Charlotte Stories

By Sheila P Richardson

FICTION? Its a memoir, Mama! Why do I have to lie and call it Fiction? If this is fiction, what in Sam Hill is truth? I know. I knowIts because Im a dog, right? Well, thats just pure-D species-ism! Fine. Call it what you want. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Friends, I wrote this book about what lifes like here on the outskirts of May, Texas. I figured lots of people might be curious. They probably never even heard of the Mayansfolks so enamored with six-man football that theyd never live anywhere else. Then therere the snow birds drawn here by the curious weather and Underwoods BBQ. There might even be the occasional rube in the Witness Protection Program exiled to ride out the remainder of his life safely hidden under the X in Texas. Then, theres me and my family. Mama and Poppy chose to live here because its heaven. I live here because Im lucky.

This book is about my family and our stories. Its about life here in the heart of Texas, in all its glory.

Its rich.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450260268

Sheila P Richardson

Sheila Richardson is a part-time author, part-time private detective, wildlife curator, full-time animal keeper, mother to luminous beings and friend to the world. She lives in May, Texas, with her husband Randy, their dogs Charlotte, Jack and Buster and catsLarry, Willie, Sambo, Laquita and Goldie.

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 Why I’m Writing This Book

Chapter 2 Fat Girl’s Big Day

Chapter 3 Brother Chester

Chapter 4 Yellowdog and Camille

Chapter 5 Dog for Sale

Chapter 6 My Friends

Chapter 7 My Human Brothers

Chapter 8 Bad News from Pasadena

Chapter 9 Me-Maw, Kevin and Shamrock

Chapter 10 A Bad Wind

Chapter 11 Mama and Chris

Chapter 12 Hell Hath no Fury…

Chapter 13 What a Difference a Day Makes

Chapter 14 Lost and Found

Chapter 15 More than a Gift, a Message

Chapter 16 Vacation Memories

Chapter 17 The New Mama Project

Chapter 18 The Call That Changed Everything

Chapter 19 Hard Days Ahead

Chapter 20 Love Letters

Chapter 21 Heart Songs

Chapter 22 Lunch with Friends

Chapter 23 The Day the Creature Came to Stay

Chapter 24 Training Day

Chapter 25 A Mystery Solved

Chapter 26 Mama’s Donkey Friends

Chapter 27 Martha’s Good Fortune

Chapter 28 A Surprise for Everyone

Chapter 29 Vanity, Thy Name is Uncle Jimmy

Chapter 30 News from the Big Easy

Chapter 31 Life Lessons

Epilogue

Prologue

Mama’s in a funk.

She’s been really down since Chris’ visit a few weeks ago. He left her a package—the rest of John’s ashes. His friends were supposed to spread them along the shore of a beach in Mexico, a favorite surfing spot of her free-spirited son in his youth, but plans fell through. So Chris gave them to her. It was the right thing to do.

She stored (hid?) them in a high up cabinet in the master bathroom. I watched her. They’re in a small white cardboard box marked: The Human Remains of John David Dudney. It’s heavy for its size. Half of the ashes have already been floated out on the waters of a favorite fishing hole in South Texas, mixing with those of his grandfather and fellow fisherman.

Mama was the one who made the arrangements to have John’s body cremated. It was the hardest thing she ever had to do. How can a mother, whose body formed the body of her son, give orders to have that body burned down to mere ashes?

She told Poppy that she had them but he hasn’t asked about where they are or what she’s going to do with them. Poppy is a man of few words; he’ll wait until Mama makes it perfectly clear that she wants his input. He gets overwhelmed a lot with his work. He teaches English to hooligan boys imprisoned in the Texas correctional system in Brownwood.

She tries so hard to be normal again. It’s been over a year now and yet some days it seems like, at least to her, that she’s made no progress at all. She doesn’t dwell on it. It just sneaks up on her. She’ll be washing clothes, cleaning house or playing with Jack and Buster and me (her dogs and constant companions), and all of a sudden she cries so hard it scares us. The spells only last a few minutes and then she’s okay again. They don’t happen that much anymore. Mama says time heals all wounds and this is a bad one.

If you could have known Mama before her son died, you wouldn’t even recognize her. She was an old lady living in May, Texas, population 200. She was looked on as the town disgrace because of her being a very vocal, bleeding-heart, rabid, yellowdog Liberal Democrat. In this neck of the woods, Jesus and all his true followers are Republicans. Why, a Democrat is as rare as the fabled goat-blood-sucking creature known as a chupacabra. Like a chupacabra, few people ever actually saw Mama unless they happened to be driving down our very rural county road when she was picking up the mail. She’s always in the company of a pack of dogs and more often than not singing Christmas carols. Once Buster arrived, behind her back, she became known as May’s Octomom because there are three dogs and five cats in our family.

