As my husband and I contemplate our eventual move from the farmhouse and I discover hidden treasures left by my parents, I came upon a photograph of my mother as a three year old. She is outside playing on a grassy slope with an older adult, most likely my great grandmother, standing in the distance but not engaged with her in any way. She is alone. There is light coloured dog but in this faded black and white photo it is impossible to tell what breed it might be, a mutt. The dog is close to my mother, her guardian.
My mother needed a guardian at this time in her life. Her father’s appendix had ruptured and at the kitchen table, the doctor had operated to remove his appendix and the infection. After the operation, my grandfather was lifted on a sheet which was then tied to the four bedposts. Suspended. Suspended between life and death for days followed by months of slow recovery.
It was my grandmother, with two girls one eight and the other three, who ran the farm and looked after household chores with some help from neighbours. My mother was left adrift as my grandmother had neither the time nor energy to be there for her and meet her physical and emotional needs. A frightening time for the family, for a three year old.
Throughout her life my mother has always loved dogs and we had a succession of dogs on the farm but none has been more loved than our dog, Dax, who is half border collie, one quarter Australian shepherd, one-eighth blue heeler and one-eighth pug. You can identify traits of all four breeds in her, the markings of a border collie, the red merle coat of an Australian shepherd, the dappling on her feet of the blue heeler and the square set eyes and when happy or excited, the 360 curl of her tail, the telltale sign of a pug. My mother delights in spending time with Dax and believes that she its the smartest dog ever. When I come with Dax to visit my ninety-six year old mother at her retirement home, I sometimes wonder whom she is happier to see me or Dax.
I am somewhat reassured about her feelings. During the summer months if I tell my mother that I plan to go up to the lake alone, my mother will ask if Dax is going with me. In her mind, all will be well and no harm can come to me if Dax is there. I am reminded of the photo of my three year old mother and the dog. The guardian. Dax, my guardian.