My Ollie

CONTENT WARNING: Domestic Abuse

Spring, 2006

She held a set of papers titled “Registration Form”. I stared at her, the short, curvy lady with long dark hair and a determined face. She wore a long-sleeved purple and blue dress that matched the splotches on her right wrist to a tee. She kept pulling down the sleeve, trying to hide the marks and I became intrigued as she walked over to my cage and stooped down. She stared at me like she had never seen a four week old German Shepherd before. There was a young boy with her, tall and skinny, with a mop of curly dark hair. He hovered near the cats so I returned my attention to her. 

“Did he get all his shots?” she asked without breaking eye contact with me.

“Of course, Mrs. Wilson,” came Greg’s reply. 

I tilted my head and studied her; tried to see if there was a break in her soul chain that one of my links would lock onto. Her eyes were kind but the connection was missing. I might soon belong to her but she didn’t belong to me and I felt my heart shatter at the realisation. I knew that the animals in the shelter could only wish for a kind owner, generous with food and stingy with abuse. And from what little I could see, there was no guarantee I would be safe in my new home. But a dog could hope, couldn’t he?

She looked down at the papers in her hand. “Diesel?” 

I stood up straighter at the sound of my name. Or as straight as I could with a lame, left hind leg. She noticed my off kilter stance and frowned; looked over her shoulder at Greg the attendant. ‘What happened to his leg?” 

“His litter was dumped in a ditch before they were found,” said Greg. He strolled over and assumed the same position as Mrs. Wilson. “This little guy was the only one who survived but his leg was broken in the process.” 

Greg hesitated as he patted my head through the bars. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Mrs. Wilson studied me again for a few seconds which felt like a lifetime, as I awaited one word that would determine my fate. She turned to the boy who was still backing me, face pressed against the large aquarium opposite my cage. “What do you think, Ollie? He’s your birthday gift.”

Ollie came over and knelt down. He turned to his mother and glanced at the arm that she still tried in vain to cover up. “Are you sure this is okay?”

She nodded.

Ollie paused. “But what about Dad? He’s going to…”

She cupped his cheeks with a gentle touch. “You let me worry about your father. It’s your twelfth birthday, honey.” Her hands dropped and her voice hardened. “You asked for a pet and you’re getting one.”

Mrs. Wilson nudged his shoulder and pointed to me again. “So what do you think?”

Ollie turned his gaze to me and I looked into eyes the same shade of honey as mine. I heard what sounded like a chime that was as loud as the bell on the door every time someone pushed it open. He knelt there eyes wide, mouth agape, with an expression I surely would have mimicked if I were human too. 

Mrs. Wilson looked between us then smirked at Greg. “We’ll take him.”

I was only a pup but I was no fool. I did my best to present the picture of doggy perfection so that the Wilsons would not change their minds...no whimpering, no chasing my tail. And for God’s sake, absolutely no licking of my balls. I peeped across to my left: Sparky, the eight year old but still hopeful he would be adopted Golden Labrador, was licking his like it was the last pork chop on earth. That fool never learned. 

Business concluded, Mrs. Wilson carried me to her car and deposited me on a soft blanket on the back seat. Ollie followed behind armed with a forest green collar, a leash, some toys and matching silver and green bowls. He dumped the items onto the back seat and handed me one of the toys to chew on.  

As the car drove along Ollie kept looking back at me as if he expected that I would have disappeared since the last time he turned around. Every time our eyes met I gave a small wave of the tail. I dropped my head onto my paws and thought of my brothers and sisters who never even got their first baths, their first shots or their first hugs.

It dawned on me at that moment that I couldn't even remember what they looked like. I had a vague recollection of six wriggling bodies crying out from pain, hunger and the cold, crushing me in a dark, damp ditch. One by one the movements had stilled and the voices were silenced forever as they succumbed to the elements or their own injuries. I’d been close behind them but I had landed first when we were tossed like garbage and their bodies covered me enough to keep me warm until we were all discovered a few days later. 

I felt the car come to a halt and the gentle purr of the engine stopped humming. The lack of motion and noise woke me. I sat up and looked through the window, curious about my new home. The house was white with dark blue shutters and a matching door. The front yard looked like a rainbow had exploded and showered the debris atop green stems and shoots of various lengths. 

Mrs. Wilson parked and turned to Ollie. “Take Diesel and head straight to your room.” 

