Shellbee's Story

by Jennifer Flynn-Campbell

  So with Pappy’s retirement, we happily moved on with our lives—but you already know that Mommy and Pappy can’t leave things well enough alone. Before long, they had hatched another plan. Mommy said, “Maybe we should buy a camper of our own.” In the human world, colored lights mean something. When Pappy heard Mommy, he saw a green light and snuck off with me to look at campers. We had plenty of time to explore, too, with Pappy’s newly-retired status. At every new camper, I would climb up the steps, hop inside, and promptly jump on the bed and couch. (As I’ve mentioned before, camper people love dogs, so I was a welcome shopper.) I should warn you, though, that some of these houses on wheels can be very scary—their insides disappear! There’s a loud eeeeking sound, and then the house shrinks. Every time a house started shrinking, Pappy would peek through one of its windows and nod in approval Go figure! He wanted to buy a house on wheels that had disappearing rooms!

  After we had found the perfect camper, Pappy and I chatted all the way home about how happy Mommy would be. Pappy made me swear not to say a word, but I have to confess, I wiggled extra hard when Mommy came home from work. Pappy played it off and said our day was “no big deal”; he wanted Mommy to be surprised when it was time to go back for her final approval. So that weekend, Pappy and I very nonchalantly took Mommy on a drive. She was surprised when we turned into the big house-on-wheels store. Of course, I remembered the place, so I let out a squeak and gave away the secret. Mommy isn’t easily fooled. “Shellbee, you’ve been here before, I know that squeal means you recognize this place.” It’s true—I squeal at places I love. Pappy laughed, and we merrily went to our favorite house on wheels. I was scared as I climbed the stairs, remembering the eeeeking sound from last time, but all the rooms were there, and I sat my princess self on the couch. I put on an extra-special look of joy so that Mommy would know to buy this one for me!

  Mommy said she loved the camper Pappy and I had sneakily picked out. Then my parents did what annoys me very much. In human terms, they hugged and kissed. I don’t like people hugging and kissing because then it’s not all about me. Well, I jumped off the couch, bobbed up and down, and gave them a good pounding to let them know I was there. My pounding always does the trick, and I get included in a three-way hugging-and-kissing fest. If Pappy and Mommy only knew how much I loved hearing them say, “Don’t you worry, Shellbee—you will always go camping with us.” That’s all most dogs want: to be with their families. I just make sure to remind them.

  After our family hug full of joy and love, we stepped out of the camper, where I had to endure another round of the eeeeking sound. Mommy peeked into the house, watched it disappear, and nodded in approval. Beats me what that’s all about. All I know is we bought our very own camper to go to the beach! This camper—and our next bigger one—is where we host my birthday parties.

  Yours truly, in love,

  Shellbee

  P A R T 4

  MOMMY’S

  WORK DEN

  Letter 18

  Going Home with Pappy, Waiting for Mommy

  Hi, it’s me—Shellbee. Before Pappy retired, he would come by to pick me up from Mommy’s work den. Sometimes I just wasn’t in the mood to go! My work littermates would giggle, with their hands over their traps, as they watched Pappy and I struggle. I’m guessing you’re not supposed to laugh at the boss’s hubby. Before we could leave Mommy’s work, Pappy had to first put my harness on me so I would be safely secured in the truck. I’m never allowed to be in a vehicle without my restraining device on. Mommy and Pappy say, “Very dangerous, Shellbee; you have to be safe.” Now, even I sigh over some of the shenanigans of my parents. If I wasn’t ready to go home, I would make it very difficult for Pappy to put on my harness. He would stand me up, but once I was on all fours, I would flop back to the floor, holding myself down like a dead weight. We’d go around and around with this dance until finally even I, stubborn Shellbee Ann Campbell, would give in to Pappy. Sometimes he would have an aching back from all my stubborn flopping. Off we would go to the home den. The first thing I’d do once we arrived was check the perimeter for smells of the day’s intruders.

  While we waited for Mommy to come home, Pappy and I had our routines, like hiking in the woods or swimming to secret islands. We also had work to do: garbage cans came back or went out, dishwashers were filled (I licked the plates clean first), and then I did some more flopping around. I always knew when Mommy was on her way home. I don’t have much of a mind for science, but I do know that we dogs have telepathic abilities. I knew Mommy was coming home because we share our thoughts and feelings telepathically.

