My Beautiful Life: An Autobiography

By Susie Barry

An every day tale of heroism in small measures. A young girl's journey to adulthood and the wrong relationships that threaten to steal her innocence. Guided by her faith and a close bond with Nature, she struggles to find freedom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312594630

Book preview

My Beautiful Life: An Autobiography

My Beautiful Life

The events described in this book are true, to the best of my memory. The names and other identifying characteristics of some of the people have been changed to protect their privacy.

ISBN 978-1-312-50151-51

Copyright © 2014 Susan E. Barry

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published by Lulu Press, Inc. www.lulu.com.

Book layout and cover design by Jason Barry.

For my son and daughter who fought beside me, whom I love so much and who gave me courage and strength.

Prologue

Where does your mind take you when you lie down at night to sleep? Do you re-organize your closet? Decide what you’ll wear tomorrow? Maybe rehash a conversation that didn’t go quit right.

Well on the nights I can’t sleep and simply stare at the walls, I do all these things and more. Tonight I am disturbed by a conversation I had on the phone. This makes me restless. So my mind is swimming with ideas and memories, which isn’t good because I get up at 5:20 a.m. Perhaps I will ponder on a softer subject so I can maybe drift off to sleep. Now I giggle to myself because luckily my thoughts wander and rest on one of my most physically impressive moments.

I’ll explain; being that I have always strived to be an athletic person it sometimes is hard to choose from your most exciting moment. As a child small victories may leave large impressions.

Since I was small and scrawny for my age as a child, I didn’t seem very impressive, especially to boys. I decided it was my personal mission to teach boys that girls were tough too. I was the kid who always ran, never walked. I wasn’t in a hurry it just felt good at top speed. I also loved flipping and walking on my hands. My sisters and I would practice our acrobatics and dance routines in the front yard, attracting occasional attention from passing traffic. I also annoyed my mom while she prepared dinner by standing on my hands in front of the refrigerator. I would talk and balance while she had to dodge my feet to get to the butter. Another one of what I considered my attributes was tree climbing. I’d spend hours in the top branches of my favorite trees, especially fruit trees (apple, wild black cherry, sour cherry). My friends and I had special trees we would ride our bikes to and pass most of the day high in their branches. Some branches were just strong enough to accommodate our weight. We were always striving for that juicy cherry just out of reach. Several times one of us would freeze from the fear of height, having gotten to high. Then we would have to carefully talk our companion down to safety.

Since I went to Catholic school until the 8th grade the only organized sport I participated in until high school was summer softball. I lived too far away to join in after school programs throughout the school year while at St Matthews. So I looked forward to the little town softball leagues formed during the summer in my community. I was usually an infielder because I had bounds of energy and good hand eye coordination, but at bat I was average. No home run hitter, but I could get on base.

One of my finest moments at bat was when I was playing neighborhood baseball with my brother and his friends. I of course was the only girl even allowed to play. When I got up to bat the boys always shouted, Move in, laughing and confidently believing I was their easy out. One day I gathered all my courage to face them and although I was last picked by my team they still counted on me.

It honestly feels like magic when you hit the ball just right. All your energy is released as you watch that ball fly over the split rail fence (designated home run zone). That was a proud moment for me. Only my brother would retain the knowledge of my perfect hit, so to the neighborhood boys I was still last pick.

High school would introduce me to volleyball. Countless saves and leaps were made in pursuit of the ball. Sometimes I would have periods where my serve was spot on and not returned by the opposing team. During a college match I had 14 consecutive unreturned serves and sore abdominals to prove it.

In high school I also lettered in track and softball. College I pretty much stuck to volleyball. It was around then I became a runner, which was a personal daily challenge. I would say obsessive, almost. Taking a day off was unheard of. It didn’t matter how busy, tired, or sick, there were no excuses. I had to get 3 to 5 miles in, no short cuts, no walking.  Finally this brings me to that impressive moment I was recalling.

It was a Saturday. It was also a time in my life when running was the one thing I could honestly say I did just for me. I was running along Pontius Road. This road consists of a steep hill just before it narrows to a bridge. Shelby was with me. She is my two year old Husky. I belt her to my waist, so my hands are free. She always runs out in front of me in her true Husky form. She is the perfect running companion for one who may be obsessive. She is equally obsessed.

While I run I let my mind go. Sometimes I dream or pray. Other times I plan things; like the afternoon or my future. However running down this steep hill on the graveled edge with 40 mile per hour traffic takes concentration. Shelby and I were both picking up speed downhill and only a half mile from home.

In an instant, my foot caught on something and I was going down. I had fallen before, even seven months pregnant. I had to sacrifice my face and hands to spare my belly that day. Other falls included wrapping the dog’s leash around a pole and being jerked backwards, or stumbling over roots in the woods. This time I was flying and the road was coming up quick towards my head. I feared I would not be so lucky with this fall. I could hear a car speeding towards me from behind. With all my instincts and perhaps a bit of training, in this split second I had, I decided to be daring. I threw my weight into the fall curled my head under and flipped.

