INVESTIGATIVE FICTION

Tribulations of a Miniature Poodle: A Diary

April 11, 2013

Written by Colby Stream

Tribulations of a Miniature Poodle: A Dairy

      Dogs do have a written language, contrary to popular belief. Or, at the very least, mini poodles do. I’ve never actually read the language as written by any other breed of dog. I’ve discovered, and managed to translate, the diary of one singular poodle. Where and how does a dog keep a diary? You might ask. This is part of what makes the story so peculiar. Most dogs have no way to keep their diary cohesive. Part of it is stored on the kitchen floor, only to be mopped up. Other parts are stored in the arrangement of dog food pieces, the slobbers on a window and the placement of bones. Don’t take this to mean that each of these means something. On the whole, they are mostly what they seem – just a dog making a mess. But I stray. This poodle, name Gracie, stored her diary in no other place than her portable kennel. She recorded her narrative through tiny bite marks, scratches, mucus, food scraps and the occasional fecal smear. I have, through many great pains, translated the narrative for you, my reader. In some places I’ve taken liberalities in syntax and word choice. But, on the whole, I am satisfied that I have captured the spirit of the work. Note that these aren’t dated. I’ve simply titled them, “Entry 1” and so forth.

Entry  1    Today he shot me in the bum with a BB Gun (I realize this word – bum – is childish, but itʼs how my mummy says it to me). It hasnʼt always been this way. Thatʼs why Iʼve started this diary. I wish to remember the good times, and record the, well, not so good. Maybe one day Iʼll look back on them as a memory, as a struggle I had to get through, and Iʼll know Iʼm better for it.

A note about this piece: I own a mini poodle. While she is the origin for this story, and while some of the events actually happened (the escape, for example) this is an untrue story. My mini poodle, Sophie, did not come from an abusive home. The woman we adopted her from loves her very much, and still visits Sophie on occasion.

Written  by  Colby  Stream  

I donʼt remember my very early life. However, Iʼve learned that I was born blind, as all pups are. Not long after I gained my vision my new mum, who I distinguish from my birth parent with the term “mother,” took me to her home. I remember these times fondly. My mum left me during the day, but every night she came home and I sat on her lap while she did other things. Sometimes Iʼd lick her fingers. This would annoy her, as it interrupted whatever she was doing, but I didnʼt care. I lived only for her affection, and to return that affection. I was never very interested in Frisbees or balls or that sort of thing. During the day I lounged around, taking my place at the softest pillow on the couch. This gave me a view of the living room, down one hallway and into a bedroom, and out the front window. But it wasnʼt the safety of the house I watched out for. I watched for her. Things went well for a while. Then one day, my mum brought a man home. I have nothing against men in particular. At least, I didnʼt. I found nothing wrong with this one at first. I still had my time with my mum. While I never got a response from him when I sat on his lap and licked his fingers, neither did he treat me poorly. As time passed my mum grew round. Soon she gave birth to a little girl. I found joy cuddling up next to mum while she held the baby. Meanwhile the man moved into the house and shared a bed with mum. I was relocated to this kennel at night, instead of my place on the bed. The pranks began harmlessly enough. One time Brandon put the babyʼs diaper on me. Another he tied me to a tree and tossed pieces of food past my head, where they landed just out of reach. He was most fond, however, of growling at me. I know he never meant any serious threat (at least, I didnʼt think so), but it always set me off scampering beneath the bed just the same. But tonight…tonight I really feel like heʼs crossed a line. He sat across the yard, gun propped at his knee, and shot little BBʼs at me. I tried to make a scamper for the door, but every time he would cut me off, shooting just in front of my face, and Iʼd be forced to regroup to the farthest corner of the yard. It finally ended when mum, after watching for a time, called it off. Iʼve just now been put into the kennel for the night.        It  is  here  that  I  must  interrupt.  While  the  words  are  simple  enough  to  translate,  I  find  a  harder  time  conveying  the  feelings  that  Gracie  herself  meant  to  record.  It  is  in  this  section  that  the  actually  recording  ends  for  the  evening.  What  follows  is  a  type  

