Of old treehouses and happy dogs

Sally never thought that this would have been part of her visit. She hadn’t even known that the old treehouse was still standing and intact. Truth be told, she was slightly anxious when she awkwardly climbed up the tree, huffing and puffing, her face a deep shade of red not just from the physical exercise, fearing that the tree house would not hold her and would collapse. After all, it had been nearly 25 years since she had built it with her dad and needless to say, she had grown quite a bit since then and (to her great displeasure) not only in the direction that is natural. In the case of a collapse, she would not only suffer a few cuts and bruises, but the humiliation would be even worse. And yet despite all of this, there she was, hunching down and desperately trying to not make a sound (ah, the creaky wood) as her father and mother came out with their dogs looking for her, wondering whether she wanted to come with them for a walk. But I should back up a bit.

Sally had come to visit her parents. That sentence in itself might undersell the spectacular nature of this event. Since she had completed her studies near the hamlet where her parents lived, Sally had moved north and the geographical distance between her and her parents grew farther. The move itself was not done to put miles between her and her parents. The work she found in the architecture company was a good start to work, the city was attractive and offered far more than the region her parents came from and her boyfriend, a young doctor-to-be, could complete his PhD at the hospital there. All agreed it was an opportunity too good to pass up on. But as time passed, she noticed (not least because of her mum continuously, but not yet reproachfully reminding her of it) that the visits grew fewer. After all, it was a seven hour train ride to get there so visits for a weekend were out of the questions. Again everybody agreed. “It just don’t make no sense as my students would nowadays say”, her dad Robert said chuckling. “Even with a good book 7 hours is a long time. And then there’s the ride home still. Maybe when you have a few more days off, you can stop by”, he used to say. Sally used to sigh and said that she would let them know as soon as she could. But despite that half-hearted promise, visits were few and far between and in moments of honesty, Sally had to grudgingly admit that she was not altogether unhappy about this development. Truth be told, these visits to her had become a little tiresome. This was particularly the case when her siblings were not there and she was all alone with her parents. To avoid that uncomfortable situation (she had been burned more than once), she would normally check in their WhatsApp group whether anybody else was there the time she would be there. With a sibling there, the conversation was just always a little more free-flowing and the atmosphere less stuffy. On her own, she felt to her utter amazement that she found it very difficult to talk with her parents, who had liberally, but always lovingly raised her. This revelation came as quite a shock to her. But when she was with them, she became aware of the fact that now that she was no longer living with them, now that she was living on her own and making her own ends meet, she had surprisingly little in common with them.