  There is a famous scientist, Rupert Sheldrake, who studied the gifts that animals have which are often lost on humans. He said that “morphic resonance” explains how I knew Mommy was coming home and how we share all of our other wordless communications. Despite how it’s generally viewed, telepathy is not about ghosts and paranormal stuff. It’s a natural and common occurrence between humans and animals who know one another well. As you’ve seen from my stories, I am far from my canine origins, and you may have also guessed that Mommy is in tune with her inner canine. So we can stay in touch over long distances through channels provided by morphic fields. In other words, the morphic fields of our mental activity are not confined to inside our heads only. My deep and devoted attention to Mommy allows me to know her thoughts and feelings. When Mommy started getting ready to come home, I could feel her vibrations of happiness and her thoughts of our reunion. The best way I can describe it is that we share sympathetic vibrations. This is the stuff scientists like Rupert Sheldrake are woofing and howling about.

  One of my favorite spots to wait for Mommy was on my cow pillow at the top of the stairs. When I saw her car turn into the driveway, I would alert Pappy—woof woof—to open the door so I could go outside and give her a proper greeting. Mommy’s face would light up in a big smile as she opened her car door. Mommy has special names for me: Shellbee Girl, Love-Love, Sugarplum, Cutest Puppy. She’d shower me in kisses and hugs, I couldn’t wait to get into the home den and continue the ritual. “Shellbee Girl, I’m gonna kiss your hiney.” Now, she wouldn’t really kiss my hiney—Mommy’s not great with dog anatomy. She would kiss the base of my tailbone, where my hair is curly. Mommy would lift my rear for a kiss, then she’d start scratching my sides. I would spin one way, scratches on that side, I would spin again, scratches on the other side. Scratches on the right, spin to the left, scratches on the left, spin to the right. It’s confusing, but that’s how it works.

  Next, Mommy would give me a special treat, usually homemade cookies. I love helping Mommy make these cookies—grains, fruit yogurt, spices, and a dab of honey. Before I can eat them, they have to go in the hot box—it feels like it takes forever for them to cook. I lie on my kitchen pillow, waiting, guarding the cookies. Mommy helps the time go by faster by letting me lick the bowl clean, and it’s just as tasty as the cookies.

  Pappy is my personal chef; he cooks all my meals. I always lie on my kitchen pillow to keep him company (and taste test, of course). Pappy asks, “Shellbee, do you want cinnamon or cumin in your meat today?” Through telepathy, I give him my answer. I am a meat-and-potatoes girl. Sweet potatoes are my favorite. Pappy and Mommy know that I love to eat, so they add vegetables to my meals. “Shellbee, extra fiber to fill your belly.” They talk about “counting calories,” whatever that means. Personally, I’d like to eat ‘til I’m so stuffed I can’t move. But no, “That’s not good for you, Shellbee Girl.” They feel my ribs and mutter something about “girth.” Personally, I like being voluptuous, having a “rumpalumpalus” gives me some style when I walk. That’s what makes me and my rump so kissable!

  Yours truly, in love,

  Shellbee

  Letter 19

  Please Let Spring

  Be on Its Way

  Hi, it’s me—Shellbee. Today is another icy day, and I realized that the minute I slid to a stop on the deck. My feet pads are getting a bit crackly this wi
nter. Mommy and Pappy love my pads so much that they count the little cracks every day. It’s embarrassing because they make sounds while they count: moo moo moo, bah bah bah, cluck cluck cluck, hee-haw hee-haw hee-haw. I have no idea what that’s all about. Mommy and Pappy also smell my feet with their tiny snouts. If that isn’t bad enough, then they burst into song: “Popcorn foot, popcorn foot, oh Shellbee has some pretty-smelling popcorn feets.” Yet another thing I pray other dogs won’t see—the embarrassment of it all escapes my poor parents.

  It is early in the morning. I love the morning because I get to play “No Peeking” with Mommy. I wait behind the door while Mommy hides treats on the porch and outside on the deck. Most of the time, she hides homemade sweet-potato jerky. Mommy is getting real tricky with her hiding places. There are so many places to look that I’ve created a search pattern, and Mommy gives me hints too, like “up,” “down,” “inside,” “outside.” That way, all of the treats end up safe in my tummy. We play “No Peeking” with my toys too. I have Trolley (he’s a slipper with purple hair, big eyes, and a fat nose—real ugly), Snake (which you have to say with an Australian accent), and Sharkie (a dangerous underwater creature that chases and nips at me!).