Back then, she was a 64-year-old woman without a real care in the world. Then one day, John was gone, and we all changed.

It’s hard to explain, but somehow our great loss brought along with it many unexpected blessings.

Chapter 1

Why I’m Writing This Book

I’m Charlotte Richardson, a six-year-old dog, a herding breed, mostly Border Collie and some Australian Shepherd.

I live with my family in May out in the boondocks of the state. If you were going to mark our place on a map, I’d say stick the pin smack dab in the middle of the X in Texas. The nearest big town is Brownwood, twenty miles away, population 19,500 Southern Baptist red Republicans and 500 godless closeted blue Democrats. Mama and Poppy make up a sizable portion of the Democrats in Brown County.

Our house sits on top of Star Mountain. It’s a two-story blue vision surrounded by an 8-foot porch, nestled on 60 acres of mesquite and live oaks and a generous share of cactus and broom weed. By day it’s simply the prettiest place a soul could wish for; at night it’s like a ghost-ship floating on a sea of stars.

Our mail box is a half-mile walk down a winding caliche road meandering towards the county road. The mail box is the outer boundary of my world. To pass it means I’m on a trip to Doc Joe’s for a rabies shot. So, you’d think because I don’t get out much that I wouldn’t have a lot to say, but you’d be wrong.

Whenever Mama hears any particularly weird story she’ll say, There’re a million stories in the Naked City, Charlotte.

I’m not sure where Naked City is; I think maybe it’s in California. Anyway, I’ve never been there or know anyone who has. I have a feeling though that Naked City has nothing on our town May in the interesting stories category. There’re thousands and thousands of them right here, and a big bunch of them belong to me and my family.

I’ve been thinking for a while now about telling some stories of my family and our friends. You’ll see that life has dealt us a rich hand: laughter, sadness, craziness, drama, kindness, beauty, death, renewal…

I’ll begin my first story at the beginning, which is how it is I came to live here.

Chapter 2

Fat Girl’s Big Day

It was so hot in that damn truck bed I thought my coat was cooking. I was sweating like a dog—all wadded up with my five littermates.

My stomach churned from the long bumpy ride and I could hardly keep my eyes opened I was so sleepy. We were headed this Saturday morning to the dog market on the outer edge of the Walmart parking lot in Brownwood, Texas. Most weekends it becomes Dog Town and it’s here that locals come to cheaply replenish their supply of pets.

Today was the day. They couldn’t wait to get rid of us. They knew what a nightmare life would be for them if they didn’t de-dog now. Six weeks and that’s it. No more. Mama, their dog did her duty and pretty soon, with a little luck, she’d be back to being their lone bitch again. I don’t know if she thought that was a good thing or a bad one. It didn’t really make any difference; it was simply her lot in life. It is what it is.

They got up extra early this morning so as to strike while the iron’s hot as they say, knowing we wouldn’t be getting any cuter. Yep. We were ripe and ready to unload.

Dog Town was a crowded, miserable circus. Trucks and vans and even a few compact cars were packed with pups and parked along the parking lot perimeter where a few trees kindly spread some shade on those early-bird arrivals. We weren’t among those. No. We pulled into the Hot ’n Sweltering section.

People were doing their weekly grocery shopping at Walmart and after that some would be picking up a little something special on the way home.

When we first got there, I was curious to see my competition. They were humongous-to-micro and came in all colors and stripes. Some were the purebred offspring of popular dog-of-the-month favorites. There were a few well-loved family members that for whatever reason needed to move along to new homes. Most were like me though, the result of illicit canine couplings among neighborhood dog-friends during the dog days of summer. More than a few were friendly and hopeful, somehow knowing that this was their big chance. For me, it was just sad. I decided to let Fate do her thing while I took a long, lazy nap. Every once in a while some rube would carry off one of my brothers or sisters. By afternoon, it was down to just me.

The Man was cruising along at a snail’s pace in his 18-passenger land yacht, his wife riding shotgun and another couple was in the seat behind. All the while he perused the canine menagerie slowly taking it all in, his eyes were peeled for just the right pup. On his face glowed a desire much like you’d see on a diabetic in a candy store. All wish. One knew at a glance he loved dogs. I secretly followed him with hooded half-closed lids as he approached in a slow drift and my heart sank when he passed on by. Oh well. C’est