Now, try to imagine seeing a runner obviously out of control, running at top speed down hill, suddenly flipping head over heels and landing on her feet only to continue running without disturbing her or her dog’s pace. What a spectacle. Luckily I had an audience. The car passing by witnessed the whole thing. As I was still gathering my balance, he rolled down his window and shouted. That was the most incredible thing I have ever seen. Did you do it on purpose?

I yelled back. That will be my little secret.

He called out again laughing You’re amazing.

It’s nice to call upon your instincts and actually maneuver yourself out of a bad situation. Believe me, that is a rare occurrence in my life, whether it is physical or emotional. So, that’s my impressive moment. There are others. Most are near escapes from drowning. Swimming is my most cherished talent but can still be quite dangerous no matter how much you train. Now my pleasant thoughts plunge into fearful memories. I will never get to sleep tonight. I can be consumed by self doubt and maybe a little self loathing at night in the darkness.

Chapter One

Some people are so lucky. At least it appears that way as you drive by in your car and glimpse a perfect moment in their lives. Some seem to get so much; huge well cared for homes and acres of beautiful land, with horses peacefully grazing in the sun.

I am lucky, although I don’t feel like someone who is blessed with good fortune. I remember after fleeing with my children from my irrationally cruel husband that I did not feel luck or good fortune was with me. I fled my home, to go live with my parents.  As I passed houses in the neighborhoods I ran through, I would see couples caring for their lawns and children. I would think, Why don’t I deserve that in life? I spoke with a councilor about my feelings. I felt unlovable. She was a kind and gentle nun and explained to me how it wasn’t a matter of me being unlovable. It was more a matter of him, my former husband being incapable of loving. She adjusted her small form in the heavy wooden chair and said No, more than that, he may be incapable of recognizing and being a part of anything of true value. Money is what captured his desire.

This made me quite a lucky person because although I had no material assets or means to attain them, I had something more valuable. I knew how to love and give. I know that doesn’t put food on the table. I am blessed and equipped with some gifts from God to help me through this life. First of all I have these amazing children. They are clever, beautiful and full of life and love to give. We have a close relationship that makes me feel special and valuable. What a huge responsibility I had in assisting two perfect beings that are pure and precious and teaching them about our world. I was to help guide them to adulthood. God choose me. We were able to love each other through so many difficulties and see each other’s smiles at our accomplishments. What good would success be without someone who truly cared for you to share it with? No matter what happens in their lives, they know with out a doubt I love them. I share my life with them and would gladly sacrifice for them. So they are my precious gifts.

My second gift, defines who I am and led me to make choices that affected how I would live out my life.

At a very young age I was drawn to animals and nature. Unfortunately, one of my most profound memories does not reflect this last statement. With great humility and embarrassment, I will tell my dark tale. It is through this weakness that I found my inner strength to stand up against things I knew were wrong.

I was born in Salem, Massachusetts, and lived in nearby Peabody. We lived by a swamp and some kind of petting zoo was near by. My mother and father are incredible people who care for all living things and the environment. It wasn’t an outward act, but more just understood. My mother talked to animals like they were children. She loved helping in girl scouts. With five daughters she was quite busy teaching us how to build camp fires and to tie a proper knot. She also tried her hand at cub scouts with her youngest, my brother.

My dad, well he is probably a genius. Strange for an extremely intellectual guy he still loved to participate in sports. He is the strongest swimmer I know. He grew up in Queens, New York, so he spent plenty of time in the ocean. He taught all his daughters how to throw a baseball and swing a bat. He also took us on wonderful trips and vacations, hiking up mountains or water skiing on Lake George, in New York state. He was recycling and conserving energy before it became fashionable in the 70s. My parents’ are both honest, hard working and kind. So I had wonderful guidance and examples to follow. Their greatest gift to me was sharing their strong faith and bond to Christ through the Catholic church. This infused the backdrop of my life with stories of Saints, the sacraments handed to us by Jesus and also the comfort of a Mother in Heaven. All this I carried with me.

Memories, actual true impressions of certain events are hard to hold onto, especially if that event happens in your first five years. One of my very first memories is of standing in-between the dining/living room waiting for my turn to be pushed in a little red car. I felt jealousy creeping in because my sister, who was the second oldest was pushing my baby brother. You see, until my brother arrived my sister treated me like her baby doll. I can remember being told that I wouldn’t be the baby anymore. Since my brother and I aren’t even two years apart I wasn’t ready to give up my spot yet. My sister Patricia was full of life and ideas. She would mastermind projects and plays that included the entire neighborhood. Once she organized an art demonstration in the road using grass clippings. They made designs like the liberty bell and a flag that stretched across the street. My brother and I were too young to help; we might mess it up. My dad was very proud of the patriotic display and took home movies of them working and smiling. She would also gather up the kids on the block to play softball at the end of the street. The big kids could go on walks to the swamp as well. At four years old I felt big enough. I thought I needed a chance to prove it.

