Conquering Vertigo

Duke part 2

When I was six, Duke the furball German Shepherd arrived. He was tiny, furry and oh-so-young.

Fast forward three years. I'm nine, a terribly sophisticated, wise beyond her years nine, who had read "Gone With the Wind" and "Tender is the Night." I understood GWTW, but TitN went way WAY over my head -- what's with the confused timeline in the narrative?

So anyway, fast forward to my ninth year. The Jules is born. The wonderful, marvelous Julie. People were afraid I would be jealous, but actually I was delighted -- I had my own live person to play with, talk to, change her diapers. Sister, daughter, finally blessedly friend. What a wonderful blue-eyed hellion was the Jules.

When she entered my life, she also entered Duke's life. He better than I understood her fragileness. He left my bedside to sleep under her crib. When she threw bottles (or pacifiers or bears or Humptys) out of the crib, Duke picked them up very tenderly and carried them to us (me or Mom).

Hey, he said, holding the bottle with furrowed brow, the baby needs you! We would take the bottle from him (Mom sometimes sterilized it if Duke was carrying it nipple first) and go check on the Jules, handing the bottle to her as she shook the bars of her cage - I mean crib - and danced on bootied feet.

Duke loved her the moment she was born, and protected her as long as He was with us. No wonder Julie loves dogs; she was brought into the wolf pack at birth.

I can see Duke now, stretched beneath her crib, listening watching waiting. He was my playmate. Her protector.

posted by Woman In Love @ 7:46 PM