Shellbee's Story

  Mommy and Pappy won’t let up on me having novel experiences. It’s exhausting! After every new experience, I fall into a drunken sleep, like when we drove to Beaufort, South Carolina, and took a walk around town. After spending many days on our quiet five acres in Georgia, I was shocked by all the cars, smells, people, noise, and those damn horses and buggies. Mommy said Dogman would not have liked the way I acted. As soon as we started walking around Beaufort, I lowered my head, squared off my center of gravity, and pulled Mommy at the other end of my leash. People noticed and called me “beautiful” but “a handful.” Pappy told Mommy that she’s a chronic worrier and that I’d get used to it. Suddenly, I had what Mommy thought was a breakthrough: I stopped tugging on my leash. Mommy was “so so proud” that I wasn’t pulling anymore. Breakthroughs are funny things, sneaking up on the innocent, causing them to be more in tune with their environment. Poppycock! In this case, I became so hot I naturally had to slow down and walk alongside Mommy and Pappy, catching some shade from their tree-like bodies.

  The best part of the city-slicker trip to Beaufort was lunch at Kathleen’s. We had a special corner table on the shady porch. I lay there angelically, so Mommy and Pappy would give me treats from their plates. This would never happen at home—asking for nibbles gets me only a “No, no, Shellbee! Go to your spot.” But not on that fine day. My spot that day was between their chairs. Of course, my treats came with a lecture: “Shellbee, this happens only on vacation, not at home.” We’ll see. We’re not home yet; maybe Mommy and Pappy will think it’s vacation there, too. After all, that’s how I came to sleep in their bed—a habit formed on vacation that’s lasted forever.

  Other than a few adventures like Beaufort, I’ve spent most of my days in Georgia, on the river kayaking or swimming. I’m more mature now—no whining at all in Mommy’s little yacht. However, I do have to be in Mommy’s small space, either on her lap or at the helm. I’ve learned a lot about kayaking, too. For example, I’ve learned:

  How to not be clunked on the head with a paddle (That does happen!)

  How to not fall out of the boat (Always a possibility!)

  How to not claw Mommy (Mommy really appreciates this one!)

  How to get in and out of the boat without hurting myself

  I solved that last problem by making Mommy and Pappy help me, until I finally managed it on my own on our very last day of paddling. It was a sight to behold: I sprung off my hind legs and landed on all fours right between Mommy’s legs.

  I have so much more to bark about, like packing up and our adventure on the drive back to New York. Packing up is a bummer, emotionally; Mommy and Pappy mope around, putting things away and, of course, securing all the things I need for the ride home. I don’t mind going home because I miss brother Jimmy and my work companions. But, of course, Mommy and Pappy can’t just go home. No. They have to create another novel experience for me!

  After oodles of hours in the Bronco, we arrived in Old Alexandria, Virginia, where we stayed in the most fabulous hotel in the heart of the city. This hotel has a doggy happy hour and—check this out—we had arrived just in time, much to our mutual surprise and delight. When we got to the outdoor atrium, I could hardly believe my eyes: the place was hopping with dogs and their companions. I was the youngest one there, but not the smallest. There were big dogs, giant dogs, small dogs, tall dogs, tiny dogs, yellow dogs, brown dogs, spotted dogs, dogs that drool a lot, dogs that bark a lot, and all the dogs sniffed a lot.

  In fact, we all love sniffing so much that we created a hiney-sniffing train—it was so, so fun. Doggies danced, and leashes got tangled while our companions ate and drank. I became overwhelmed by the sights and smells, so Mommy put me up on her lap, where I could get a real good look around. Gus, a Great Dane, was the most awesome dog there; he walked like a horse and gently lay down for us to sniff him. Mommy fed all of us ice cubes while other treats were being passed around. After some time, Mommy, Pappy, and I went to dine in our room. Room service was great, plus we had a bird’s-eye view of the busy city streets. After dinner, we walked to the park to listen to a pipe band. I gave those noisy contraptions a bark and howl before settling down to listen. (Mommy told me that Dogman plays the pipe, so I decided to give it a chance.) It was fun to be in the city, but it’s not a place I’d want to live in all the time. For one thing, there’s hardly a patch of grass to poop on. (Poor Pappy is the pooper scooper on our adventures.)