One spring, the spring of my dark deed, my sister told me how in the swamp, she stumbled upon a goose nest filled with eggs. I begged her to take me. I wanted so bad to see the shinny eggs piled in the grass. She went on to explain how the young birds would hatch and follow their mother peeping and chirping to the water. I could hardly contain my excitement. She still refused to show me. She insisted that I would disturb and ultimately destroy the nest. I was too young. What did that mean? I was very frustrated and upset. I seemed to hear that too young thing a lot. Why did she think I was bad? Did she know something I didn’t? This did not leave my thoughts for days. Then a neighbor boy approached me. Now, his older brother didn’t share the location of the precious nest either. Tom was around my age, but he was truly a terror and a small destructive force wrapped in a young body. I kid you not, one Easter morning while my sister and I paraded down the sidewalk in our Easter best Tom peed on us. I luckily believed his threats from the day before and got out of the line of fire. My poor sister Maureen was hit directly on and did not get to wear her new dress to church that morning. I did not make a habit of playing with him.

He knew how I longed to see the nest. He had secretly followed his brother the last time he visited the site, so he offered to take me. I told him I wasn’t allowed to go to the swamp. He insisted it wasn’t that far and egged me on. I can’t remember his words, but it had something to do with We’ll show them.

The trek there and back escapes my memory. Also you would think the sight of my heart’s desire would be embedded in my tiny brain, but I can recall nothing. Unfortunately, I am still haunted by my personal nightmare of what I can recall. I clearly remember the warmth of the sun on my back as I squeezed through the split rail fence holding an egg in each hand, then the sound of them splattering on the road. This was the very same road that my sisters and their friends decorated with grass clippings. My father was proud of his girls that day. It was very hard to impress daddy, but I knew the broken eggs were not an impressive sight. I felt sick to my stomach. My accomplice squealed with glee and ran back for more. I didn’t want to be like him and I knew it was wrong. This is what they expected from me. They thought I was bad, and I was! I began crying and took off for home. I don’t recall how my parents responded. My sister was so disappointed in me. She told me the sad story of how the parents would search and search for their young. Those eggs were alive inside and I murdered them.

The burden of being a murderer was heavy for such a young child. I vowed deep in my heart that I would become a protector of animals from then on. Also, I would not let someone else convince me to do things I knew were wrong. These would be my goals and would guide me. I knew what it felt like to choose evil and I wanted to turn my back on it.

This of course doesn’t mean I never made a mistake again. I’ve done enough wrong and stupid things to fill a book. My new devotion to care for all living creatures kept me on course and gave me strength. I knew when I grew up I wanted to work with animals and be outdoors. This is a big revelation for a girl of four or five years of age. Just a few years prior, when I was two, if you asked me what I wanted to be, I would answer a mermaid. Especially when I heard they rode on sea horses. Horses were my passion. When my mermaid tail did not sprout I had to change my plan to perhaps becoming a horse. This is truly how naïve I was and it would take a long journey to discover that some of us don’t get to be what we dream or even come close. But for now I knew what I was after and my quest for pets began.

Chapter Two

Our family took care of a stray cat we named Fluffy. I don’t remember him as a companion but a part of him always remained ferrel. My sister Patricia raised a wild bunny, which we eventually released back into the wild. I was in pursuit of something I could call my own. As I look back, my pets would help shape me throughout my life. Since they rely on you, it gives you the opportunity to be responsible and learn how to put other’s needs before your own. Compassion is also something you develop through pet ownership. Not to mention companionship. This was the type of bond I sought. Now I of course asked for all the ordinary, traditional pets. (A dog, a monkey and a pony for the garage.)

While we lived in Massachusetts my chances seemed pretty slim of getting any of the above. One day, Dad announced we were moving to the rubber city in Ohio. So off we went to Akron. Once we settled in, which took some time and a whole lot of frustration on Mom’s part; I was prepared to put the pressure on. I was going in the second grade and that is old enough to tackle animal husbandry. Our collection began again with a stray kitten. We named her Coonie. Patricia thought her tail resembled that of a raccoon’s. She was a beautiful calico cat that would make you feel special just for a moment, by choosing you to rub her head and back on. Purring is probably the most endearing quality a cat possesses. Maureen, the sister closest to me in age, turned out to be the cat person in the family. I was allergic but I would brave the sneezing and watery eyes to snuggle my kitty’s fluffy white fur. Coonie was with us my entire childhood. This is pretty good for a skeleton kitten we found in the neighbor’s yard living on grasshoppers. She had other close calls throughout her long life, but she was a survivor. We had our differences. She never gave up practicing her hunting skills. The animals I loved were often her prey. I spent many a night caring for the wounded she brought to our doorstep. She made up for this nasty habit when she became a mother. The hours I spent with her kittens. She was a wonderful mother. It was through her I was able to experience the miracle of birth.

One day while I was in school a girl named Jeannie brought in baby gerbils. I had never heard of gerbils before and I took one look in the box to find tiny, soft kangaroo-like animals full of energy. I was hooked. She said I could have one for 50 cents. As a grade school student believe it or not 50 cents was hard for me to come by, but not impossible. That didn’t solve the problem of a cage and food though. What about the fact that my mom would think it was a mouse? This could be tricky. In my excitement I told Jeanne that I would pay her tomorrow. I called my mom from the school phone, which was probably a first. I was nervous because I was going to stretch the truth. I didn’t know if my Mom would fall for my measly excuse. I told her it was a done deal that I had paid for it and picked out a name. By the way I need a cage.

