred to stay home and snuggle up with Bethany while her Mom and Dad went off with Grant to fetch the bird for that night's dinner of pheasant stir fry. They loved each other, Mom and Pup.
Bethany headed home from work on Friday night and called me on the phone to chat, since she has a long drive to her farm. "A shooting star!" she exclaims on the way home. "let me make a wish". Life is good. She has a great husband, a great job, a great farm, a wonderful baby on the way, and her Deucie girl waiting for her at home. I lose the phone connection with my sister at the same place as always, when she switches towers. I know she won't call me back because between the tower and her house, there is limited connectivity. I hang up and go back to doing my crossword puzzle, knowing I'll hear from her in the morning.
We have phones that don't actually ring, they play songs. Different songs for different people. Jeff's is "When the Saints", my Mom and Dad's is "Home Sweet Home", and Bethany's, of course, is "Old McDonald". So when I start hearing "Old McDonald had farm" play on the phone just twenty minutes later, I know it's not good news. I figured she'd be calling with a kooky story about something silly Grant did, we'll have a good laugh, and go to sleep. I only wish that was what it was.
"DEUCE IS DEAD!!" she's screaming, hystercially. WHAT???? Please tell me I heard you wrong. "DEUCE IS DEAD!!!" I said "Deuce is DEAD???" "YES!! DEUCE IS DEAD, BELLE RIPPED HER THROAT OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" "Deuce is dead and Belle ripped her throat out??" I stammer, grabbing Jeff's hands as his eyes pop out of his head at my words. "Yes, yes yes yes" Bethany sobs, panting, screaming, crying. She says "Belle ripped her throat out and now is eating her and won't stop". "BELLE is EATING her????" Why can't I wrap my mind around this?? Belle attacked her own daughter, ripped her throat out and is EATING her?? I know Belle eats dead animals, I know that dogs turn on others, but BELLE turning on Deuce? WHAT??? She says she tried to beat Belle away with a stick but Belle kept chewing at her. She's hystercial, she's traumatized at the sight of her dead puppy dog at the hands of her mother, and she's terrified. I start to get out of bed, not thinking, wanting to drive to South Dakota. I tell Bethany to get in her car and get to safety. I'm worried about her baby. I'm worried that Belle will turn on her. She drives away and hangs up.
I'm in shock. I cannot think that this has happened. Please tell me this did not happen. Oh my God please tell me this did not happen. Belle did not rip her throat out. No no no no noooooooooo. No. Baby Dog Deuce cannot be dead. No no no Bethany was wrong. Wrong!
The phone rings it's my sister again, still hysterical, still sobbing. I want to comfort her, protect her, I cannot. I ask her again what happened. She says Belle had fur and blood in her mouth. I cannot refute what she's saying, yet I cannot believe what she's saying either. We hang up.
She calls again. Somewhat calmer. Now her voice is not filled with trauma and shock, but rather grief. Things have changed. Grant had left work immediately and had made it home. He'd gone to the house. I picture him with a gun in one hand to protect himself from Belle. He finds his dogs and finds the truth. Belle had not murdered her daughter. They had been playing, as dogs do, and Belle's jaw and become tangled in Deuce's collar. Deuce had been strangled to death. Or perhaps Belle, who is 100 lbs of wiry muscle, had given a shake of her head and snapped Deucie's neck. Either way, Deuce did not suffer. She either died instantly or experienced the euphoria that precedes death by strangulation. Belle was still trapped. It had been hours, yet she was still stuck to her daughter. She was biting, scratching, tearing, anything to get herself free. The blood everywhere was from Belle. Deuce was not injured in the way Bethany had thought. Belle had worked for hours to free her self and turned her face into a bloody swollen mess.
Grant, being ever so tender to my sister, wraps Deuce in a blanket and brings her inside. He then leaves to seek help for Belle who is bleeding heavily and needs electrolytes. Bethany cares for her pup, cleanses her of her mother's blood, brushes her hair, says her goodbyes. Her Deuce is gone. She calls me back. "That shooting star, that was my Deuce".
They didn't get much sleep that night. They are devastated. Belle is depressed and suffering just as great as a loss as my sister. She wakes up in the middle of the night and looks over at Belle. She's not asleep, she's just sitting there, staring. This speaks volumes. Dogs sleep or play, they do not sit and stare. And they do NOT do it in the middle of the night. When have you ever woken up and seen a dog not sleeping, just staring? Belle is grieving as well.
Big sis is upset over the loss of little sister's best friend. But moreover, big sister is mourning those 30 minutes in which little sister experience sheer abject terror and devastation. It's her job to protect little sister from all things bad and evil, yet she had to sit helpless while she thought she'd witnessed the horrific death of her dog. I know that's not what happened, Bethany knows that's not what happened, yet still the fact that she had to experience such fear and grief and panic at what she saw is enough to make me sick. I didn't sleep that night. I didn't sleep because I didn't want my SISTER to go to sleep. Because I didn't want her to experience that split-nanosecond of peace that occurs right when you wake up and life is good. Then, your brain remembers and you think "Deuce is dead". And it all comes crashing down around you.
My sister has had her fair share of crappy turns in life. She's strong, she's independent, she's tough, yet still, what she thought she saw, for those 30 minutes, is what devastates me. She felt pain. She felt fear. She felt disgust, and big sister never could and never will be able to protect her from that.
Bethany and Grant are recovering. They've lost animals, so they know what to expect. They know that they'll look for Deuce before their brain reminds them she's now a shooting star. They'll get up to let her in and realize she's not there. They'll hear her bark and snuffle and they'll smile at their silly dog that is no longer there. And if they're like me, they'll hear her at night, walking through the house. And they'll see a blanket laying on the floor in the shape of a dog and they'll step gingerly around it, so as not to disturb their sleeping dog. But, they'll move on. They know that there are those of us who have put their animals to sleep, as have they. They also know there are others who have found two of their dogs dead on two separate, sad mornings. They'll be ok.
My eldest misses Deuce. She wants to know why Deuce had to die. I told her Deuce was a shooting star in the heaven. She wanted to name a star after her. Now, if you look in the International Star Registry, you'll find that in the constellation Pegasus, there is a star that bears the name "Deuce Holden".
When a pet dies, a cloud turns into an angel,
and flies up to tell God to put another flower on a pillow.
A bird gives the message back to the world,
A bird gives the message back to the world,
and sings a silent prayer that makes the rain cry.
Dogs disappear, but they never really go away.
They are up there to put the sun to bed, wake up grass, and spin the
earth in dizzy circles. Sometimes you can see them dancing in a cloud during
the daytime, when they're supposed to be sleeping. They paint the rainbows
and also the sunsets and make waves splash and tug at the tide.
They toss shooting stars and listen to wishes.
And when they sing windsongs, they whisper to us,
the view is nice and I'm doing just fine.
Dogs disappear, but they never really go away.
They are up there to put the sun to bed, wake up grass, and spin the
earth in dizzy circles. Sometimes you can see them dancing in a cloud during
the daytime, when they're supposed to be sleeping. They paint the rainbows
and also the sunsets and make waves splash and tug at the tide.
They toss shooting stars and listen to wishes.
And when they sing windsongs, they whisper to us,
the view is nice and I'm doing just fine.