of  mourning.  In  a  single  mark,  Gracie  records  so  many  feelings  that  it’s  hard  to  translate  it  accurately.  The  most  clear  part  is  that  Gracie  feels  a  sense  of  loss.  Not  a  physical  sense  of  loss  –  at  least,  I  don’t  think  so  –  but  rather  the  loss  of  security  she  felt  from  her  mum,  when  her  mum  allowed  the  boyfriend  to  shoot  Gracie.    Muddled  in  the  mark  are  feelings  of  confusion,  anger  and  hopelessness.  There’s  also  fright,  as  you  can  imagine.  But,  above  all,  I  find  anguish.  I’m  not  sure  that  I  can  explain  this,  but  I  imagine  it  as  a  deep  sense  of  pain  (or  something  beyond  pain)  emanating  from  her  very  core.    Above  all,  I  think  that  is  what  Gracie  was  trying  to  record:  anguish.    

Entry  2    I reread the last section and now realize that any dog reading this must think I lead the most wretched life in existence. They must ask themselves why I donʼt run away. But the truth is that my life isnʼt all that bad. In fact, itʼs only because my life has been so good that the abuse has prompted me to begin this dairy. In comparison to the rest of my life, the diaper jokes and the BBʼs feel utterly horrible. For example, we often go to the park. I donʼt remember much happier times than these walks to the park. Me, mum and the little girl go at least once a week. I stay on the leash when weʼre on the hard, hot ground, but once we reach the grass mum always lets me go. I run and play and eat all the grass I want. And the smells! Thereʼs always other boy-dog smells for me to roll in and mark. I get so excited – running and rolling and playing and marking so much – that I often reach a point where I canʼt breathe. I finally have to stand in one place and pull great breathes through my nose until I calm down enough to lay in the shade and watch the little girl play. Itʼs not exactly lady like, but I find joy in it all the same. I donʼt believe Iʼve talked about the little girl much. In truth, I donʼt really like her, although I canʼt say I dislike her. She carries me around a lot. Iʼd much rather lay on my pillow, or at least walk myself around. She also yells “No” at me. Most often I canʼt tell exactly what sheʼs yelling at me to stop. But on the whole she leaves me alone. I suppose I canʼt ask for much better. At least she doesnʼt pull my hair or taunt me. Or shoot at me.    

Here  there’s  a  gap,  although  I  can’t  say  for  how  long.  I  don’t  imagine  that  dogs  measure  time  in  the  same  fashion  we  do,  and  the  writing  never  seems  to  indicate  the  passing  of  days  or  meals,  just  that  the  sections  are  written  at  different  intervals.      

Entry  3    Thereʼs another person, newer to my life, who I havenʼt discussed and wish to write about. She comes most days, arriving in the morning and staying for a few hours. I canʼt understand why, except that mum leaves during the same time. I suppose it could be that the woman – although she could also be a girl, for she appears just a bit younger than mum – comes to watch after the little girl. Sometimes she does the clothes. Other times she sits on the couch and watches the box with the little girl. She also feeds the little girl, lets me out into the back yard and does a number of other tasks. At first I ran from her and stayed under the bed, but Iʼm not as frightened of women as I am of men so I gradually came out. Sheʼs not mean. In fact, sheʼs nice at times. She bends down close to the floor and calls my name sweetly. She often strokes me for a few moments, then turns back to the little girl or whatever task she was doing. I only mention her because she spends so much time in the house. Overall, Iʼm not bothered by her presence.  

   The  next  two  sections  are  what  I  would  call  the  fulcrum  of  the  story.  It’s  because  of  these  two  sections,  and  the  pursuing  changes,  that  make  this  story  worth  translating.  Although  they  appear  directly  after  the  last  section,  I  believe  considerable  time  has  passed  –  at  least  two  weeks.  Of  course,  I  have  no  way  to  back  this  theory  up.  It’s  simply  a  guess.    

