| WORLD VOICES DANCING FOR MY MOTHER
BY DUFF BRENNA |
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Husky is
sitting on
a stack of crates watching you. You’ve played with Husky a lot. When
you throw
sticks he will fetch them. He will play tug of war with a piece of rope
or a
rag. He likes to have his lower back scratched with the heel of your
boot. His
teeth are yellow. You think he is a great dog and you love to hug him.
Which is
what you do this day of moving the crates out to the road. Hug him and
something happens: Husky goes crazy. He bites your lower lip and leaves
a
corner of it flapping on your chin. He bites into the left arm you’ve
thrown up
as an offering. You whirl and run for the front door. While Husky goes
for your
left leg, tries to hamstring you, bring you down. You know that if you
go down
he will go for your throat. Your only chance is to stay upright and get
to the
door. He jerks and jerks on your leg trying to make you go backwards.
You slip
on your own blood and nearly fall, using your bloody hands to bounce
back to
your feet again. Husky lets go of your leg. Sinking his fangs into your
right
arm, he tugs on it as if it’s a rag or a rope and the two of you are
playing.
And all the while you are shrieking. What did the shrieks sound like?
Your
mother said it sounded like you were playing Cowboys & Indians. It
took
awhile for those in the house to realize you were not doing war whoops. Finally
they get
the message. The door opens, Pappas leading the charge. Your mother has
a broom
in her hand. Grandpa Mike and Pappas are kicking the dog. Mom is
beating Husky
with the broom. He lets go of you and tries to bite them, but the men
are
stomping him to death. They stomp him and stomp him, until he is on his
side
quivering, a hind leg pawing the air. By then you are cradled in your
mother’s
arms. You don’t feel any pain. You don’t cry. You stare at Husky. Your
head
full of questions. At the
hospital you
are allowed to go past all the other patients waiting. Rushed into a
room and
laid on a table. Look at Pappas and be amazed to see how shaken he is,
how pale
and how his long lips are trembling. Your mother’s clothes are
blood-soaked.
She looks like one of your finger paintings. She is shaking too,
shaking and
weeping. You tell Pappas that you’re not crying. You say, Husky didn’t
make me
cry, sir. Pappas nods and says, You’re a brave boy. I’m proud of you.
When he
pats your head it seems as if the dog bites are worth it. A nurse holds
a hanky
to your face and tells you to smell her perfume. You hate the smell and
try to
push it away, but Pappas holds your arms down and you are forced to
breathe
in-and-out. In-and-out- When you
wake
you’re home in bed and in pain. You hear your mother telling someone,
My baby
nearly died he lost so much blood. You smell iodine. Your mother gives
you a
pill. The pain becomes an all body ache, like you have a fever. But
soon sleep
comes again to the rescue. The days
and nights
go by, the same routine of your mother removing the bandages, cleaning
the
wounds, giving you pain pills. Sleep. Lots of sleep. Husky did a good
job on
you. Four deep wounds on your right arm, two on your left, a gouge in
your
right side looking like a bullet went after your third rib, three
stiletto-type
punctures on your left thigh. And there is the tear on your lip, the
lower right
corner. Weeks later your mother drives you back to the doctor. When he
takes
out the stitches he asks if you can walk yet. Nuh-uh. He promises that
one day
you will. But you may have a limp. Your left leg was badly mangled. You
imagine
yourself limping. Will people feel sorry for you? There goes the poor
little
cripple. His father said he was very brave when the chow chow attacked
him.
Maybe you will need a cane. On the drive home you ask your mother about
it. Her
eyes turn fierce. You won’t need a cane, she tells you. You won’t have
a limp.
You’re going to be fine, Duffy! Just fine! 10
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