Ollie gave his mother a look then obeyed. He held me to his chest and hurried up the stairs. I jumped when I heard the first thump and screams. What ensued sounded like the action movies Greg watched when no one was in the shelter. But it was no feature film though. This was the minefield of my Ollie’s life. I couldn’t change it but I could be with him, comfort him, hide with him. Ollie crawled into the closet, knees drawn against his chest, face awash with tears. He pressed his hands against his ears. I squeezed across his lap and covered my eyes with my paws. It would become a position that we found ourselves in on a consistent basis over the next year.

~~~

Summer 2007

She gripped a set of papers titled “Decree of Divorce”. I stared at her, the short, curvy lady with disheveled dark hair and a swollen face. She no longer bothered to wear long-sleeved dresses to cover her bruises. She stared at me like she couldn’t remember acquiring a German Shepherd pup the year before. Ollie was even taller, but a little less skinny. He now sported an array of bruises that was absent from his frame up until a few weeks ago. His mop of curly dark hair was somewhat tamed with the sides shaved low while the top settled on his head like a cluster of black rings. He hovered near the doorway as he watched his mother place the papers on Mr. Wilson’s mahogany desk where he was sure to find them.

I snorted to myself. She should have left them next to the liquor. He would find them sooner.

She turned to Ollie and eyed him from head to toe. Her lips tightened as her gaze lingered on his marred flesh. “Have you finished?”

He squeezed the back of his neck and grimaced. I knew that overwhelmed expression very well so I walked over to my Ollie and pressed my body against his. His hand dropped to the back of my head and rubbed. I got the impression that more often than not, the movement was intended to soothe him rather than me.

He nodded then glanced down at me. “I just need to gather up Diesel’s stuff and that’s it.”

Mrs. Wilson walked over to him and looked up at her thirteen year old son. She cupped his cheeks as was her custom, then patted my head. Ollie and I turned to watch her leave the room, both of our eyes fixed on the limp that did not exist until quite recently.

For the first time in my life I felt a kinship with her. We were both maimed by the person who should be loving and protecting us the most. 

Ollie knelt down and rested his forehead against mine. “I’m so sorry, Diez,” he whispered. “I should have made Mom take you back but I don’t think I could have gotten through this last year without you.” He hugged me to his chest and I lifted my paw over his shoulder in my own version of a hug.

Mrs. Wilson’s voice carried through the house. “Get a move on, Ollie. Your father will soon be home.” 

With those words Ollie gave me a last rub then hurried into the kitchen. I walked behind him as he collected my things and packed them into a black duffel bag. I sniffed my favourite corners for the last: the laundry room where Mrs. Wilson kept my toys, the kitchen table where I caught bits of food when Mr. Wilson was not at home, the back door where Ollie and I ran in and out after roughhousing or lounging under the big oak tree in the backyard. 

He walked through the house and stopped at the bottom of the stairs to grab two suitcases. After strapping the duffel bag across his chest, he dragged them behind him and I brought up the rear. Ollie closed the front door and approached his mother’s car.

I jumped in and settled on my soft travel blanket on the back seat. I looked back at the white house with the dark blue shutters and matching door. I studied the explosion of colour in Mrs. Wilson’s garden. And I felt no nostalgia in leaving it behind. Home was not a place. It was a feeling in the heart and soul. My home was a few feet ahead of me fiddling with the car radio and looking back at me periodically as if he expected that I would have disappeared since the last time he turned around. Ollie still did that; checked on me whenever we drove.

Every time our eyes met I gave a small wave of the tail. On occasion, I licked my balls. See Sparky? We do that after we get adopted.

I dropped my head onto my paws and thought of the animal shelter. I could only remember I had brothers and sisters; not even the number of each. My memory banks were now filled with this boy who was forced to grow up too fast, who still hid in the closet when the fighting was too fierce, who taught me how to swim like a fish and catch a ball like a pro. The car cruised on and I allowed myself to sleep knowing that no matter where I awoke, as long as my Ollie was with me I was safe at home.

~~~

Autumn 2013

She waved a set of papers titled “College Acceptance Letter”. I stared at her, the short, curvy lady with luxurious dark hair and an ecstatic face. She wore an arm-holed turquoise dress, now sporting arms free of the consequences of abuse. She stared at me, the massive, full grown German Shepherd. There was no way she could have forgotten acquiring me some seven years before. Ollie was a giant now too, standing tall enough to duck under doorways. He definitely wasn’t skinny anymore, and now sported lean muscles along his strong nineteen year old frame. His mop of curly dark hair was caught in a man bun near the top of his head, much to Mrs. Wilson’s disapproval. He hovered over her as he watched her flutter like a pleased as punch mother hen in excitement and with pride.