She said, A gerbil? Isn’t that practically a mouse? You know how I feel about mice. I said, No, it’s not like a mouse. She answered, Does it have a long tail? My answer to that was, Yes, but it’s furry. She finally caved and my heart was racing. I just got my very first pet all for me. I could hardly wait for school to end. Well, I carried my new gerbil home in a box. My mother said it wasn’t too bad to look at. She even said she was cute. I insisted we needed a cage tonight and she wasn’t going to oblige until I told her how Sunflower was capable of chewing out of the box.

So my new endeavor began. I choose the name Sunflower because that was her favorite food. I handled her constantly and did not plan to leave her in the tiny cage all by herself. Then she bit me. The pain was excruciating. Her teeth wouldn’t stop sinking into flesh until they hit bone. Then the gash would ache for days. What was I doing wrong? I couldn’t figure out why she bit and it only got worse. I could only handle her with gloves and she would viciously chew those to shreds. I received multiple bites on many occasions but I insisted it wasn’t her fault, with big tears of pain stinging my eyes. I loved her dearly and made sure her cage was clean and she had fresh newspaper, a tissue box and a toilet paper roll. She chewed these up to have a fluffy warm home and it kept her teeth from growing too long. I gave her treats and kept her water bottle fresh.

One weekend I was invited to sleep over at a friend’s house. I was excited but scared too. Would I like the food? Where would I sleep, but most of all would Sunflower be OK? I rolled up my sleeping bag and packed a night bag and told my brother to feed Sunflower in the morning, But don’t touch her!

Now, my brother was the kind of boy who gave red heads a bad name. He was cute, ornery and had a terrible temper. He knew Sunflower bit, but he was fascinated with his big sister’s things. I had a bad feeling when I left.

I really enjoyed my stay with Kathy. She was an animal lover too. She also had a big family so I felt pretty much at home. In the morning my mom called me. I was hoping it was to find out what time to come get me. When I heard her voice I knew. The first words out of my mouth were, Is Sunflower dead? How did you know? She replied. Oh how I wished she did not just say that. Life felt pretty unfair right then. When my brother was a little older he told me exactly how she died. She suffered terribly. He had some lame excuse to tell my parents about her falling. Gerbils are very skilled and don’t have a problem jumping. I knew there was more to his story. He finally broke down and told me one night and I wished he hadn’t. He had decided to hold her and for some reason carried her into my mom’s room. She bit him. He was angry and wanted to teach her a lesson. So he whacked her back on the chair. Her back was broken instantly, but she wasn’t dead. He put her back in her cage. I think he hoped no one would notice. He said she drug her back legs around for awhile. She slowly died over the next couple of hours. Lucky for me I didn’t have to watch all this transpire.

My mom understood how crushed I was and told me I had done a good job taking care of her. She must have really felt bad for me. In a few months’ time I found out my neighbor had baby gerbils and mom let me have two. She said to be sure they were the same sex. It’s actually not that easy when the gerbils are so young to tell the sex. I was no expert. I ended up with Skip a male and Chip a female. I couldn’t wait to clean the cage and set it back on my night stand. Once I got them I wouldn’t sleep for the next few nights. Not because of the chewing and scratching of my nocturnal babies, but because I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Their antics were quite amusing. I put two separate boxes in the cage, one for each gerbil. Skip would constantly leave his little abode and sneak into Chips. She would squeak and I believed he was picking on her. I would turn on the light and scold him. He would run back into his own box. I came to the conclusion that Skip was a bully. So the meek Chip I tended to favor. Now, my brother was on strict orders never to touch my gerbils. The biggest problem with this notion was that we shared a room. With four bedrooms and six kids, it would be quite sometime before I had my own room. The oldest got her own room. The next in line, Patricia, wanted privacy so much she moved down to the dark and musty basement. That left the two in the middle (Maureen and Chelsea) sharing a room. They got along well, I did not. Believe me we tried all kinds of scenarios. So that left me with my brother, until they built a small room off the family room when I was 16.

To give us some privacy my mom put up a wall of sorts. It was a garage shelving unit covered with an old gold drape. One side for my horse collection and he got a side for his trucks. Whenever he got mad or if he was in a hurry he would knock that unit and all my horses would come tumbling down.

Anyway it was hard to refuse Michael when he pleaded. He swore he would only touch Skip and Chip while I was in the room. I finally broke down when I was working on their training. I was teaching them their names. He begged to help. So I let him take Skip to his bed and I kept Chip. Then we worked for at least an hour calling them by name and when they dashed to our open hands they were rewarded with praise and a sunflower seed. Sounds crazy but it worked. Things were going along great. I knew soon I would need a separate cage. Now why would I spend so much time reminiscing about gerbils? Well once again I tend to hang onto amazing or tragic events. (They kind of stick to you.)

It was a cold Saturday morning and I was sleeping in late. I could hear my mom outside my door sorting laundry from the hall hamper. She was whistling as usual. My brother was up and tinkering with his Erector set, on his side of the room. I was drifting in and out of sleep when my brother asked me if Skip and Chip could ride in his sky ride he just built. My mom opened the door and asked if we had any dirty laundry. I said no to both accounts and decided it was time to get up. I went to the bathroom and when I got back Michael was very excited. He had sent the gerbils on a mission across the room, suspended from a string in a metal box. I tried to be upset with him for not listening, but he was so happy. Want to see? he squealed. He sent them flying over my head from his side of the room before I could reply. I can tell you I didn’t think it was safe. Before I could say anything a screw came loose and the little elevator fell crashing onto the floor.