  But my life isn’t all just fun and games. I haven’t told you much about my work. Yes, even Princess Shellbee has to go to work! I work long days at Mommy’s office with Auntie Donna and Auntie Linda. Auntie Donna is madly in love with me, as I am with her. I used to bark at her a lot, but she’s made it clear that she is the lead dog. Auntie Donna has proven that I can trust her to be my leader, so I listen to her—most of the time. Occasionally I do get the last woof in. Auntie Linda is my favorite enabler: if I do something naughty, she immediately says it’s innocent puppy behavior, or she reframes it into something positive. Auntie Linda has threatened to become the enforcer instead of an enabler, but I’m sure that metamorphosis will take a long time so I’m not worried.

  Auntie Donna and Auntie Linda hold me on their laps and scratch my belly while I help them get their work done. Without me, that office would come to a standstill. I let them scratch my belly only because I know it makes them feel happy. Happiness in the workplace is good for morale, and that’s the essence of me—a real morale booster. Sometimes I’m such a taskmaster that they give me a peanut butter-filled bone just to get me off their laps. Auntie Linda has even started freezing my bone so it takes me longer to get through the peanut butter. I lie on my pink blanket with my princess pillow and lick away until it’s all gone. I make sure to thank them for the bone, too: I bring them a toy as a gift, whipping them with my tail while slaying them with my smile.

  These nutty co-workers of mine are obsessed with my white teeth. They can’t help themselves, pinning me down to get a good look and feel. It’s a great game because I wait patiently until the perfect moment, and then I close my trap on their fingers. Lucky for them, they haven’t lost a finger—at least not yet.

  As I’ve mentioned before, Pappy comes to take me home. Even though I sometimes give him a hard time, he’s so proud that I’ve learned how to put on my harness. It’s not that I don’t love my Pappy, it’s just that I want him to stay there with me so I have all the prisoners of my heart in one place!!!

  My brother Jimmy works at the office sometimes, and, on special days, I stay home with him. We babysit each other. Brother Jimmy is quite a responsibility for me because I have to make sure he behaves and feeds me. Actually, that last part isn’t true; I don’t always make him behave. I’d never tell Mommy or Pappy about our game in the house: he barks like a dog, and we chase each other round and round. First, he’s hot on my tail, and then I turn on him and chase his tail. Jimmy and I have boundless energy, jumping onto the couches, tossing furniture and rugs. We also go hiking in the woods. I come home covered in mud from head to toe—it even gets on my nose. Mommy doesn’t know how that happens, and I’ll never tell. Brother Jimmy and I have an unspoken agreement—no amount of interrogation will ever crack us.

  I hope you meet my brother Jimmy someday—he’s the only person I know who considers food necessary for energy only. All the other people I’ve met love to eat. One night brother Jimmy and I were babysitting each other, and Mommy called at 7:00 PM to check on us. Brother Jimmy wanted to know if I eat dinner. Mommy said, “YES.” He replied, “Oh.” Brother Jimmy then fed me a late dinner. It was so good, and I made sure to thank him with a dozen toy gifts. Hopefully that will reinforce the idea that I need to eat!!! Brother Jimmy is a real softy—if the slightest thing startles me, he jumps to comfort me. I love him so, so much!!! He plays crazy instruments for me because he’s gonna be a Doctor of Music. I look at his wooden contraptions and listen to their beautiful sounds, cocking my head from side to side. One thing I know for sure is that I’d better never chew his wooden music-making stuff.

  Last night Mommy and I came home from work when it was dark out. I’m not usually in a car at night, so I sat up straight and took in the strange sights. Mommy explained why it was dark and why the lights were on, but I was still skeptical with my ears pinned back. I woofed real softly, just a little bit, at the red stoplights. (Keeping a low profile is the best way to move through the night.) Once we got home, I was glad Pappy came out to the car to carry me in. This novel-experience stuff is emotionally exhausting!

  Well, that’s all for now because it’s time to do all my house chores and run some errands. A woman’s work is never done!!