Her mum Sara had always loved animals. They had always had at least 1 dog, more often even more than one in their house. On top of that, there had been a legion of guinea pigs, rabbits or hamsters. The amount of care and love that Sara could muster for them was beyond belief. When people at Christmas made generous offerings, Sara always put in comparatively little. Seeing her kids’ questioning looks, she pulled them closer and said: “I prefer to donate to animals. They are often even worse off and not because of their own faults. Remember, as long as people don’t think that animals feel, animals feel that people don’t think.” So it came as no surprise to Sally or her siblings that she would continue to have dogs now that all 3 of her kids had moved out even though they had suggested having a little “dog-break” for a year or two to have more time for herself now that all 3 were out of the house. But Sara would have none of it. So sure enough, 2 dogs were her loyal and loving companions, always at her side now that her kids had moved out. It was normal to go for a walk with them together with your mon and to lend a hand while you were visiting. During these walks through fields, woods and crossing little streams, Sally noticed that Sara would always take about the dogs whom she dotted on with a loving care that was borderline obscene. They would get up to 5 long walks a day and opportunities to swim in the river nearby; she cooked for them and paid for their groomer appointments more than Sally would care to admit to friends when she told them about it. (Other people could do a full week of vacation for that. Let’s just leave it at that.) Because of this admirable, but exhaustive care, this was almost a full-time job and while walking the dogs with her she would often complain that there was very little time for herself and the things she wanted to do, that dad was little help with the dogs and “of course, holidays are out of the question. What a shame. I’ve long wanted to go to the sea again. But that is simply out of the question”, she would repeat for emphasis. Sally, of course, had much to reply: “But why don’t you ask Dad to lend a hand with them?”, she would ask. “Oh you know, while he can still work at the university, he likes to be as involved as he still can. I wouldn’t want to take that away from him”, her mum replied. “But surely he can help out a bit”, Sally said, not relenting. “Ah, I don’t want to push it on him”. In the same vain, Sally didn’t feel like pushing her mum any further on this point. “But why can’t you go on vacation? You can give the dogs to friends for a few days for a trip to the sea. Or you can give your dogs to a caregiver. People do that nowadays”, Sally said, hoping to offer a little help and enlightenment to her mum who lived a life far from the hurly-burly of modern media and its possibilities. “But what if Holly gets sick while she is there?” “Mum, come on, she would surely not be the first dog to get sick at such a place. You can look up some of them. They know what they’re doing.” “Hm, perhaps. But you know little Enya is very fond of home. She likes where she lives.” Sally could not help suppress a smile. The fact that her mother still called Enya, a fully-grown, wild and (to Sally’s mind) both charmingly and at the same time frighteningly undisciplined Leonberger weighing nearly 150 pounds who hardly deserved the tender name of “Enya”, “little” was both endearing and a little out of touch. “In any case”, her mother continued, “I don’t think I would have a single peaceful minute not worrying about them. No, all things considered, I don’t think it is feasible at the moment.” And so they would walk on, Sally feeling a little deflated at not having been able to offer a bit of help. “But I am happy you are here and thankful for you lending me a hand. It is awfully nice to talk to someone while walking the dogs”, her mother said as they returned home and let the dogs back in the house, leaving Sally dumbfounded.

With her father, it was slightly different, but somehow still the same. Her father was a professor at the university for political theory. He was now fast approaching retirement, though this was a topic that you had to walk on egg-shells around because if it was up to him, he would gladly work until his dying breath: He would pay to continue to work. Because of his impending retirement, he was now no longer giving lectures, but only accompanying his last round graduate students finishing their PhDs. He was an avid and voracious reader of newspapers and media reports, had in the past often also contributed commentaries to various newspapers, but now chose the family chat as his outlet. He virtually spammed the family group chat with what he called “little nuggets of light late night reading”, which were sometimes books most people would deal at least half a year with. In any case, every time Sally spent time with her dad, she found it very difficult to have a what she considered normal conversation. As soon as she sat down or went for a walk with him, he was off on a though always coherent and, if the topic was up your alley, interesting, but nonetheless seemingly monologue. Sally felt like that now he was no longer giving lectures, he had to find ways to air the things that had been rampaging in his mind. No matter how hard she tried to budge the conversation to a more personal level, her dad always found ways to return to a broader context close to his academic home: “Given the way Wall Street is acting these days, I’m not surprised …. Did you hear of the President’s latest blunder … It’s a disgrace!” Often he touched upon topics on which Sally had very little to say, or even worse, even less interest in, leaving her only to phatic mumblings like “I didn’t know that” or “that’s interesting”. In the meantime, her father seemed absolutely unaware of dominating the conversation and seemed quiet at peace letting the river of thoughts wash over her. And it was not just her; she had noticed that even in more familiar settings in which her siblings were there, the slightest lead he would pick up on to start off. She had tenderly broached the topic with her mom, but to no avail. “Well, I think he is looking for someone to share his interest with. You know his friends with whom he used to play tennis with passed away recently. Brain tumor. Tragic. May he rest in peace.” Still, it was irritating. Sally thought that she could be nine months pregnant with a tattoo on her forehead saying “#IDoCocaine” and her dad would not notice. Yet at the (at times) merciful end of conversations or walks, her father would rather roughly pat her on her shoulder and say: “I’m glad that you came here. We love the company.”

