WALKING IN THE SNOW

WALKING IN THE SNOW 

February 21, 2015

Picking up the mail on a record cold and windy Saturday, was not what drove me out of the house yesterday. Dressed with my 'Nanook' jacket and water-resistant new boots, I opened the garage door; looked at the falling snow; felt the wind and decided to walk to the mailbox. 

I made it to the street, moving one foot in front of the other. It appeared almost heroic to follow the footsteps I was the first one to make. No cars, no people, no dogs. Then, I stopped and looked around. Our little street was dressed in white. The snow was playing with my face and my shades. But the game was getting  very rough. 

I spent a few seconds debating the sanity of this trip. Nothing important comes in the mail on Saturday. Although I live with a serious medical condition, there was something about this 'white silence' I could not push aside. I couldn't get enough of it.

And the walk continued. 

Without lifting my head, I made five steps ahead. The boots were sliding. What may look like an innocent fall for a child, may trigger a huge disaster for my body. Finally, I looked up. I saw a little black dog with its owner - far in the distance. I was jealous of the owner, because the dog was slowly, but confidently, leading the way. He knew where the street curb was. At the same time, the dog gave me walking directions. He was a much more superior being than me.

All in all, the dog was my hero. I saw the mailbox. It was full of mail. I shoved it in my pockets in a rush.

The trip back was easier, I followed my winding footsteps. As I reached the garage, I had to pat myself on the back. Next, I saw my husband at the door. He sensed his wife was missing.

He went through the mail and picked a handwritten little envelope. 




to be continued....

PRINCESS

PRINCESS

Twenty two years ago my daughter and I immigrated to USA. Our survival depended on the graciousness of good American families. There were 2 suitcases and a bleak desire to really make it in the foreign land. My former husband had arrived before us. He was accepted in graduate school. The big question mark was how we all can survive on very slim resources.

It was our first American summer; school had not started yet. I was helping a nice family with babysitting in exchange for room and board. For some time, we were staying in a house in Washington, D.C. One day, a couple living close by, came with a request to have us house-sit and dog-sit, while they were on vacation. They knew us vaguely; they had already helped us with linens and other necessities, which we needed badly at this time.

The request came as a big surprise to us. Not only they trusted us to stay at a fantastically decorated old style Georgetown house; they left a family member behind, a Lab Retriever, named Princess.

The first day we spent walking gingerly though the house, making sure we do not leave any signs on the carpet. The house looked like a museum to me with its antique furniture,
paintings, décor… It was a completely new world – one, not seen on the little TV we had acquired from another good American. We knew – we can watch everything surrounding us, but we cannot touch or move anything. All I wanted was to remember all I can see… I was not sure I was ever going to see a place that beautiful…

Princess was not following us during the tour. She gave us time to get to know her house. When dinner time came, we knew the fridge was packed with food for us. Princess had her special food in a big bag, with special instructions, left by the owners, along with the amount we need to give her. She was not a young dog, but was eating well. She did not need long walks, just enough to get outside and take care of ‘her business.’

Our first day house-sitting and dog-sitting went smooth. Playing with Princess, enjoying her beauty was something we had never done before in our lives. We never had a dog or a cat.

The problems started later. Coming from a poor Eastern European country, where many dogs and cats wander on the streets and eat scraps, it was hard to comprehend one simple truth: when a bag of food carries a label “Dog Food”, this is what a dog is supposed to eat. Crispy fried bacon is not a gourmet meal for an old posh Princess, although the smell is tempting. Her belly cannot handle it. Well, I wish I knew that back then…

One evening, while everyone was having dinner, Princess looked so pitiful; she was sitting next to the table looking up at us. We decided to share everything with her. One piece of food lead to another, it was not her regular dry food dinner. It was our type of dinner – with fried food and quite a lot of fat.

Then, Princess went quite reluctantly for an evening walk. In the morning, she was laying down close to the front door. She was not barking, not eager to go out, not eager to eat… She made it clumsily outside. My daughter and I walked her out. She was looking at the other dogs. I can almost hear her saying “good bye” to them. When we got home, she lay down close to the front door again. No reaction to toys, bones… She was just staring at the front door… We were certain we have killed her because of our stupidity.  Big, unforgivable, unforgettable stupidity. Crying, my daughter took her for an extra walk. A very long walk… Whatever they did, they both came back ‘smiling.’

I am sure Princess did not tell anyone about the crispy bacon. When the owners came back they thank us for the good care we took of her. We did, we just did not know that even dogs are different in the world we have arrived in.

Maybe, this is not entirely correct. They may eat different food, but they are the friend you want to have in every country around the word. They will not forget you, no matter how old, or fat you have become. To them, it is the HUMAN they know.  

DISCLAIMER: Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All
characters appearing in this story are fictitious.