Entry  4    

I feel horrible. Itʼs all my fault! And yet…I really couldnʼt help it, and Iʼm not sure the punishment was justified. Let me set down what happened. Mum and the man left for a bit. They took the little girl with them. Usually they leave me in the kennel, but not this time. I lay down on my couch pillows, so

thankful that I didnʼt have to lie in that confined space, when the most wonderful smell wafted over to me. I knew it was coming from the sink. And I knew I could get up there and see it. But I also knew that I wasnʼt supposed to. More than once I have taken something from the kitchen and been locked away into my kennel for it. Moment after moment I resisted the smell, until I couldnʼt resist any longer. Maybe it was my natural instincts kicking in. Maybe I just donʼt have good discipline. But either way, I couldnʼt resist. I climbed up onto a chair, hopped on the table and jumped the gap onto the counter. There in the sink were two large, juicy pieces of meat. I just wanted one of them; no reason to be greedy and take both. So I hauled it down and pulled it into the back room. I couldnʼt find a very good place to hide it, so I slipped it under a blanket and covered it up. Just as I was thinking about getting it back out and taking a nibble, I heard mum at the front door. I turned away and ran to greet her. Later that evening all of us were in the back room. I was lying on the couch next to mum. She got up and picked the blanket up off the floor. I jumped up, but it was too late. Before I knew it mum had taken the meat into the kitchen. But the man was angry. He began to yell at me. I feared he might hit me so tried to run past him and into the bedroom, so that I could hide under the bed. I couldnʼt make it past him. He kicked me across the room. I felt him connect with my left side. The kick scooped me up and flung me across the room. I landed on my feet, but couldnʼt stop myself before hitting the wall. He started coming after me when mum rushed into the room. She tried to hold him back but he pushed her and she fell against the couch. I could hear him yelling at her, but I couldnʼt understand his words. I bolted and hid under the bed. Mum came and got me a little while later. She locked me in the kennel. For a little longer I heard them yelling at each other. Then it was silent and I heard mum

crying, alone, in the other room. I pawed at my cage and whimpered. I wanted to go to her and comfort her. I even tried a few barks, but she yelled at me and I stopped. I finally calmed down, resting my face against the front of the cage, hoping she would come to me so I could lick her tears away. She never did. And so I turned to you, my diary. Now I suppose I should sleep, but I canʼt. So Iʼll lie here until they let me out or I drift into sleep.      Again,  a  break  and  then  Gracie  resumes  the  story.      

Entry  5    For a while I thought everything was OK. I thought that the storm had blown over and everything was going to be fine. The man was leaving me alone. Mum still let me sit in her lap, although she seemed sadder. Mum and the man seemed less close to each other, but this didnʼt bother me much. They talked less, and whenever he came into the room and I was on mumʼs lap she would hold me tighter. And then, the unthinkable happened: Mum gave me away. But only kind of. Itʼs all very confusing. Iʼm living at the house of that lady who takes care of the little girl. I spend all night there. Then she brings me to my mumʼs home, we stay there a few hours and the lady takes me away again. Like I said, itʼs confusing. But Iʼm not entirely sad for it because the lady seems to be a little protective of me. The second day after the change we were leaving when the man came in. I hid behind the lady, frozen and not sure what to do. He said something and the lady replied. I got the distinct feeling they were talking about me. I couldnʼt understand the words, but her tone seemed like she was lecturing him. Itʼs the type of tone mum has used on me after Iʼve taken something from the kitchen – once she found where I hid it. He didnʼt respond. The lady picked me up and took me outside, to her car, and drove away.

This lady also has a man. I admit Iʼm scared of him – Iʼm scared of all men, now – and yet heʼs different. For one heʼs smaller than the other. And he squats on the ground, sticking his hand out and sweetly calling my name. I went to him once. He smells OK, but I didnʼt let him touch me. I ran back a few steps and waited for him to charge, or yell, or kick. He didnʼt. Instead, he stood up, said something to the woman, smiled and went to the kitchen. I donʼt think Iʼll ever be able to trust him, but at least he hasnʼt tried to hurt me. At least, not yet.  