I screamed with disbelief. Not again! Chip lay broken and bloodied in the box. Skip was thrown clear but had gashed his nose and part of his tail was severed off. I scooped them both into my hands and laid them on my bed. Chip writhed in pain for what seemed like an eternity. Skip, dazed and scared, crawled to Chip and began nuzzling her. Then she died. Tears were choking me and Michael was crying. He felt horrible. Skip did something I’ll never forget. He must have known Chip was dead. He sniffed her then stretched his entire body towards the sky. Legs fully extended and little arms raised high. He opened his mouth wide and made a strange noise. It was quit loud for such a tiny creature. Then he collapsed. I thought he died too. So I picked him up in my hand. I rubbed his head and little round ears. It seemed so hard to believe. A moment ago they were both curled up in their fluffy chewed tissue beds. Their little white under bellies exposed. Now I feared I’d lost both.

Of course I was angry at Michael, but I couldn’t make him feel any worse then he did. He loved the little gerbils too. Well, it was a chilly fall day and the sky began to darken with rain clouds. I put down Skip only long enough to bury Chip. That night we were going to Goodyear Theater to see a show. One of my sisters was performing. I had been looking forward to it. Now I didn’t want to leave Skip. I held him all day. I had to let him know he wasn’t left in the world all alone. He wouldn’t move and he seemed stiff and sore. I feared there might be internal injuries.

It started to rain and I took a nap with the gerbil in my hand. When I woke I encouraged Skip to eat. After shelling sunflower seeds he finally did eat a little. I felt more hopeful now. My mom told me to get ready. She said maybe it would do him some good to be alone. I gave in and got ready for my big night out with a heavy heart. I don’t remember what show it was or how late we got home. I prayed through the entire show. When I got home, I ran up the stairs. I feared I’d find a corpse. At first glance the cage looked empty. I called to Skip and with a rustling of tissue out popped Skip. He crawled to the door. He slept on my pillow that night.

A real bond of trust grew between us. Soon without any kind of training on my part, Skip became dog-like with his loyalty. He learned how to push open his cage door and sleep on my pillow. I would also spend hours studying or doing school work on my bed with him running the length of it. He would scramble up my notebook and pop his little hands and head over the top of my papers, if he thought I wasn’t giving him enough attention. He would leave tiny little crescent shaped chew marks on my homework. Most of his time was spent chewing my bedspread or clothes. He could also slide down the bed and run around the floor. When I called him he would jump back up, he didn’t like me out of his sight. He began following me out of my room, even with the door closed. He could squeeze under and follow me to the bathroom. He would jump onto the toilet seat and up onto the counter and watch me brush my teeth. I was totally amazed at his intelligence. His habit of following me was extremely dangerous though. With eight people living in the house and a cat, not to mention if the toilet seat was left up, he faced many dangers. I also brought him outside with me in the nice weather. I would build him a rock shelter in the garden. He would venture out and scurry back to it’s protection. He always came to my call. I would lie nearby and fall asleep in the sun. My mom said I had a gift, but I knew it was Skip who was gifted. Skip lived four years and in that time I collected a menagerie of animals.

One day, out of the blue, Mom let Michael and I get parakeets. I picked out a female that was a mustard yellow color. I named her Buttercup. Michael picked out a kelly green one with the traditional patterned wings. We had separate cages. Michael was so happy to have his own pet, not including turtles and fish. He named his Pete. After we had them a few days Pete became ill. At night you could hear a wheezing as he struggled to breath. He couldn’t hold any food in even if he did eat. His eyes glazed over, and I feared the worst. It would crush Michael. He never left his pets’ side. He prayed all night. You see, Michael had asthma and spent many a night wheezing himself. He knew what the little bird was going through. Then in the morning, Michael woke up to a surprise. His bird was chirping and eating. Somehow he made it. That bird loved Michael and would fly to him from anywhere in the house. He even took him outside. Pete also loved Buttercup. He was a sweetheart where as Buttercup was a little cranky. She was especially bad when carrying an egg. As the years went by she got worse. She would dive bomb and bite anyone who entered my room but me. I thought she was just protective, but it turns out it was something much worse. Michael had allowed his friends to swing rackets at her in flight. She had been swatted out of the air several times. I was lucky she survived these vicious attacks. I’m not sure how many times, but once would have been too many.

