1976-1986
The Portrait
A sable brush with a fine tip, a relaxed flowing hand seeks where to place the first marks on the white paper, a heavy weight Bockingford 300g. A line at the edge of the neck or collar is a good place to start, a fold in the fur, or most often, the line formed at the edge of the ear, next to the cheek. Then perhaps a block of deep shading, lightening and darkening the tones depending on how much water is added. This thicker paper does not bend, buckle or require any stretching beforehand, bought in large A1 sheets and cut to size. Professional grade watercolour paint in 14ml tubes, a small amount squeezed into the paint tray before I start. At a glance it would appear this tray is a mysterious muddy mess, but I know exactly where the colours are and how to blend the browns, greys and blacks into the perfect shade. Shinny fur in Mars Black. Kind gentle eyes of Burnt sienna. Open-mouthed expression using Arizona crimson for the soft pink tongue. Josie is black all over, a medium sized dog with a flash of white on her chest. My very first dog, a Collie-Labrador Cross and we are inseparable.
The Story
In the shadows I see a shape moving.
Is it a dog, a black dog? Yes, a black dog with a white patch on its chest,
just over there, could it be my dog?
I am overjoyed as I realise it’s Josie, it’s definitely Josie, she’s here.
She never left, now here she is, looking at me with that sad face,
A forlorn sad face and I go towards her, but I can’t get to her.
I want to hug her and fuss her, and I can’t get to her, why can’t I get to her?
She follows me but only at a distance,
When I wake, I am filled with overwhelming sadness and I am consumed with guilt.
Was there something that you longed for as a child, something that you wanted so much, you talked about it ALL the time? I dreamed of having a dog. I would go on and on at my parents, pleading with them to let me have one. Everything I owned had dogs on, I would draw endless pictures of dogs. My cousins had a dog. I was so envious. I wanted a dog! Then one day, when, once again, I was expressing this desire randomly across the table at dinner expecting the usual response, I was astonished to hear a different reply. “When we come back from holiday, you can have a dog” Did I hear this correctly, was it true? Was I really going to be getting a dog of my own? I was told I would be totally responsible for every aspect of the care, to which I eagerly agreed. I remember the excitement…
It’s 1976 and I am 11 years old. The summer is long and hot, with many weeks to wait. After our camping holiday in the Isle of Wight I would be getting my very own puppy! I choose a name, imagine what my puppy would be like, draw pictures. The waiting seems like forever, but finally the day arrives! I find myself at the local animal shelter surrounded by 7 wriggling black puppies, just like the pictures I have drawn! So hard to make a choice… they all want to be ‘the one’ and come home with me to be my special friend.
I carry my precious bundle home and despite being in poor condition with mange from an infestation of mites, I think she is gorgeous, even with her patchy fur and bare tail. As I have promised, I take my responsibility seriously. I have read my dog care books and I am ready! In this 1970’s childhood there is much time for idling. Hours for playing in the garden, cuddling, bonding, roaming the woods, paddling the stream. Her skin condition clears up and she grows into a beautiful dog with the shiniest coat, much commented on by people we meet out walking. It wasn’t allowed at first, but eventually she is permitted to join me in my bedroom, but not on the bed! As I leave for school in the morning, I see sad eyes looking at me through the gate. A joyous welcome of wags and licks awaits me on my return!
We are well suited. She is a little shy but loyal and devoted, rather like me. From a family of 4 children, I have 3 brothers and being the only girl is at times quite challenging. Now I have my little trusted friend to hang out with, always here for me. No judgement from her, just unconditional love. It is exactly how I imagined it would be to have my very own dog. We work hard together with training, joining the local club, travelling all the way by bus right across town each week. As we progress, we enter local obedience competitions as well as fund dog shows, with novelty classes for dog with the ‘Waggiest Tail’ and ‘Shiniest Coat’… the rosettes are pinned proudly on my bedroom wall.
A few years later, we discover my beautiful girl has been keeping a little secret to which have been unaware. Aged 6, she gives birth to a single puppy. It is a big surprise! We have no knowledge of how and when this conception has occurred. No dogs have visited? We have no knowledge of any escape and she has always been by my side during our walks. I cannot commit to looking after this unexpected new dog. I am 17 and will be making plans. I may not be around to care for her. So, my parents decide they will keep this surprise-pup and she is given the name Gemma.
