…step one: get some plants
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REWRITE FRIDAY!
Hi there, Gentle Readers. When I originally conceived the Rewrite Friday idea, I thought I would post the original piece, then the rewritten version, all in one post. I have since rethought that as being kind of wasteful with your time and mine. Instead, I’ll just direct you to when the original post was made and post the revised version.
Funny thing about this post, I didn’t write it or revise it. Silky wrote the original, then a mere 24 hours before her final trip to the vet, added many notations (in parentheses). She gave the file to me and said “You’ll know when to post it.” I strongly suspect she got a message from one of us this year, maybe Brownie.
Anyway, this is a long post, so I’ll post the second half next Friday.
From the original post of June 21st, 2018, here is the revised version of…
Silky Explains It All
All Of Me
(Part 1)
Yes, folks, it’s me, Silky Dawn Cross, older sister to Sasha. I’m here instead of her because she is busy with several of her projects and because I wanted to write something anyway.
Many, if not most of you, know that I am a very old dog. I just turned 79 a couple of days ago. But that is chronological age based upon having lived several lives, including 12 years so far in the current one. Additionally, I was not born in your reality. (After all of these years, I still think “what the hell?” when I say stuff like that.)
Yes, that all requires some explanation, so here we go. Here are my lives, one by one, starting with the first. Please forgive the quick and dirty entries. (Now a bit less quick or dirty. If you want the really long version, read my memoirs when they get published).
Zou Zou Born June 20th, 1939 Died April 19th, 1951
Zou Zou was my original name. I was born in Orleans, France to a male hunting dog Basset Hound from England named Bodger and a pampered French house Basset Hound female named Giselle. They were owned by a British man (David) and his French wife (Helene). I had 3 sisters and 2 brothers. (All of them outlived me by from 2 to 4 years) I was the only one kept as a pure pet (My purity was open to debate), the rest were trained for hunting. We all moved to England when I was 6 weeks old. (I liked England. Our home was way out in the country not too far from Bath. I went back to visit there in the early 70s. It had not changed much, despite being a whole different reality.)
All of us, parents included, were Smart. To explain, Smart in this case means human intelligent and sapient. (As it does on this Earth) The first thing we were taught was to not let humans find out about it. That version of Earth had a bunch of Smart animals and they knew it needed to be kept secret. (So far as I know, Smart NHT started popping up on that Earth around 1100 AD, thanks to Roscoe AKA, I shit you not, The Dogtor.)
I broke the secret at 9 weeks old when Monette came home from her last year at boarding school. She and I hit it right off and on the fourth day home I made it plain to her that I was a very smart puppy. My mom and dad had to come and tell her about The Secret, which took a while since they could not speak and lacked opposable thumbs. (Two points here. 1: Monette was one of the most heroic humans I have ever met, and that covers a shitload of ground. 2: My parents scratched words into the ground to get Monette’s attention, then used a pencil in their mouths to point out letters in a kid’s book to spell out words. It took a while. Fortunately, after about 6 months together, Monette and I could converse mentally, even though it was still just simple phrases.)
Anyway, I’m going on too long here, so here is the condensed version of how the next almost 12 years went.
Monette ran off to join the French Resistance when I was just 1 year old. She took me with her. (Because who would be a more helpful spy/assistant than a cute Basset Hound with big sad eyes? Yeah, those big sad eyes where the last thing several Nazis and fucking Vichy traitors saw.)
Ten months in we met three humans from America: Ben, Ted and Harvey. (Who were, in order, black, white & very short, Jewish & gay. Also three of the finest males I have ever known.) They had three dogs with them: King (a German Shepherd) (He had a huge & kind heart when he was not ripping out Nazi throats), Scout (a small terrier mix) (Typical non-stop terrier and a lovable goofball) and Roscoe (the most handsome and dashing Basset Hound I had ever seen) (And by far the smartest among us dogs). (I’ll note that King and Ted never made it home, but it was their deaths that let the rest of us do so)
Spent the next three years fighting Nazi scum and French traitors. Fell hard for Roscoe, who fell hard for me. (I’ve had many loves and partners since, but none came close to him, or ever will.)
Got caught by Nazis and taken to the secret lab of a mad scientist. (Sasha and Dad both confirmed that Mad Science was much more common on that Earth. I often wonder if there was a Sasha born there. It’s both a heartening and terrifying thought) Caused his experiment with freezing and reviving living creatures to go awry. (For THAT story, you need to read Roscoe’s version. He could really tell it well) Ended up frozen in green ice for 6 months. (Which seemed like only a few minutes. Jesus, that stuff stank when it melted.)
Thawed out. Felt like hammered shit for a couple of days, then okay. (If, by okay you mean we just felt like regular shit. And damn if we weren’t hungry as hell for days, despite having plenty to eat.) Found out the war had ended two months earlier with the nuking of Berlin and Tokyo. (Yeah, no Nazis escaping to Argentina or anywhere else. And they bombed the seats of power in Japan. I’m told we would not recognize the Japan of today)
Monette married Ben after the war and Roscoe & I joined them living in Paris. (That was a pretty great time. They had three kids before Roscoe and I died. We did not have any puppies, by choice.)
Went to visit Ben’s parents in California in 1951. A month later, Roscoe and I (ages almost 13 and 12, respectively) got hit by a drunk driver and knocked into the Feather River Canyon not far from Oroville, California. We both died. (We were walking along the side of the road with Ben & Monette when it happened. It was all very fast. The drunk driver went another 200 yards before hitting a big tree and getting to find out how it feels to go through the windshield of a ’42 Ford and then become a big splat on a tree. Fucker!)