Entry  6    The most terrible thing happened to me today! The lady left me during the day. Usually she takes me to my mumʼs house, but not today. Instead, she left me at her house and opened up the see-through door that lets me outside. This outside part is fenced in. Itʼs not very big and is made of the hot hard stuff, although thereʼs some grass around the edges. The lady has been taking me around the neighborhood. I thought I understood how to get back if I left, so I slipped out through a loose place in the fence. Itʼs a very nice neighborhood. Thereʼs lots of grassy space and trees. I avoid the big lake of water in the middle, mostly because itʼs fenced. But other than the water place I can go almost wherever I want. I was sniffing around, looking for friends to meet, when I saw it: one of the small, nasty furry creatures called a squirrel. I paused, sizing it up, then shot after it. I didnʼt catch it, but I was able to chase if off the property. I had strayed a little beyond the boundaries of our neighborhood, but I was pretty sure I could find my way home. I turned around and began to trot home. But there was a man in my way, crouching down and moving slowly toward me. I didnʼt wait, but ran off in the opposite direction as fast as I could. Not to brag, but Iʼm quite a fast runner. I donʼt even think the man tried to chase me. I found an area of grass behind some buildings where two fences met. I was breathing really hard by the time I got there, so I laid down to rest. After a time I decided to try heading back to the neighborhood. I have a pretty good sense of direction. I was almost there when I heard people yelling my name. But it wasnʼt the lady, or her man. It looked like the people who lived next to them. I met them once,

very briefly. They have a dog – I could smell it on them – but never got a chance to meet her and see what kind of people they were. While I was thinking, trying to decide what to do, they spotted me and came running after me. My instinct kicked in and I ran back to my safe corner. I tried several times to get back to the neighborhood, but each time I was stopped for one reason or another. It grew late. The sun began to disappear, and it was raining a little bit. Although it got warm during the day, the nights were still cold. I was shivering. Finally, I couldnʼt stay in the corner any longer. I decided to try another attempt at reaching the neighborhood. Just as I was almost there, I spotted him. A man I didnʼt know, just a little ahead of me on the sidewalk. We both paused, looking at each other, then I turned and ran as fast as I could back to my safe corner. I settled in, intending to wait until the sun was fully down, but when I looked up he was there, several feet away from me, calling my name. I started to run, but then stopped. He looked familiar. Then I realized: he was the ladyʼs man. At first I thought he might be angry. He didnʼt look like it, but that didnʼt mean it wasnʼt a trick. I finally decided that I didnʼt care. I was wet, and cold. And he was on the ground. Not exactly laying on it, but not crouching either. I went to him. Not at a full walk, but more like a grovel, as if I was slithering across the ground. It wasnʼt lady like, but one doesnʼt worry about that sort of thing in these situations. He picked me up and clutched me to his chest. I was too tired to be scared anymore. I just lay there, being held and feeling his kisses on me. He took me back to the house, where the lady was waiting. She picked me up and hugged me, then they both sat on the couch petting me. After drying me off and warming me up, we went to bed. Iʼve just now summoned the energy to get up and record all this. I thought it would help sort out my confused feelings, but it hasnʼt, really. The man saved me, in a sense, and that makes me think heʼs OK. But what if itʼs just a show for the lady? What if he doesnʼt really care about me, but is just acting? After all, he is a man.

I donʼt know, but I want to find out. Iʼll be careful, but Iʼm going to see if heʼs really kind, as he pretends to be, or if heʼll hurt me when sheʼs not around. Oh, Iʼm so scared! But I must. Wish me luck.      Much  time  passes  between  the  last  entry  and  this  one.  I’m  not  exactly  sure  how  much  –  a  few  weeks,  a  month,  more  –  but  it’s  clear  by  the  progression  of  Gracie’s  relationship  with  the  family  that  some  time  has  passed.      