She reached up to cup his face and Ollie automatically bent his neck lower to assist her endeavour. “My sweet boy. I knew you could do it.” 

Ollie endured his mother’s fawning as she gushed on about his acceptance into the College of Veterinary Medicine. I still remembered the day that Ollie had decided what he would do with his life.

We had just moved into this house after trading helplessness and hurts for happiness and hope. The house occupied less space but could accommodate much more joy and laughter so I was quite at peace with the change. That first night Ollie went to bed and lay on his back with one hand behind his head. I was sprawled across his legs. He rubbed my lame leg absentmindedly with his other hand. He was the only person other than the vet who I could tolerate touching my imperfection.

“Diez, old boy,” Ollie had stated. I looked around at him and our perfectly matched eyes caught and held. One of the things I loved about Ollie was how he talked to me like I was a real person and could understand everything he said. 

“You’re my best friend,” he continued. “The very best friend anyone could ever hope to have.” He dragged me up to his chest and made me a vow. “I want to become a vet. We couldn’t save your brothers and sisters or prevent you from getting hurt as a newborn, but maybe I can help another Diesel waiting to be born some day.”

He had rubbed my stomach and shared his dreams before drifting off to sleep.

Now I stared up at my Ollie, so big and strong, so trustworthy, well on his way to honouring his vow to me. Mrs. Wilson left the room, phone in hand, ready to share the exciting news.

Ollie looked at me and laughed as he shook his head at his mother’s antics. I reciprocated with a huge grin. He dropped to his knees and gave me a brisk rub. “This is it, Diez. It’ll take a few years but we’ll get there.” We stared at each other for a full minute then Ollie’s lips pulled up into a smirk. “Just a dog, my ass. You understand everything around you. Probably better than people most of the time.”

He rose and walked towards the doorway then turned back to look at me. “Come and show me what you want me to pack for you, Diez. Get a move on.” I trotted after him as fast as I could, ready for this next phase of our journey.

~~~

Winter, 2019

She clutched a set of papers titled "Certificate of Death”. I stared at her, the short, curvy lady with chin length dark hair and a blank face. She wore a navy blue, elbow-length dress. She stared at me, the thirteen year old German Shepherd too old to be forgotten. Ollie was now twenty-five with even more muscles. For the first time since he knelt before my cage when I was a pup, there was no evidence of him having curly hair on his head. He hovered over her as he watched her hesitate at the front door of the house; the white house with the dark blue shutters and matching door. The garden no longer exploded with colour, but looked as if someone had come along with a rubber and erased the pretty hues and left just dark brown and specks of green behind.

Mr. Wilson, in an attempt to spite his runaway wife, had refused to sign the divorce papers. Mrs. Wilson never pursued it, content to just have us all thriving in a safe environment at last.

But then Mr. Wilson died of liver failure - go figure - and all his assets now belonged to his wife. Ollie and his mother had taken the drive back to the house to inspect it before they decided on what to do with it.

I had jumped in and settled on my soft, well-worn travel blanket on the back seat. Ollie drove this time but he still looked back at me periodically as if he expected that I would have disappeared since the last time he turned around. After all of these years my Ollie still did that.

Every time our eyes met I gave a small wave of the tail. I was too tired to lick my balls but I suppose that happens to all males at some point in time.

I dropped my head onto my paws and thought of the animal shelter. I couldn’t even remember how many brothers and sisters I once had. My memory banks were still filled with this boy who was now a man on the cusp of becoming a vet, who still dragged me onto his chest for a cuddle, who still took me for swims but now rolled the ball to me since I couldn’t maneuver like before. 

Ollie carried me in his strong arms as he waited on his mother to unlock the door. At my age my bones were getting too brittle to carry my weight for long periods on my old injury.

“Mom,” Ollie’s deep voice intruded on her musings. “Diesel weighs a tonne. Could you…” He gestured with his chin to the door and she startled and opened up. 

We three entered for the first time in twelve years. The house never felt so light or free. Mrs. Wilson, arms hugging her stomach, strolled towards the living room. Ollie walked straight through the house and out the backdoor to the old oak tree. He sat, back propped against the bark, and dragged my ninety-two pound body across his chest; gripped me like a vise and stroked my bad leg with affection. He looked around at his first home and I looked up at mine: My Ollie.