Even though I now had a cat, a gerbil, and a bird to care for, I still longed for more. I spent a lot of time walking to the nearby stables and watching or petting the horses. I would beg mom no more dance lessons. I want riding lessons. She thought it was too dangerous. Maybe if I had a dog it would help me feel better. I would adopt strays. We’d bathe and groom them. Sneak them food, until they ran away again. One of the neighborhood girls had the most beautiful dog I had ever seen. Her name was Duchess. She was a Collie. Duchess was left to roam the neighborhood, chasing cars and climbing trees. I had never seen such a wild dog that had an endless source of energy. That is the way Tina, her owner, was as well, wild and free. She told me she was going to get a horse soon. We both loved them. She was so lucky. She and her twin brother were always given puppies to raise. They had a built-in pool, plenty of property and an enormous barn. I was glad she shared Duchess with me, though Duchess pretty much did what she wanted. Duchess would visit me often. One afternoon, I was sitting in my room doing my homework. It was spring and it was beautiful outside. I wanted to finish quickly and get outside. Then I heard Duchess barking. I slammed my book shut and raced out the door.

To my surprise, I found Duchess had a friend. A beautiful dog, he may have been part Collie. His soft, long coat was black with a tan and brown pattern. He was friendly and I had the feeling Duchess brought him to me. I played with him until the sun set. He spent the night in the neighborhood. A few days later I ran into Tina and she told me he was at her house first. She wanted to keep him herself because he was so sweet. She called him Beauty. She said I should see if I could keep him. He had been hanging around for a month chasing after Duchess, who was not spayed. Her parents were losing their patience. I told her I would try my best. My brother and I had been sneaking the dog table scraps. Tina and I sat around plotting a way to get my parents to let him stay. I said, First he needs a good name. Tina had more experience with naming dogs then I had so I relied on her suggestions. Finally, she blurted out the name Major and I liked it. So Major it was and soon my entire family was calling him by that name. He seemed to like it as well. He followed me wherever I went.

One day Mom came home with dog food and a bowl. She said, I guess he’s ours, and we made an appointment for the vet. The vet said the dog was around two years old.

It took no time for Major to make his way into the house and hearts of everyone in the family. He slept in my room and sometimes on my bed. He was the best friend I had. I did have to divide my time up accordingly between all my pets. So my days were filled. At night I was never alone with my furry family sleeping all around me. During the day I would go for long walks and Major was at my side. He protected me from strangers. He also waited for me outside the door of the local drugstore and lounged in the sun with me at home. He learned tricks easily. He jumped through hoops, rolled over and gave his paw. We would play a game of hide and seek. It was Michael and my favorite pastime. I would tell Major to sit and stay, then we would run to the back yard. We would climb a tree or duck behind the wood pile. He would come when we whistled and always find us in a matter of seconds every time.

Added to my responsibilities of a dog, a gerbil and a bird, I took over the care of my sister’s rabbit, Bonnie. I would let her out of her outside hutch and let her hop around the backyard. Major and Coonie both loved to catch and kill wild baby bunnies, but they never touched Bonnie. Bonnie was getting old and spent most of her time digging under a cedar tree to rest in the ground.

I was also given my oldest sister’s guinea pig. I was terribly allergic to it, so I found it a home with a little girl down the road.

Well, all of these blessings would have to come to an end. That is part of being a pet owner, losing them. Skip had given me a couple of scares. The worst was when we were headed to Lake George. My parents would pack eight people in a station wagon and drive over eight hours to upstate New York. Space was limited, but I took Skip in a little travel cage. We would always stop at a rest area for lunch. Dragging out coolers and stretching our legs. I brought the cage out as well. While I ate, Skip climbed up my shoulder. Dad was always rushing us back in the car. I put Skip back in his cage to help pack up. When it was time for me to load the cage I noticed the door was open. I couldn’t find Skip. I started to cry. My dad was very upset because it was a lost cause and I was taking up time. I had five minutes to find him, and then we were off. My poor friend would die here. I put the cage in the car and called and called. Finally, sobbing, we left. I felt guilty allowing harm to come to my Skip. I had thought about throwing out the cage to save space, but it was all I had left. The empty cage filled me with sorrow. Suddenly, from beneath all the chewed tissue out popped Skip. Everyone was happy for me, but upset at my theatrics. I can’t believe I didn’t find him in the cage when I checked over and over.

When it was Skip’s time to pass I wasn’t any more prepared for it. It was a Monday evening, I remember because it was choir practice night, which was held at our house. Mom was the director and had an organ. She made me join; our church was not yet built, so we improvised. This night I was excused because I had too many tests to study for. I was told to set the table with snacks at break time.

So, I spent the night upstairs in my room trying to ignore the commotion downstairs. I was cramming for three tests. Skip had curled up inside my sweater and fell asleep at the base of my back. I had to disturb him and set him on my pillow to run downstairs in time to set the table for the guests. I let Coonie out as I passed the front door and hurried to get back up before everyone piled into the dining room. As I returned to my room Skip sat poised on the edge of my bed. He was very old now and didn’t follow me as much. Then the phone rang. I answered it in Mom’s room since everyone else was busy. Oddly, it was for me. It was a co-worker from McDonald’s. I sat on the floor chatting when I saw Skip run past. I had shut the door to my room but he must have got impatient and slid under to check on me. After a few minutes on the phone my Mom called me down for more help. I hung up and ran downstairs to the kitchen. Choir members began filtering in from the living room and teasing me as to why I missed practice. Then I saw Connie come down the steps. Who let Coonie in? I said with concern. Michael had, then chased her out of the family room. I ran upstairs looking for Skip. He wasn’t in my room. I checked mom’s because that’s where I saw him last. He never followed me down the steps, so I searched the entire upstairs. I became frantic. My mom tried to calm me down as people were leaving. I let the cat back out and went back upstairs calling Skip. He didn’t come when I called and I knew he must be dead, maybe even eaten. After a few hours my parents made me go to bed. It was late. Just as I fitfully drifted into a worried sleep my dad came in and gently woke me. My dad has a ton of compassion when something is bad, so I knew. He said they found him sitting under my mom’s vanity, dead. It is where I last saw him and checked their more then twice. I sobbed out of control. My dad was very disturbed by my behavior. He said It‘s only a gerbil, what if it was a person, such as himself, you can’t be this sensitive. He couldn’t understand the bond I had to this tiny rodent. My mom came in to console me. She said he was very old and didn’t look mauled by the cat. He might have died of natural causes. I buried him in a box in the strawberry patch where he had played. He left his little mark on my heart.