To Sally, it was absolutely bizarre. How could a relationship have changed so drastically? These were her parents that had - sometimes against her will and without her knowing - brought her to the dentist, held her hands while she was crying and getting flu shots, pretended to have thrown up in a plane just so she would not feel ashamed for having done it herself, spent happy vacation at the sea eating chips, stayed up at nights to pick her up when she was out and forebade her to smoke. It was as if they had been clothes that she had slowly but surely outgrown and that were now cast aside. Somehow along the way her parents, as it wrong as it felt for her to say that, had become like old acquaintances that you, if time permitted it, checked in on every now and then; had turned from the sturdy frame of the wobbly and uneven picture that you were drawing of yourself before their eyes to a mere and unimportant detail in it. Adoring love had, at the worst of times, become unfavourable judgement. It was startling.

These thoughts were racing through Sally’s mind as she was hunching down in shame in the treehouse, hoping to avoid another walk with the two of them. She was still gasping for air, but it felt terrible on all sorts of levels. She had been here for a few days, unfortunately alone as her brother had fallen ill and not made the trip here. It had been long days and she had grown a little tired as the talks with her parents (to her) had grown a little stale. Every she said “good night” to them early at night as she went to her old room (which she hardly recognized every time she came back), she felt a little sense of elation at having time for herself. This sentiment was immediately followed by utter guilt at not spending more time with her parents while she was there. She felt similarly now up in the treehouse. She looked carefully through the small window to see where her parents were and saw both dogs storming out of the house as the door opened. Her parents followed them. As she looked through the window, she noticed the wooden shelve that she and her dad had put up one hot summer afternoon long ago to place books in the tree-house. “No home without a few books”, Robert said smiling, sweat running down his face, white putting it up. “You’ll see. You’ll feel right at home once you have your favourite books here.” And sure enough, shortly after she used to spend happy days here with her favourite comics. (The books her father passed on to her peacefully gathered dust in her room.) Still, Sally felt a little uneasy in the treehouse. “Is this really safe?”, she used to ask her dad. “Come on up with me”. Together they climbed up. “This tree was planted by your mom long before you were born. She took great care of it, carefully watering it every night and making sure it had everything it needed to grow. This house was built by my hands. Now I know you thing I’m clumsy”, he said holding up his hands, “but have a look at this.” And to Sally’s utter surprise, her dad began to dance awkwardly, jumping up and down and almost hitting his head on the roof. Sally burst out laughing, both amused and slightly embarrassed by her dad’s goofy dancing, but soon joined in. “Now, if this treehouse supports my dancing, it will support you and your friends.” “I think this treehouse supports your dancing better than I do”, Sally replied laughing, rolling on the floor. Her dad had always been a little quirky. Above the window she could still see the curtain holder her mother had suggested. “After all, when your friends come over, you ladies might want some privacy while you’re having tea.” Sally felt awfully proud having been called a “lady” and soon after she and her friends would sit in the treehouse drinking tea and eating snacks. Her mother would always ask: “Ladies, care for more tea?” As they said yes, her mother would put on a kettle and climb up the treehouse to serve her and her friends more tea, only to be afterwards quickly hushed away for “there were important things to discuss. Not for adults.” After her friends had left, she “allowed” her mother to also come up to “take in the evening” as she said, trying to sound like an adult. She could still see her mom’s beaming face as she climbed up the last stair to cozy up next to hear. At times, she fell asleep there and then, her head on her mother’s shoulder, her face bathing in the sunset coming in through the tiny window …

Seeing this, Sally felt something something tugging at her heartstrings. “Do you know where Sally is?”, she heard her mother say. “Probably on her own for a walk”, her dad replied. She looked out of the window and saw them putting the dogs in the car. Holly still stood there as she always needed a little coaxing and even more treats to jump on the back seat. She looked up the tree house: happy, her face without a care, her usual stubborn and endearingly undisciplined self. She must have felt that she was in good hands, always taken care of, always loved; that whatever happened, she had these two at her side rushing to her help, not minding the work, time, energy or money necessary. She didn’t even need to give back for that. But she knew that when she did, it would make them very happy. And maybe earn herself a treat.

 “Mum, dad, wait up”, Sally yelled from the tree house. “Good Lord, what are you doing up there?”, her mum asked surprised. “You’d better come down there. I’m not sure if it will hold.” “It will”, Sally contested. “Do you remember when we built it, dad? Boy, it was a hot day …”, she said gingerly climbing down the tree. Holly eagerly ran towards her. “So, where are we going?”