#1
Posted: 7/4/11 at 11:52pm
The July Fourth celebrations remind me: Most pets are frightened by thunder and fireworks, but not Miss Holly. At the first sound of either one, she would go right up to the window, put her paws on the sill and growl at the loud sound. She was fierce and fabulous.
She would make similar displeasure known when hearing Ethel Merman recordings. Mozart, she liked. Operatic sopranos she liked. Barbara Cook and Julie Andrews, she liked. But she didn't share my love for the Loud Ladies or PalJoey'sPal's love for Wagner. And a diva like Karen Morrow, Carol Burnett or Idina Menzel, I'm afraid, would simply make La Diva Canina leave the room. In recent years, however, she developed an inordinate fondness for our Julia Child DVDs. We couldn't figure out if it was Julia's piccolo-like voice, or if Holly liked dreaming of the foods Julia was preparing.
Miss Holly was a Loud Lady herself. She had barks and yelps and growls and snarls of every sort and decibel. Miss Holly had a LOT to say. But Holly could also be affectionate, as some of you experienced. She was a great kisser--not promiscuous in her kisses, like some dogs who are needy for affection. Holly doled out her kisses, sometimes not more than two or three quick licks. She knew how to leave 'em wanting more.
She also liked to kiss the tops of people's heads, so that she would be above them while doing so. The lesbian trainer we hired when Holly was young and unruly told us it was part-mothering behavior and part-domination. As long as she was licking us, she was taking care of us--we were not taking care of her. And as long as she was licking the top of our heads, we couldn't dominate her. Just like in the King and I, I thought, no one's head must be higher than the king's. (Or, in this case, the queen's.)
As some of you know, we lost Miss Holly a week ago Friday, five days short of her fifteenth birthday. She would have been 105, in human years. She had grown blind and deaf, and painfully arthritic due to tumors along her back and rear legs. The spirit that had enabled her to defy thunder and fireworks changed from fierceness to fear.
We woke up Friday morning at 4 AM to find her standing still, slightly swaying. She had just had a stroke, and, as we would find out later that morning, she had lost the use of her hind legs. And probably what was left of her mind.
PalJoey'sPal brought her to the vet when they opened, and there was nothing they could do. I left work and joined them, and the three of us held each other close, much closer than she ever liked us to hold her. In her final moments, she tried to bite the veterinarian's hand (which we loved), because he mistakenly attempted to lift her onto the metal examining table.
She allowed us to lift her and place her on a towel, and then spent her final moments kissing our faces lavishly, with her head above ours, as if she knew what was happening and was mothering us, taking care of us, smothering us with kisses so we wouldn't cry. And never had we so willingly submitted to her. She was the queen. She was the monarch of our hearts, the duchess, the countess, the ruler of two hearts that were about to have holes put in them that would never be filled.
The end came quickly, but she seemed calm, and happy, there with her guys, the three of us together, the way she was happiest. She had no fear, no anxiety, she could feel us and see us and hear us with whatever sight and senses she had left. There was only love.
We spent the rest of the day in shock, ending up watching television later that night, feeling the loss of the dog at the foot of the couch.
Only watching halfheartedly, we realized the New York State marriage-equality vote was happening. PalJoey'sPal and I had been together for 17 years, Holly had been in our lives for 13 of those years. We had buried parents and friends and pets together. We had celebrated graduations and promotions and achievements and defeats together. And we had made a home together. That home was missing the very life of it, but the State of New York was contemplating granting the full force and measure of the state of marriage to households like ours. The only thing standing in the way were two swing votes--two Republican Assemblymen whose votes would turn the tide.
PalJoey'sPal and I both knew what what happening: Those two Republican legislators were being visited by the spirit of Miss Holly, who had taken on a role not unlike Fruma Sarah in Fiddler:
MISS HOLLY
What is this about you voting
Not to let my boys be HUSBANDS?
CANINE CHORUS
Boys be husbands!
MISS HOLLY
How could you ally yourselves with
Scum like Ruben Diaz?
CANINE CHORUS
Scummy Diaz? Dios mio!
MISS HOLLY
(Spoken)
Unless you vote to allow PalJoey and his Pal
To have an Old-Fashioned Wedding
Like the Loud Ladies sing about,
I promise you this:
I'll come to you by day!
I'll come to you by night!
And THIS I'll give your Rover!
THIS I'll give your Fido!
ARF! ARF ARF!
YOU LET MY BOYS MARRY!
Or you'll have a demon dog to deal with!
And with that victory, Miss Holly's spirit was allowed to go to her final rest.
In one day, we had lost our beloved dog after 13 years and gained the right to be legally wed after 17. One does not compensate for the other. But both derive their power in our lives from the love we experience around them. And both pets and life-partners inspire us with love day by day, with hugs and kisses and yelps but also sometimes with bites and growls and tumors and losing things.
In the end, dogs teach us how to be grateful as humans: how to have gratitude for every moment we have together, for those are brief and to be treasured.
And so it is fitting, as NYAdgal (whom Miss Holly loved deeply) pointed out, that in one of Miss Holly's final acts, her visage on the advertising for the Kennedy Center Follies Throw Pillow sold out the entire production run of pillows, thereby ensuring the ability of this production of my favorite musical to move to Broadway.