Bonnie passed of old age and I felt good about all the care I had given her. She lived a long life for a rabbit. Pete was the next to go and it was not as peaceful.

It was a special day, Kasey the oldest was back in town. We were all gathered together for dinner. It may have even

been Thanksgiving but I can’t be sure. Kasey was talking with Mom while Mom prepared food and I set the dining room table.

Earlier in the week Mom had changed the family room furniture around. Now the loveseat sat beside the sliding glass door. Pete’s favorite spot to sit with Michael was on the handle of the sliding door. Michael was sitting with him watching football. We had the birds for a few years so we had learned to be careful about where Coonie was when the birds were out. But Coonie was patient and always waited for opportunity. The birds knew to fly away from her though. This time the love seat gave Coonie perfect cover. Michael must have got up for something.

Kasey yelled out, What’s that on the ground? I ran over with my heart racing. I knew it was something bad by Kasey’s tone, but I was not prepared to find what I saw. I was used to Coonie dragging in animals from outside. When I saw her scoot out of the dining room I knew I had to get prepared. I found a little head attached to a vertebrae column and a few tail feathers at the end. She ate poor Pete, almost to the point of no recognition. Michael was crushed and I knew to get the cat out quick. He needed to cool off. I have no idea if he paid her back at a later date. Buttercup was not as affectionate as Pete, but she must have loved her mate. She became very withdrawn at his absence. She seemed to know the cat was at fault. She was fairly old and carrying an egg, so she was especially irritable. Shortly after Pete’s death she attacked Coonie. She never did anything like it before and never again. Coonie took one swat at her and left a gash where her swollen egg was hidden. She died that evening.

So I was left with my loving dog Major and that tricky old cat. They both would have their own close calls but would live to be very old. I wasn’t feeling like I was successfully living up to my promise of helping animals. I guess it’s a lot harder when they try to kill each other. I often found people were brutally cruel to animals. Major would have rocks thrown at him, was sprayed with mace, and poisoned. The worst thing that ever happened to my companion was while I was away at school.

I got home late because of volley ball practice. I was tired and hungry. My parents weren’t home. Major always greeted me when I walked through the door. When he wasn’t there I called for him, still nothing. I found him lying behind the dining room table. All he could do was wag his tail faintly. I could smell blood and open wounds. I bent down to him and he was soaked in blood with dirt matted on his face and shoulder. I yelled out if anyone had seen this and what happened. Of course they assumed I was over reacting at first. Then they saw him.

Didn’t anyone notice the blood all over him? I kept saying. What do we do? He’s got to get to a vet.

Chelsea was the only one at home who could drive and the station wagon was in the garage. Our vet was closed so we loaded Major in the car and drove. We ended up all the way in North Canton before we found someone who would look at him. The vet looked at our panicked faces and took Major right away. I told them he may have been hit by a car. We had no money or credit cards, but he told us not to worry and sent us home. I feared he would call and ask to have him put down. When the phone rang, as we all sat around the dinner table explaining the ordeal to our parents, I jumped up and answered. It was the vet and he was very upset. He told me he had been in surgery with Major for three hours. Major was shot. He said Not just by one, but by three people at the same time. Did I know anyone who would be that malicious? He said, To be extra cruel they loaded the guns with sand too. The sand tore through his muscles in his right leg and damaged them beyond repair. Also a piece of metal was left lodged in his heart. Just too risky to remove. He didn’t know if Major would walk again. The circumstances surrounding what happened to Major that day were later revealed to me, but it is to sadistic to reveal at this time.

Major pulled through and not only walked but continued to run, though in his old age it was a source of debilitating pain. Major ended up suffering from bone cancer and my Mom put him down when I was married and had a two year old daughter. I have some photos of my daughter with Major and it makes me smile. He was able to touch my life until adulthood and even the early years of my daughter. He even stuck around to meet my second dog, Sinbad. Although crippled with cancer he gave Sinbad his approval. I loved

that dog!

Coonie was put down a few years later. My mother once again had the sad job of deciding when it was time. She drove both Major and Coonie in and stayed for their last breath. I know I didn’t have the courage. I regretted not being able to bring Major with me when I moved out. My husband didn’t like him. So I had to drive to my mother’s to care for him. I hope Major didn’t feel left behind. Even before I moved out of the house my time had become limited with my aging friend. I had sports, jobs, and my studies pulling me in different directions. I could always count on him when I was home and I hope he felt the same of me.

