Duchess

I was an escape artist, according to my mother. I ran off and was sneaky about it. But really, I only ever made it out the backdoor into our tiny, fenced yard. (Well, except that one time, but I'm getting ahead of myself). At the ripe old age of 2, that yard was a wonderland that I explored with my best friends. A German Shepherd and a Newfoundland. The Newfie was soft and fun to chase but knocked me over often. She wasn't my favorite friend. The shepherd was patient and gentle. My young heart adored her. Her name was Duchess.

My memories of that time are brief. Glimpses of a few images and a lot of emotion. They are dominated by sensations that are largely secondary, compared to sight and thought as an adult. I hardly remember what Duchess looked like, except for her large brown eyes. But the feel of her fur as I lay on her in the living room at night is something that I have yet to forget. I remember being scared, although not of what and I do not recall leaving my bed. I do remember the cold of the floor, the shape of the living room and finding Duchess on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Yet even those images are dull in my memory compared to the comfort I felt from her deep even breaths as her fur tickled my face. Of my childhood home I remember very little and that includes my first wonderland, the backyard. I remember the smell of dandelions and pain as a bee stung my feet in the backyard, and her wet tongue as she washed the tears from my face, but not much else.

My curiosity of the outside world grew and grew, as I did. At almost 3 the backyard was still fun but the world outside our front door was even better. I managed a few excursions to the sidewalk of our cul-de-sac in downtown Sacramento, when a careless adult left the door ajar but I didn't go far. My mother was vigilant, even while pregnant and although our neighbors were apparently good people, the same could not be said for those beyond our dead end street. The man at the corner who watched me as he sold drugs was eventually enough motivation for my Mom to stop leaving me in the care of my inattentive Father, while she worked. Instead she made the hour long drive to her parents house, so they could watch me. And always, her German Shepherd Duchess, came along.

My grandparents had a huge backyard (okay it was about 15 by 30 feet) with tons of trees (about 4) and it was amazing to my young self. I ran, I explored. My Grandpa made up stories and my Grandma gave me treats and always, Duchess was by my side. When I tried to reach an apple in the apple tree, Duchess let me stand on her back. When I was interested in the back fence, or the garbage cans, Duchess dug a hole and gave me something even better to play with, mounds of loose dirt. Even when my brother was born and my Mom became so busy. Duchess was always there. And when my Grandparents were distracted with my brother, and the backyard was off limits, Duchess sat with me at the large picture window, looking out at my Grandparents front lawn and beyond that so many unknown wonders. I would lean against her and watch the cars go by, watch people walk the train tracks on the other side of the road, and look at the tall waving grass beyond the tracks. I never felt too lonely, because she was always there.

When my Mom picked us up in the afternoons, I would get a few brief moments to run on the grassy lawn before someone scooped me up and put me into a car seat. I would eagerly look out the window and watch the world pass. The natural world called to me and I always felt a pull to explore. The smell of grass, trees and flowers was enticing. I longed to touch it all and discover new sensations, new textures. The open window carried so many smells and the air on my face made me laugh, until we turned down our little dead end street with our small home and boring yard. My happy laughter would turn off like a flip had been switched and instead I would be somber, sometimes I even cried. "Moody," I was called. So happy for apparently no reason, then sad. Adults were often unhappy with me. When they seemed upset, I would curl up with Duchess and escape the judgement of adults that my young mind couldn't understand, but could feel.

My brother was a happy baby. Doted upon. I didn't like him very much. When he slept, which he did a lot, I thought he was okay. Everyone had time for me then. But then he woke up and everyone forgot about me. I was looking out the window one day, who can say what day of the week it was, as my Mom walked to the car. My Grandparents left the living room making silly sounds for my brother and Duchess was in the backyard doing ‘’her business,’’ according to my Grandpa. I was alone when my Mom started the car, backed it up, then stopped and got out. She ran to the door holding something, came inside, spoke with my Grandparents and then left.

No one noticed the door didn't shut. My small hand pulled the door open and there it was, the world. I remember the giddy feeling. Like a bubble of laughter inside my chest. I don't remember the steps down to the grass or even crossing the yard or the road. But I remember the cold metal of the overgrown tracks. The way the tall grass tickled my face as I walked through it. I remember birds chirping. And I remember laughing as I ran. The wind in my face.