  When we got back to our room, we watched some TV to catch up on the news, since we’re cut off from reality at our Georgia house. I actually like being cut off from reality. Getting back to the basics of life is good. And it’s really good for Mommy and Pappy because I become the center of their universe. When we’re in New York, I sometimes have to go to my spot and wait my turn. Howl!

  The next day, after Mommy and Pappy ate breakfast in our hotel room (and shared some with me, of course), we finally headed home. It’s hard to describe the joy I felt when I saw brother Jimmy. He’s so cute and loves me so much. It’s a mutual-admiration club we have going (along with a pact to break all the rules). With our vacation over, I went back to work with Mommy. All my good behaviors—no barking, no mouthing, no jumping—went right out the window. I was difficult for two weeks after Georgia, so I was sent back to intensive training with Dogman. Dogman said I was in the bratty-adolescent phase. He told Pappy to work the leash because I was taking advantage of women. Of course, I target the ladies; they have a much greater tolerance for my nonsense. It’s so funny to hear Auntie Linda, Auntie Donna, Cousin Jen, and Mommy try to psychoanalyze my acting out. It sounds like this: “Maybe it’s something she ate, maybe she has to poop, maybe it’s the worming medicine, maybe she hasn’t adjusted after her freedom in Georgia,” and on and on. Now, the men see things much differently: “Shellbee needs limits—she’s out of control.” Howl! One day, they even put me in Doc Ray’s office because I wouldn’t stop barking. After the door closed, I barked one last time; then I settled down. I knew the game was up since the only male working in the office was now in charge of me!

  Yours truly, in love,

  Shellbee

  Letter 16

  Life’s a Beach

  Beginning of Trip

  Hi, it’s me—Shellbee. I’m here to report what happened in the driveway today. Mommy and Pappy were real busy taking our precious belongings out of the house. I helped a lot by carting things off as they put them down. Apparently, we’re going on a trip somewhere. Mommy keeps saying we’re driving to the beach in a big “campa.” I’ve never been in a “campa,” but I’ve been to the beach plenty of times. I’ve taken to eating seaweed when I’m there (I catch it with my trap as it floats by), and I’ve already mentioned how much I love dead crabs. Mommy and Pappy even made up a song about my crab-eating ways:

  Walkin’ on crab parts, oh, oh

  Walkin’ on crab parts, whoop, whoop

  It’s all for you as you eat some, too!

  They often hold their noses after singing the song. Dead-crab breath isn’t something they find as delightful as I do!

  You wouldn’t believe it, but I’ve outgrown my swimming vest already. Mommy ordered a new one. Now, you’d think Mommy would be patient and wait for the new arrival. But no . . . she’s got to try all her kayak vests on me! Pappy said I had to suffer great indignities as Mommy wrestled with me to put on these contraptions. Her white-water vest fit okay—a bit bulky. I’m sure I will look like a buoy bobbing around. I don’t want to be a buoy; people might try to moor their boat on me!

  We are going away for Mommy’s “something” birthday (a lady never reveals her age). For Pappy’s birthday, Mommy and Pappy went away overnight. Pappy hasn’t heard the end of that from me. Mommy keeps telling me not to worry—that her birthday is “all about me.” Poor Pappy—he’s forever in trouble, but he’s getting better at paying attention to Mommy’s silent signals. Before I came along, Pappy loped along unaware of the dangers behind Mommy’s sign language, but I’ve given
him a few pointers, and he’s getting smarter. My Pappy is going to be the best husband someday . . . turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks! Unfortunately for Pappy, he can’t feign deafness anymore now that he understands Mommy’s hand signals. Mommy says Pappy hears only what he wants to hear. Pappy and I are alike—selective hearing.