I continued throughout my life to experience the wonder of sharing my time with animals, but I can no longer linger on this subject. I am left with mixed feelings of love and loss. I need to focus my thoughts on another subject, though it may not lighten my mood.

I unfortunately do not have a light hearted story to tell of romance or fulfillment of dreams. I stumble through my small life counting my blessings and my misfortunes. People have told me that some of the things that happen to me are quite extraordinary. Still I felt common, though I did feel very different from most of my peers. I always had a sense of being utterly alone. I couldn’t find a place to fit. I wasn’t sure if it was something I was causing. I knew I was seeking to end this feeling by finding one person who could see me. I do know that in the company of animals I am at peace. So my beloved pets old and new would carry me through many years of searching.

Chapter Three

My high school days were spent with a consuming feeling of total aloneness. The harder I tried to find a sense of belonging the worse it got. I suppose I didn’t make the transition from private to public school very well. I came from a class of thirty students and found myself among a class of over three hundred and didn’t know anyone. I had not made many friends in my tiny little school. I was labeled one of the misfits. My neighborhood was not much better. I found it too tricky to keep friends. They were always finding someone else and then excluding me. One girl was a bit of a bully and loved to pick on and humiliate the weaker kids. It got more and more noticeable during those middle school years. Maggie tried to pick on me but I ran just as fast as her when I was scared and I was willing to put up a fight if caught. She disliked my brother and would turn on him as well.

One day she was feeling particularly vindictive. It was one of those days we seemed to be getting along at first. We had walked to an abandoned barn and climbed through the rubble to discover old relics. Maggie found a cocklebur bush and gathered up its clingy seeds and kept throwing them on my clothes and hair, so I went home. After dinner she stood in the street and yelled for me to come out and play. She knew I was still mad at her from earlier that afternoon. She hid something behind her back and waited for me to get close. I stopped, wondering why her smile looked so devilish. Michael came running out behind me. She decided he would be the perfect victim. She called him over and he was very excited to be invited to play, she was never nice to him. When he was close enough and before I could warn him she slammed the large ball of cockleburs she was hiding behind her back into his thick red hair. She laughed wickedly pointing a nail bitten finger at him. To her surprise, Michael didn’t squeal or cry. He ripped out the nasty plant, pulling out hair from the root and grabbed her long curly locks and tangled it deep into her hair before she could move. She ran home crying and told her parents a different story as they cut her hair to shoulder length to take care of the mess. They thought Michael was a devil.   

She never messed with him again. She didn’t need too; a shy girl that lived across from me was her perfect match. Poor little Laura put up with a lot just to have a friend. I couldn’t stand how clingy she was and only spent time with her when she was with Maggie and her sister. She listened to every word Maggie said and almost worshiped her. Maggie was only too happy to take advantage of it. It was so strange, the more Maggie would do the more Laura would blame me. She always went home crying. When her parents asked her why she was crying and what had happened to her she would give them my name and of course it often happened when we were at my house. It was bad enough to get blamed behind my back but she began doing it while I was sitting there. One small example I remember happened as we were bored and sitting in the grass at Maggie and Sherri’s house. Maggie found a worm and started to jab at it. I asked her to stop. I wanted to rescue the little creature and she knew it bothered me. So of course she mutilated it and then thought about throwing it on me. I said, in my fiercest warning voice, already mad about the needless death of the worm, Don’t you dare.

So she threw it in Laura’s hair, who instantly began to cry. She dug it out of her hair and threw the slimy mass on me yelling, Don’t throw that on me Susie. It really got my goat when she openly accused me of things I didn’t do. I got frustrated with her when she wouldn’t admit the truth. I even threatened to hit her if she didn’t admit Maggie did it. Maggie sat laughing and encouraging a fight. I ended up going home because I could tell it would get ugly quick. Maggie’s’ little games kept increasingly getting meaner.

Often when we were all together and at my house she would pull her pranks so it was quite easy for Laura to point the finger at me to her parents even though I had been the one to finally put a stop to it. This just wasn’t fun anymore. We eventually stopped hanging out together but that didn’t stop the pranks. Now the girls were united together against me. They would actually sit on the top of the hill in my backyard and make fun of my family and me.

By the time I was in high school I was used to the name-calling or finding flat tires on my bike. Once school started I would see them on my bus and in the halls. I was not off to a great start at my new school.

I envied my sister, Chelsea. She was a senior when I came over to the high school. She had friends and a certain sparkle to her personality. I felt dull and small. Actually I was small. I was young for 9th grade and underdeveloped. To make things more complete I was also immature and still very naive. Throw in bad clothes and good grades and I guess I came off as a nerd, except I participated in sports. Still you wouldn’t think these qualities would make people despise me.

I know one person who did, Hillary. She lived on my street but I was introduced to her once I joined the volleyball team. She became the mastermind behind all the dirty tricks. Only she knows why she chose to mark me, but she would have the power to sway her friends to follow her suit.

Even though it was my first experience playing volleyball I was the only freshmen chosen to play as a varsity reserve. I