Entry  7   So much has changed since my last entry. I feel like my time, my need, to record events here is at a close. But still, I donʼt want to leave it unfinished – even though I know that nobody will ever read this – and so I still have a few things to record. I no longer use this kennel. At first the lady and her man put me in there when they left the house. And they left it open at night, in their room, and I would sleep in it. But one night they didnʼt bring the kennel in. Instead, they put me on the bed between them and pet me until I settled down. I was a little nervous, at first. Being with the man in the daytime was one thing. I could run away when I needed. But at night I am completely vulnerable. I got up in the middle of the night to look for my kennel. I found it, but it was locked. I decided one night in the bed would be all right. They donʼt feed me people food – ever. At my mumʼs house – my old mum – I got to eat the food they ate all the time. But here I donʼt get any of it. Instead, I have to eat a special type of food. Actually, thatʼs not entirely true. I get two types of food. The first is hard and small. My old mum had it at her house. I remember eating it once in a while. But I also get a soft, meaty food in the evening, when my new mum and her man are eating. Itʼs the most wonderful thing Iʼve ever tasted! Still, when I smell their food wafting to me, sometimes I canʼt resist. Iʼve climbed onto the table, and the counter, a few times while they were gone. I got in a lot of trouble when they got home. The first time I was afraid that theyʼd hit me. But they never did. It was worse.

They were disappointed. They told me I was bad, and locked me in the bedroom for a time. Later I was allowed to come out and say I was sorry. And I was sorry! The same happens when Iʼve had an accident in the house. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you just have to go – and I did. I tried to pick the most out of the way spot I could. Nobody wants to go in their own house; sometimes you just have to. When they woke up they brought my face close to my mess – but didnʼt stick my nose in it; thatʼs so gross when people do that to dogs! – and told me not to do it again. After that Iʼve always tried to go just before bed, or to wake them up in the middle of the night. Not that Iʼve been perfect at it. The best part, above all, is the kisses and pets. The man – who Iʼd like to think of as “dad” but I just canʼt, yet – lets me sit on his lap. He pets me and lets me lick his lips and nose. We look into each otherʼs eyes and he smiles. It sounds corny, I know! But itʼs a relief to be able to look into a manʼs eyes without fear. Or mostly without fear. When he moves his arm or legs too quickly I still jump. I know he wonʼt hurt me, but you canʼt help your gut reactions. Itʼs a survival skill. He takes me to work, too. Mostly during the day I just lie on a rug and watch him. But sometimes I get to sit on his lap. We go outside during the day so I can sniff around and he can eat some food. Itʼs a lot of fun. While I sometimes wish I was with my new mum during the day, Iʼm finding more and more that Iʼm enjoying myself with the man. Finally – and then Iʼll wrap this up because I really am just going on and on – Iʼve learned that I like playing with toys. Iʼm not all that into balls or Frisbees, although theyʼll do in a pinch, but I really like stuffed animals. Mum and dad – Oh, thatʼs an interesting slip. Maybe I am ready to call him dad? I donʼt know. Itʼs such a scary concept, to have a dad after never having one – Mum and the man bought me a stuffed lion and one other stuffed animal that makes noise when I bite it. Theyʼre all mine, to chew, to throw around, to play tug with. I began this recording so that I would remember the good times during the bad, and in hopes that one day I would look back from a good place on the bad written here. I believe Iʼve reached that time, now, and that thereʼs no reason to record any further.

Dear kennel, thank you for always being here. I donʼt know if weʼll get to spend much time together, but know that I am forever grateful. Oh! I must go. I hear mum and dad calling!      Sometime  after  this  Gracie’s  owners  sold  the  kennel,  and  I  bought  it.  I’m  a  linguist,  studying  the  language  of  dogs.  Until  uncovering  this  kennel,  though,  I  never  had  any  proof  that  language  exists.  It  is  likely  –  I  am  well  aware  –  that  my  research  will  be  seen  as  nothing  more  than  fiction.  But  I  dare  to  dream  that  one  day  people  will  look  back  at  me  as  they’ve  looked  back  on  other  famous  scientists  and  realized  that  they  weren’t  crazy,  just  ahead  of  their  time.    And  so  I’ve  translated  and  recorded  what  I’ve  found.  I  hope  you’ve  enjoyed  the  narrative.  Please  pass  it  on  and  maybe,  one  day,  it  will  be  seen  as  more  than  a  story,  and  you’ll  be  able  to  say  you  read  the  research  on  dog  language  long  before  it  was  called  “research.”