Miss Holly's effect on the move might be said to be exaggerated, but it makes for a kind of grand legend:
"Miss Holly died, so that FOLLIES could move to Broadway."
She would make similar displeasure known when hearing Ethel Merman recordings. Mozart, she liked. Operatic sopranos she liked. Barbara Cook and Julie Andrews, she liked. But she didn't share my love for the Loud Ladies or PalJoey'sPal's love for Wagner. And a diva like Karen Morrow, Carol Burnett or Idina Menzel, I'm afraid, would simply make La Diva Canina leave the room. In recent years, however, she developed an inordinate fondness for our Julia Child DVDs. We couldn't figure out if it was Julia's piccolo-like voice, or if Holly liked dreaming of the foods Julia was preparing.
Miss Holly was a Loud Lady herself. She had barks and yelps and growls and snarls of every sort and decibel. Miss Holly had a LOT to say. But Holly could also be affectionate, as some of you experienced. She was a great kisser--not promiscuous in her kisses, like some dogs who are needy for affection. Holly doled out her kisses, sometimes not more than two or three quick licks. She knew how to leave 'em wanting more.
She also liked to kiss the tops of people's heads, so that she would be above them while doing so. The lesbian trainer we hired when Holly was young and unruly told us it was part-mothering behavior and part-domination. As long as she was licking us, she was taking care of us--we were not taking care of her. And as long as she was licking the top of our heads, we couldn't dominate her. Just like in the King and I, I thought, no one's head must be higher than the king's. (Or, in this case, the queen's.)
As some of you know, we lost Miss Holly a week ago Friday, five days short of her fifteenth birthday. She would have been 105, in human years. She had grown blind and deaf, and painfully arthritic due to tumors along her back and rear legs. The spirit that had enabled her to defy thunder and fireworks changed from fierceness to fear.
We woke up Friday morning at 4 AM to find her standing still, slightly swaying. She had just had a stroke, and, as we would find out later that morning, she had lost the use of her hind legs. And probably what was left of her mind.
PalJoey'sPal brought her to the vet when they opened, and there was nothing they could do. I left work and joined them, and the three of us held each other close, much closer than she ever liked us to hold her. In her final moments, she tried to bite the veterinarian's hand (which we loved), because he mistakenly attempted to lift her onto the metal examining table.
She allowed us to lift her and place her on a towel, and then spent her final moments kissing our faces lavishly, with her head above ours, as if she knew what was happening and was mothering us, taking care of us, smothering us with kisses so we wouldn't cry. And never had we so willingly submitted to her. She was the queen. She was the monarch of our hearts, the duchess, the countess, the ruler of two hearts that were about to have holes put in them that would never be filled.
The end came quickly, but she seemed calm, and happy, there with her guys, the three of us together, the way she was happiest. She had no fear, no anxiety, she could feel us and see us and hear us with whatever sight and senses she had left. There was only love.
We spent the rest of the day in shock, ending up watching television later that night, feeling the loss of the dog at the foot of the couch.
Only watching halfheartedly, we realized the New York State marriage-equality vote was happening. PalJoey'sPal and I had been together for 17 years, Holly had been in our lives for 13 of those years. We had buried parents and friends and pets together. We had celebrated graduations and promotions and achievements and defeats together. And we had made a home together. That home was missing the very life of it, but the State of New York was contemplating granting the full force and measure of the state of marriage to households like ours. The only thing standing in the way were two swing votes--two Republican Assemblymen whose votes would turn the tide.
PalJoey'sPal and I both knew what what happening: Those two Republican legislators were being visited by the spirit of Miss Holly, who had taken on a role not unlike Fruma Sarah in Fiddler:
MISS HOLLY
What is this about you voting
Not to let my boys be HUSBANDS?
CANINE CHORUS
Boys be husbands!
MISS HOLLY
How could you ally yourselves with
Scum like Ruben Diaz?
CANINE CHORUS
Scummy Diaz? Dios mio!
MISS HOLLY
(Spoken)
Unless you vote to allow PalJoey and his Pal
To have an Old-Fashioned Wedding
Like the Loud Ladies sing about,
I promise you this:
I'll come to you by day!
I'll come to you by night!
And THIS I'll give your Rover!
THIS I'll give your Fido!
ARF! ARF ARF!
YOU LET MY BOYS MARRY!
Or you'll have a demon dog to deal with!
And with that victory, Miss Holly's spirit was allowed to go to her final rest.
In one day, we had lost our beloved dog after 13 years and gained the right to be legally wed after 17. One does not compensate for the other. But both derive their power in our lives from the love we experience around them. And both pets and life-partners inspire us with love day by day, with hugs and kisses and yelps but also sometimes with bites and growls and tumors and losing things.
In the end, dogs teach us how to be grateful as humans: how to have gratitude for every moment we have together, for those are brief and to be treasured.
And so it is fitting, as NYAdgal (whom Miss Holly loved deeply) pointed out, that in one of Miss Holly's final acts, her visage on the advertising for the Kennedy Center Follies Throw Pillow sold out the entire production run of pillows, thereby ensuring the ability of this production of my favorite musical to move to Broadway.
Miss Holly's effect on the move might be said to be exaggerated, but it makes for a kind of grand legend:
"Miss Holly died, so that FOLLIES could move to Broadway."
Updated On: 7/5/11 at 11:52 PM
She was a lucky, lucky girl to have had you as her person. XOXO
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