  We’re getting a new boat for Mommy’s birthday, too. I’ve been doing a lot of water crafting lately. The other day Mommy and I went out in a two-man (well, woman-and-dog) kayak. It was so stable that, try as I might, I couldn’t tip it over—I was the only one that went into the drink! My black, furry self hit the water and, much to my surprise, I went under!! I came back up to the surface and made like Jesus—quickly walking on the water to get back into the kayak. Once back into that dopey means of transportation, I acted a lot calmer, for a short while. Then I took the helm—up there on all fours—which resulted in another fall into the drink. This time I was done with that ridiculous contraption and swam back to shore. Mommy followed me to shore, and then we went swimming together. I’m real good at doggy paddling, once I get going. At first, my paws fly up, and I’m blinded by the splashing water, but before I know it, I’m swimming like a pro. When I get back to shore, I wildly celebrate my accomplishment by leaping off all fours onto Mommy. She doesn’t complain; I’m not sure why—maybe because she is just “so so proud.”

  I can hear Pappy; he just came home with Mommy’s new boat, but I’m too tired to go look. I’m lying half off my pillow in the warm sun, enjoying my Freudian puppy dreams.

  Middle of Trip

  I have so much to woof to you about. First, Mommy’s dream birthday came true. Pappy made it happen. My brother Jimmy gave Mommy a great present—a neck pad to nap with. I love naps; they are hard to come by!! Mommy heated up her new neck pad, put on some delicious smelling eye covers, and we both took an afternoon nap. There we were, sleeping on the queen-size bed in our camper out on the bay of Cupsogue, Long Island. Life’s a beach.

  But before we got around to taking that nap, a lot happened—so much, in fact, that it’s hard to report with any accuracy. We arrived at the campsite and went to work unpacking the essentials—my dog bed, my dog couch, my blanket, my toys, my food, my bowls, and my bones (which were promptly slathered in organic peanut butter and put in the freezer). A whole lot of other stuff happened that was of no interest to me. When we were finally all settled in, we managed to squeeze in some sightseeing. I love the salt air, the smells, the water to swim in, and the dead, crunchy crabs to eat. Water is a trip, a mind trip. It has so much going on, it’s hard to take it all in. The water in the bay isn’t too difficult for me to maneuver, except sometimes the seaweed moves too fast for me to catch. Now the ocean is another beast all unto itself! Those waves crashing onto the shore are fun to chase. It’s an endless game the ocean plays with me—and it always wins.

  We’ve taken a lot walks here at Cupsogue, too. Walking makes me thirsty; luckily, brother Jimmy’s trusty water bag is ready for me (a present from a Vermont ski trip). I can be off-leash most of the time, until the Piping Plover nesting area. Piping Plovers are endangered, so you have to steer clear. If you live in Long Island, New York, Piping Plover nesting areas take up a lot of the beach, often to the dismay of us beachgoers. Mommy and Pappy have a lot to say about these areas, for example, “I’m running over a Piping Plover with my brand new four-by-four” or “Piping Plovers taste like chicken.” They know I love chicken, but they still won’t let me go eat any Piping Plovers!

  We also went water crafting in Mommy’s new two-person, one-dog kayak. I sat in my spot with my special blanket. Now “my spot” is a fluid concept because it changes according to where I want to be. I get a lot of “Good girls” for choosing the spot that keeps a balanced ballast. My favorite spot, though, is on Mommy’s lap; I like to lay my head on her chest or her knees. This is a problem for the people trying to steer and keep us upright, but that’s not my concern. Mommy and Pappy make the necessary adjustments, and I get knocked in the noggin by their paddles only every once in a while. After kayaking, I went for a little swim, after Mommy went in first, of course. She put on her black rubber suit (because she doesn’t have a warm fur coat like me), and I chased her into the water. I got a little scared running into the water because I don’t understand it the way Mommy does, but I trust her to take care of me.

  Knowing you can trust someone is a wonderful feeling. Mommy, Pappy, and brother Jimmy would never let anything bad happen to me. I try to return the favor by perfecting my watchdog skills. In fact, while camping one night, the howling wind gave me great concern for my family’s safety. So I barked and growled the way I should to warn them of imminent danger. Pappy woke up and took me outside to go to the bathroom. It was dark and scary, and I saw some big figures, so I let out a vicious growl to protect my Pappy. Turns out, I was growling at our shadows.