But we got better.
Amy “Born” April 20th, 1951 Died: October 3rd, 1962
I woke up 8 miles downriver from where I must have hit the water. Roscoe was nowhere around and, I was very confused. First, because I knew I should have been dead and second because my sense of smell was not nearly what it should have been. A quick look into some still water showed me that I was a Border Collie pup no more than 6 months old. Now I was very afraid and even more confused. (I know now that this was by design to insure my personal timeline, but it still sucked) Several (like 10, thanks to me running in totally the wrong direction) hours later, when I got into Chico, California, my confusion red lined when I read a newspaper and quickly realized that I was not even in my world. I’m not ashamed to say that I found a dark little space under an old car and sort of shut down until I fell asleep. (I cannot understate how mindfucking it is to wake up in a different universe)
I dreamed (Aided, I know now, by Sasha) that I was talking to Roscoe across a long distance. We figured out that he, now a Bull Terrier, was up in the mountains somewhere. (Turns out he was way the fuck over near Lake Tahoe)We also figured out that our regeneration must be the result of six months frozen in green Nazi ice. (WRONG!) How we got to another world where Russia was still communist and the USA only had 48 states instead of 52 was a mystery we did not crack. (Well, until later when both of us met Sasha at different times)
We expressed our love for each other and vowed to meet in Oroville, which was not too far away. (For me. He thought he was up near Forbestown, a bit further away) Then the dream faded and I woke up and things went sideways fast. Again, I will hit only the highlights.
Figured I’d hitch a ride with some nice human. Walked to highway. Got picked up by two ladies in a small car. Car was hot, they fed me a sandwich, I fell asleep and when I woke up we were leaving Sacramento, headed for the Bay Area. (I swear, I thought the said they lived in Oroville. Hell, maybe they did, but were heading to the Bay Area for the weekend. At least they liked dogs) Managed to keep from panicking. (Barely. At least I didn’t get the nervous shits)
Ran off from them as soon as they stopped in San Francisco, Roscoe’s home town. (I kind of regret that, but I had things to do) Figured he’d head there once I didn’t show in Oroville, (WAY wrong on that, but not really his fault. He was on a mission) so went looking for a place to settle in for a while. Chose Golden Gate Park. (BEST city park in these United States. Sorry, Central Park)
After many adventures and finding out that Smartness seemed to rub off on many of the animals I met, I had to escape the dog catcher by jumping on a truck. To Texas. (Yeah, I knew it was heading to Texas. I thought I’d jump off when they stopped for gas, but they kept stopping in the fucking desert, so I rode all the way to Lubbock)
Many adventures across Texas (Including running from coyotes, cattle and cowboys) until I got adopted by a wealthy couple (In Corpus Christi) who were setting out to sail down to Panama, then to Hawaii. Spent 4 years sailing the Pacific and living a good life. (Hey, you take your good times where you find them. It was a nice big boat, everyone liked me and the food was first rate) Found that while I never really forgot Roscoe, I thought of him less. (Thank you, Sasha) Also conferred Smartness to a shitload of other animals before jumping ship when the couple, who were now fighting all the time, (because the man was a cheating son of a bitch) pulled into Singapore. (Which I left fast after I saw somebody selling dogs for food and burned his house down after freeing them)
Spent 5 years making my way back to France, escaping death more times than you can imagine. (Fuck jungles! Also the African savannah and all deserts) Got to Paris on Christmas Day, 1961. Was pretty sick from something I’d picked up in North Africa. (Some parasite, I think) Got adopted off the street a week later by a nice older couple. (They were very good to me)
Vet kept me going okay for nearly a year, but I died in October of 1962. No pain, died in my sleep. (Take it from me, it’s the best way to die. The hot needle is second best)
Lucky “Born” October 4th, 1962 Died February 19th, 1963
(Most inappropriate name of all)
First time regenerating as a male. Took some getting used to. (Exterior genitalia are a pain to deal with. Who thought having your balls outside where they can get hurt was a good idea? Also, every damned female gives you a boner!) Was a Mastiff pup, maybe 5 months old. (Big and still pretty clumsy) Made my way to the north coast, (And yes, I did go looking for Ben & Monette, but they were no longer living in their place in Dreux) hoping I could find a way to sneak my big self onto a boat crossing the Channel. (I wanted to visit the UK again) Had many adventures over the course of 18 months before getting hit and killed by a goddamn lousy French driver. (To this day I will piss on any Renault 4 I see)
Honey “Born” February 20th, 1963 Died May 10th, 1976
Back to being female (YAY!) and in a Irish Setter body, about 4 months old. (Man, I loved being a redhead) Woke up near an airport. Went to mooch food and immediately got adopted by a stunningly beautiful redheaded lady pilot named Gail. (A truly great human, female and dog mom. Fearless, sexy and big hearted. I still love her.) Spent the next 13 years with her and loved every minute of it. Travel, parties, Woodstock (Well, okay, I was a mile away staying at her sister’s place), celebrities, good deeds (Many, often anonymous), not so good deeds (Always anonymous), adventures and met/sparked a huge number of Smart animals (On 5 continents). Died of old age in Gail’s arms, (my heart just gave out) at our home in San Diego, but not before telling her The Secret (A day earlier. Took me 3 hours to type it out on her typewriter. She was not as surprised as you might think, probably from observing me over 13 years) and that I’d visit her again at some point. (Which I did)
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT FRIDAY
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