  Yours truly, in love,

  Shellbee

  Letter 20

  I Can’t Believe You’re

  in My Life

  Hi, it’s me—Shellbee. I bring surprise, joy, and awe to my household and to my workplace. I am “the world’s cutest puppy,” “a babe magnet,” “a morale booster,” and the very essence of love.

  My work is extraordinary because it crosses the vastness of many locations. Shifting my essence is easy because I love to be in the moment. I approach home, work, play, and adventure with the same amount of gusto and spirit. Philosophers should study my life so as to understand the authenticity of being. For example, at this very moment, I am one with my frozen peanut butter bone!! I am dog, I am woman, I am me!

  As you know, I work with Mommy a lot. As such, I am well-known, at least by name, to many important attorneys and judges. I mentioned earlier my uncle Ralph (a judge), and I’ve come to realize since then that even male judges wear black dresses. Their dresses aren’t furry like my gorgeous, shiny coat, but I am guessing they dress up like that to make-believe we are all part of the same canine family. Did you know black dogs are the most difficult to get adopted? Go figure! If judges are donned in black, then you’d think black dogs would be very desirable. Then again, maybe a judge isn’t someone you’d want to adopt into your life! Mommy says people ask about me all the time when she is at court. (A lot of them even have pictures of me on that box they like to yap on. I used to think those yapping boxes were annoying until I saw pictures of me on them.) Many people work in the courthouse to help keep the laws of the land running smoothly, and I have even met some of them off the court premises. I can’t see them at court because I’m not allowed. I don’t like saying goodbye to Mommy when she has to go to court, and I know she feels sad, too. We don’t like it when work gets in the way of our togetherness.

  One of the court people I’ve met is Donna. She sits in front of a machine and moves her fingers very quickly to get down every word said in the courtroom. I am particularly awestruck by the strange language she types in—it’s like Morse code except with letters. Donna came to Mommy’s office one day to meet me. Her voice is like a songbird: “Oh, she’s so beautiful.” (She’s talking about me!) If Donna were a dog, she’d be a beautiful Poodle in the show ring, and the audience would gasp at her graceful movement. Donna has a dog of her own; his name is “Bear,” and he’s a small, furry fellow who used to be very afraid, but then he got a job as an expert in agility training for dogs. Getting that job helped Bear overcome his fears and become a wo
rld champion. Well, the “world-champion” part may not be so accurate, but this is my story, and Donna is a world-champion person with her world-champion Bear.

  I’ve also met Mary Ellen and George, who work in the courthouse. Mary Ellen reminds me of a sleek Hungarian Vizsla. She is a sharp pointer, never missing a thing, and loyal to a fault. George reminds me of a barrel-chested German Shepard, protective and intelligent. They have two human pups, still undefined by a breed because all pups are alike: little balls of energy. When they came to visit our home, these human pups promptly climbed into my cave (crate)—the nerve! But I quickly forgave them because they gave me a present: toy keys. I love those keys, even more so lately as I’ve made up my mind to chew only things that belong to me. If I happen to take a fancy to a shoe or Mommy’s leather gloves, my parents make sure to give me a look-alike, smell-alike one of my own. “You like that, Shellbee,” they say, as they see me eyeing an especially tasty-looking belonging of theirs. “Okay, Shellbee, now these are yours,” and out they bring some leather glove or shoe all for me. For the most part, I keep these special prizes in a basket by the door to give as presents to anyone who comes over. I love my greeting ritual—so full of laughter and warm feelings by the receiver of my slobbery gift. Slobber is a funny thing. Mommy and Pappy call it body lotion and never shy away from its silly-string effects. Others do their best to not get too much on them, but not one person has ever rejected one of my welcoming gifts. Humans like special attention, and it’s hard to come by.

  When I’m working at Mommy’s office, I strategically place my bed so that I can see and greet everyone who comes through the door. I am really good at keeping secrets, which is important in my line of work. I can’t even tell you the names of all the people who come to see us—big secret. But I can tell you what I’ve learned about these wonderful characters. They come to see us because something is hurting them—not broken limbs, but painful feelings. I came to understand very quickly that their pain comes from deep inside. I admire all of our patients; they’re walking in wounded, bravely facing their fears. I must admit I am an asset to the clinical psychology practice because sad, frightened faces give way to smiles when I walk in. I become a fixture in these people’s lives, so if I happen to take the day off, they look around and ask, “Where’s Shellbee?”