  We’ve also eaten a lot during our camping extravaganza. I do love to eat! At home, I never go into the dining room—it is just one of my innate manners—but in a camper you have no choice but to be together. So I lie on the couch, squeeze my eyes closed, and try to ignore the sounds of a scrumptious food fest. Uncle Mike and Auntie Marie came for Mommy’s birthday dinner, and they said, “We’ve never seen a dog that didn’t beg.” Well, you should know at least two things about me by now: one, I’m not your average dog, and two, I’m above begging. If I’m real good, I get a treat when everyone is done. I even got some of Mommy’s rum birthday cake. Auntie Marie made it, and it’s going to be a bake-off winner for sure. I didn’t get any rum glaze, though—only cake. Thank goodness Uncle Mike was there; he cheated and snuck me an extra piece, just like the good old days in Georgia! He says, “Keep on truckin’, Shellbee!!”

  End of Trip

  When Uncle Mike and Auntie Marie came to visit, we all went to explore Moriches Inlet. It is truly a beautiful and peaceful place. I barked a bit out of joy. My Mommy grew up here, running on the jetty rocks, scuba diving, surfing, and just “truckin’ on.” They even scattered her pappy’s ashes off the gorge where the three waters intersect. Mommy and Uncle Mike can get a little misty here, thinking back on all the great memories and wondering what the future will bring. I love these rocks, too. I sit and look out over the vast ocean, drinking in the many wonders of the world.

  By the way, I skipped school for an entire week to go on this camping trip. I’m a truant. I love breaking the law, especially if it involves barking. Mommy and Pappy tell me I’m going to get ticketed for disturbing the peace.

  If I do get a ticket, it will be a misdemeanor—no jail time.

  We had some great adventures on the beach, but Mommy and Pappy never let me get too wild. If I wandered too far away for their comfort, they’d put me on the leash. Howl! A dog’s life . . .

  The day came when it was time to pack up and go home. We didn’t want our vacation to be over, so we lingered at the camper-return place. I had fun sitting on Mommy’s lap like a person and listening to the conversation. (I sit like this on Auntie Donna and Auntie Linda’s laps at work, too.) The lady at the camper place said, “She looks intelligent.” Steve, the camper policeman, loved me too; he couldn’t help but pat my head, even with my gentle nips. Camper people love us dogs because we are one of their staple clients. And they especially love me because I don’t leave any hair behind and I don’t gnaw on their camper.

  I am very grateful for all these experiences. However, what I appreciate most is the time I get to spend with my family. I’m not sure if I remembered to thank my Mommy and Pappy: thank you, Mommy, for choosing the perfect way to celebrate your special birthday, and thank you, Pappy, for making it all happen. Life’s a beach.

  Yours truly, in love,

  Shellbee

  Letter 17

  Buy Me a Camper

  Hi, it’s me—Shellbee. It’s been three summers since our first camper trip to Cupsogue Beach. I love the summer. We’re a water family, so our days are filled with kayaking to quiet beac
hes and drifting in the currents to secret islands. I love my days of adventure at sea. When we’re at our house in Georgia, we also have the river, where we dive off the banks into the water. My favorite target to land on is Mommy and Pappy. And if we’re not kayaking around the ocean or diving into the river, we’re enjoying our friends’ swimming pools—I’m a welcome guest at all their parties!

  Now that Pappy’s retired, our lives have changed a lot. Pappy loved his career, but it was also very challenging, so the time came for him to stop. He spent his whole life helping drug addicts. As a matter of fact, Mommy met him when they were both working at the same drug clinic. Then Mommy changed her career and became a psychologist—that’s when I came into the picture. Thank God for me. Mommy and Pappy needed a furry, black girl who wiggles like Jell-O and makes them laugh endlessly. It’s stressful being a mental health professional because people expect you to alleviate all of their pain and anguish. During my career, I’ve worked with both Mommy and Pappy. When I was with Pappy, I noticed he spent a lot of time being frustrated on the phone; it’s hard to find all the help that drug addicts need. Mommy works with patients, many of whom I love, and they love me. Mommy has done other work that I’m not allowed to get too involved in, some kind of “Law and Order” stuff, but I’m still important enough to be on her letterhead—Shellbee, Therapy Dog. All that aside, what matters the most to me is making people smile and laugh every day. I help them forget their sad, troubled hearts, even if it’s only for a moment. I know my responsibility well, and it is an awesome task from God.