Gemma grows into an interesting looking dog. Her body is all white, with smooth thick fur, dappled with black spots and her head is completely black. It isn’t until quite some time later that I consider, once again, who the father might have been. Our neighbours had a boy dog called Sacha, a spaniel-cross, white, smooth-coated with liver spots and liver face markings. Hmmm, I think our friend Sacha might have hopped the fence one afternoon, had his rendezvous with Josie, and then hopped back over again. Combining his colouring and Josie’s colouring, the outcome may very well resemble something pretty much like this dog called Gemma!
Despite well-meaning advice from family and friends about my choice of direction after I leave school, I am determined to follow my other passion… to pursue my love of art. Poor Josie, as I begin to explore the world beyond our family home, she becomes less of a priority… I am distracted as I discover a new exciting life! On my one-year art foundation course, every day is a pleasure and a joy. A 3-year Graphic Design Degree course, means moving away from home and then I’m off travelling the world. I tell everyone about my lovely dog, I think of her with deep love …and I worry. But Why? I am in this sunny land, with pyramids and camels, avocado trees and I say ‘I think she might die soon’. Why would I say this? We will be together again soon, I know we will. Once I am back from my travels, I will get a place and a car. She will then be able to come to live with me, I will make it happen. I just have to do this exciting stuff first!
At home, back in my room with a head full of memories. Josie just stares and I have an overwhelming sense she is telling me something, a look in the eye and even though she is in good health, I have a knowing that she is trying to tell me …that she is going to die. She is not ill and I have this flash of a thought enter my head. So, I dismiss it. She is only 10 and she is not even ill! I don’t stay home long and off I go again, back to my new life, stuff to do, but soon, when I have everything sorted out, I can have my dog. I have a new boyfriend and I am excited, life is just unfolding, Christmas is coming, and then after Christmas, I will get a car and then I can have my dog.
I don’t rush or panic after Dad tells me Josie has become unwell, a visit is planned with my new boyfriend. He can get to meet Mum and Dad, and Josie too. I will look after her until she gets better. Arriving, I can see My Dad in the doorway, he walks out to the car. This is where I want to press the pause button on the memory, please let me change what happens next, let me change it? Dad, stop…don’t come out, please, don’t walk up to the car! I want to change the words he is saying, not those words. …that Josie is dead … she died that morning. What does he mean? In disbelief, I need to see, she is only 10, there is still so much we are going to do together. I go into the house to find that it’s true. In the kitchen, she is lying so still in her bed. No excited greeting. We cry together me and my dad, something we will not do again for many years. My Dad, who until this point I have never seen cry, is next to me, as we stand looking down at her lifeless body. ‘What are we going to do he sobs’ as if he too has had his heart-broken. I give no thought to the new boyfriend, who is no doubt feeling a little awkward as this scene unfolds. He does not exist. Meanwhile, my Mum continues with the task of washing up, without pausing, not even a glance over her shoulder, no consoling hug. This is not for her, no need to engage. Having learned long ago not to concern herself with such scenes of emotion.
Feeling out of my depth, it’s far safer not to feel this, this isn’t real. I withdraw to another room putting distance between me and this grief. I go within, staying far away, as my dad and my new boyfriend carry the box into the darkness of the garden and bury her by torchlight. No one has shown me how to deal with this, how to feel this, how to cope. They return. We have tea and chat and the next day go to town to buy new red jeans. There are no more tears, just a familiar numbness, so much safer than trying to feel.
At night as I sleep,
I see her, she comes to me, many times in the coming years.
A black dog with a white patch on her chest,
just over there, just out of reach.
I am overjoyed as I realise it’s Josie,
it’s definitely Josie, she’s here, she’s alive!
She never left, now looking at me with that sad face,
her forlorn sad face and I go towards her, although I can’t reach her.
I want to hug her and fuss her, tell her I am sorry, and I can’t get to her, why can’t I get to her?
She needs me. It’s so real.
Then I awake with an overwhelming sense of sadness, and I am consumed with guilt.