I spun and jumped. I found the most amazing flowers. Yellow and blue. They had soft petals that smelled good and tasted bitter. I found dirt that was soft and dry and laughed as I played. I still remember the feel of grit between my fingers. I also remember the slight chill as the wind picked up and a moment's hesitation, when I reached some tall trees and looked around and no houses were in sight. But these concerns fluttered away as the intense desire to explore took over yet again. Freedom was and still is, exhilarating.

It was hunger and the sudden drop in energy that always seems to strike children like lightning, that finally broke my wanderlust. I called for my grandparents in my small voice and looked about as I walked. My legs grew tired and for the first time in my 3 and a half years, I was afraid. This memory is vivid for me. I was lost. I didn't have the words for the feeling then, but in future years I experienced the feeling several times and knew it for what it was. The deep, sad, fear that you would never be found, that you were both lost and had lost your family, your home.

I kept walking. Crying, scared and tired. I remember getting so tired that I stopped walking and that's when I felt it. Wet and cold. I have no idea how long she had followed me, my young brain had seemed to only understand going forward and I don’t recall ever looking behind me. But I do know she found me. I turned towards her and wrapped my small arms around her and cried. Duchess, ever patient, simply sat down and let me hold her. I remember climbing onto her back and holding on as she carried me home. One of my most cherished memories.

My brother had, for once in his infant life, not been a happy baby. He was sick. When his temperature skyrocketed, my Grandparents called my Mom, who left work early. When she arrived at my Grandparents house she found me fast asleep on the porch, with Duchess standing watch over me. No one knows how long I was gone. But they do know that Duchess dug her way out of the backyard to find me. As an adult I learned about the busy tracks a ¼ mile from my Grandparents house and the child murders that had occurred in the area during the time of my adventure. It is very likely that Duchess saved my life that day.

She passed away a few short months after my 6th birthday. I remember my Mom holding her on our living room floor crying. I didn't understand, not really. Her brown eyes, so warm and gentle, had shut and never opened again. I missed her, I still miss her. I never forgot her, even when almost all my other childhood memories faded into indecipherable shapes, my memories of Duchess are sharp and bright. They persist in me and find me, when I seem to need help the most. When I find my sense of adventure has led me into some predicament.

At the age of 8, I was visiting a beach in Hawaii and was separated from my family. Lost and scared, I ran to the condos near the beach, looking for the one we were renting amongst countless identical buildings. I knocked on doors and strangers answered or no one did. Some people attempted to get me inside and one man even chased me. I knew I was in danger, that knocking on doors could lead to something bad. I started to panic when the memory of warm fur and kind eyes stole my fear. I walked past several buildings and straight to the correct door after that and I have no idea how I knew where to go. It was not the only time her memory came to my rescue.

When my daughter was 5, we went hiking. My daughter is the very definition of an unleashed spirit. Wild and free, with more energy than 50 highly caffeinated young men. As such, while I laboriously climbed the trail, she sprinted. At the summit, she vanished from sight. I heard a laugh telling me she had gone down the trail, then nothing. I ran after her, yelled her name, stopped and listened. Nothing. I became frantic. I was fairly certain she had detoured into the forest at the bottom of the trail but didn't know in which direction. I was just about to pick a direction and run, when out of the corner of my eye, a brown and black shape streaked past me. I turned my head and there, bounding into the forest, was a German Shepherd pup. She stopped several feet away and turned to look at me. I can’t say why, but I just followed without a moment's hesitation. Guided by feeling and memory. The puppy led me straight to my daughter. As we walked back to the trail the puppy's owners were calling her name. They started to scold her and I swiftly intervened, explaining what had happened. They were shocked and obviously proud. Their 5 month old puppy had run off to help me locate my daughter, a very unusual and more acceptable reason to run off than what they had thought.

In the short time she was in my life, Duchess taught me valuable lessons that I somehow retained, despite my young age. I still have a love of nature and exploration. Yet, a simple truth was taught to me that day so long ago. Adventure is good. But sometimes you have to come home. On those rare instances when I have forgotten that lesson, when I get lost in my freedom and go too far, her memory guides me home. I also see her in the steadfast love and loyalty of the dogs I have called family over the years and have often felt as if she was still with me. I wonder if someday I might turn around and find she's been following me this whole time, just as she did so long ago.