A Quote and "A Childhood Savior"

"The only thing of value anyone has to offer
is their uniqueness
and individuality
no matter who you are or what you do.
Life your life.
Notice what you are really thinking about
Write about that.
Show us what you don't want anyone to see.
Remember that while art can be product
product can never be art."

--Penny Arcade, "Manifesto" (as anthologized in Verses That Hurt)

I think that the above quote is a beautiful rendering of an artist's place in the world. Her whole "Manifesto" is fantastic, but that's the big point right there. Now, I'm going to tell a story about something. I'm not feeling very inspired today, so we'll just see what happens.

A Childhood Savior

When I was young (think like a wee child of six and on), my grandmother had this enormous Rottweiler named Ledi. Ledi was the first of my G'ma Helen's dogs. Ledi ruled the north side of the kitchen, curled on her side against the indentation in the wall on top of a ratty blanket. She was a big girl, so she had trouble with her knees. But she a good dog and I can always remember my grandmother having this dog when I was young.

A lot of people say that Rottweilers are evil killer dogs. They can be. Ledi and Bandit (the other Rottie) would attack someone if they thought that any of us were in danger. But that doesn't make them killers; that makes them protectors. Ledi couldn't be allowed outside while the kids were in the pool. We would go under the water, and she would instantly run to the spot on the side of the pool where we went under and bark at us until we returned to the service. Then, she would run along the edge, trailing us, making sure that we were okay.

I know that dogs can't have panic attacks, but if a dog could have, it would have been this one.

I was in the pull one day by myself when I was eleven. It was hot, I was pale, but I do love the water. I always have. In my grandmother's pool, there is a railing, like in a lot of pools, that leads down the center of the steps. Because my brother Mason and I were small, we could slide down this railing in lieu of having an actual slide. Sure, it wasn't the episcent of cool, but it was fun and different. The fact that the adults told us not to do it made it that much more inviting.

So, I was in the pool by myself, the adults trusting me to my own safety. Maybe they were in the kitchen, shelling peas and talking about people, maybe they were asleep--I don't recall. What I do know is that I was playing on the "slide" and Ledi was walking around the backyard, patrolling for threats. I went down the rail a few times, and everything was good. And then, I got up on to it, slick with the water from the pool, sat on it, and fell off the other side.

I had neglected to think of a few things. First, the rail was hot and slick and I should've been more careful. Second, the rail anchored into the concrete on the side of the pool. Third, the top of the rail that I was falling from was about four feet off the ground. Add that to my height of about four feet, and I was looking at a pretty good bash of my head. I could already see the stitches, the blood, and the emergency room in my future. I was ready for it. I Zen-ned out, and tried to just take the fall.

Suddenly, though, I hit something warm and hard in mid-air and tumbled into the pool. From out of nowhere, Ledi had ended up beside me and I fell on her, knocking me into the pool and away from the concrete. I scraped my arm and stomach on the side, but I was fine. Ledi yelped and ran off. She wasn't very fond of me for a while after that, but she saved me then. No one else around and I was headed for a concussion.

Rotties are protectors.

I wasn't one of the people in my family that helped bury Ledi a few years later. She had gotten older and bigger and more arthritic and it had become a tragedy to watch her. The thought of her dying was sad, but it wasn't nearly as sad as the thought of her having to live a life confined to a messy palette on the floor, barely able to get up and eat.

So, she was put to sleep. I don't really remember what happened. I remember watching my dad go out with G'ma Helen and my aunt Lani, but I don't remember digging the hole. I remember a sad meal afterwards. I remember it was twilight, back before the back yard had been completely cleaned out and it was a bit of a jungle back there, teeming with snakes and boyhood games.

They walked back in, and it bothered me that nothing had been said over that grave, and that such a good protector was sent to the earth. But we mourn our pets, and we move on. And the day gives all new opportunities to save and be saved.