First Dog and First Book
The picture with this blog is of my original copy of Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White. As you can see it is a much loved book. I’ve had the book for about forty years, but that’s not why the book looks so beaten up. I bought this book through the Scholastic Book Club in junior high. I think I was twelve. I got off the school bus with my new book in my armload of school things. I ran towards the house eager to start reading this new adventure, but when I got inside the house I couldn’t find it. I searched every inch of what I’d been carrying in my arms, including my sweater, but the book was nowhere to be found. I finally looked outside and found my dog, Jenny, chewing on something in the yard.
I ran out and, of course, Jenny was chewing on Charlotte’s Web. I grabbed the book from her and I was furious. The cover was ripped off, there were tooth marks all over it. The book was ruined! I yelled at the dog, and can still remember how angry I was with her. I marched back inside with my damaged book and she stayed out in the yard where she always was because my grandmother didn’t believe in indoor dogs, or indoor pets for that matter. I was able to read the book, but every time my fingers touched the tooth marks it made me angry all over again. I was livid about the book being damaged for a long time. Fast forward a little to the serial dog poisoner that was killing in our small town. The coward even put poisoned meat inside fences and cages where the dogs never got out to bother anyone. If I’d been the grownup in my life, I’d have brought Jenny inside to live with us and put her on a leash – always – until the poisoner was caught. But I wasn’t the grownup in my life, and my grandmother only allowed Jenny inside the house one day a year, on Christmas morning to get her presents. You can guess the rest, one morning we discovered Jenny stiff with her body stretched out in a painful bow. I know enough about poisons now that it was likely strychnine, which is a painful way to go.
I dug the grave for my dog in our yard. I ground was hard, or maybe I’m remembering other pets and other graves dug. It all sort of gloms together in my mind, digging in the dirt of the yard to bury something I loved.
In the years to come I would value this copy of Charlotte’s Web all the more, because it holds the toothmarks of my first dog, the only dog my mother would ever bring home to me because she would die the summer of my sixth year. The marks that had irritated my fingers when I touched them before were a touchstone that comforted me and reminded me of things I had loved. No, I suppose in the end this book reminds me of things I still love. You never forget your first dog. The one that was beside you on the first adventures out of the yard. The one who roamed the woods at your side. Jenny even risked her life to protect me, taking on the most fierce dog in the town. One so dangerous that even his owners knew it and kept him on chain, or caged, except with them. He got loose one day and tried to attack me, but she threw herself at him. The other dog was almost four times her size but she never hesitated. This was her child, her pack! The big dog’s owners heard the dog fight and my screams and came running. They dragged the other dog off and miraculously Jenny wasn’t hurt. He’d gone for the throat and her thick wooly coat had saved her. But I can still taste the fear on my tongue when the dog attacked and the surprise when my little dog that had never picked a fight in her life launched herself at the other animal. Ironically, the other dog would be one of the first victims of the poisoner, who put meat into its outdoor caged run.
Would I have read Charlottes’ Web so often if touching it hadn’t reminded me of my lost dog? I don’t know, but I do know that this was the book where I first began to figure out how a good sentence was constructed, how a descriptive paragraph worked, how a story is built. For decades I would read Charlotte’s Web once a year in the autumn. Eventually this, my first copy, got so fragile that I bought other copies to read so this copy could be saved. But when I think about reading Charlotte’s Web, this is the book I think about reading. This texture of toothmarks, and tears, that one rip. I know the feel of this coverless book in my hands better than almost any other book I’ve ever read, save perhaps one. This book helped make me a writer, and those precious teeth marks helped me learn another invaluable lesson. That there is no anger, no fight, worth being truly enraged at someone/something you love. It’s not every book that can teach you two life lessons, and its not every dog that can help you learn them.
You never forget your first dog. I’ve had other dogs since, but once I got to be the grownup in my life and had a way to make choices, all the dogs have been indoor dogs. I would never lose another pet because I could not protect it. As I trace the bite marks on the pages, I wonder would I have loved this book so much if Jenny had not chewed it up, and then died, so that it was my remembrance of her? Since this book was the first one that began to teach me the trick of being a writer, would it have happened without everything that I think of and feel when I touch this book? What goes into making a writer? How does the magic happen? I don’t write about dogs much, or pigs, or clever spiders, and I certainly am not a writer of children’s stories, but I know, absolutely know, that this book was critical to my development as a writer. For the first time, I wonder if maybe my first dog, Jenny, was more important in that development than I thought. I’ll keep this book forever, because a writer never forgets that first important book, and a girl never forgets her first dog.
9 thoughts on “First Dog and First Book”
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I am so sorry for your loss, I lost my first dog do to rabies going around, Back in the early 60’s ( I was like 5 or 6 yrs old) It was not mandatory in my area to get your dogs their “shots”. We lost her because animal control came around and unless your dog had their shots they had to be quarenteened for some time to see if ill or not or put down. My parents not having the money to pay for the quarentine costs had to allow the county to put them down. I still miss my Pee wee, I still wake up at night feeling like her little head was resting on my neck ( she always slepted right by my ear with her head on my neck) This happens especially if I have had a nightmare or am upset for any reason. It is as if she is still there . She was a chihuahua mix we found abandonded as a puppy by the side of our country highway. Call me strange but I do believe our pets spirits can and do visit us.; and we will see them again. Thanks for sharing your first dog. I do believe she is waiting for you.
I just had to tell you how Beautiful that was! Thank-you for such heart felt words about ones first dog and what started that love affair with furry family members is all about (memories )
When I was 20 someone introduced me to your books. I’ll never forget looking at the spine of Obsidian Butterfly and trying to deny my overwhelming desire to pull it off the shelf and look at it. I have been enamored with your writing since that day. I enjoyed reading this and I am sorry that you had to deal with something so tragic at such a young age. Kudos–Jen
Thank you so much for sharing that story. No, one doesn’t forget their first dog, or their first book. I still have my hard cover copy of Ring Horse, given to me by an adopted aunt. It also holds precious memories for me. My mother passed when I was six, the book was given to me that year, after she passed. I too, took something very important from my book…for seven years of my life, I worked with race horses and to this day, they are my favorite animal.
I had tears running down my cheeks. I could barely see your words. I remember my first dog, a black pug named Elmer. Mom got him just after I was born and he was gone from my life when I as seven. I lived with my grandma from age two to seven. I remember sitting on the bottom step in the basement when Elmer had his dinner. I would eat a handful of his dog food so he didn’t have to eat alone. I was 4.
I can member our first dog he was a German Shepard he use to go all over place with us one day we went in to our local shop he sat out side he would not let anyone else in the shop an old lady touch the door handle while we was in side the shop he went and bit her hand we had to have him put down for biting her
♥ ♥ ♥
My first dog was a beagle named Sherman. He was a member of the family before I was born. He was jealous of me when I was an infant and my father had to sit me on his lap and hold my feet in one hand while he ate, or else Sherman would bite my toes. Later , we became best friends, I have a photo of me standing, maybe, I was 2 and he is in front of me licking my elbow. My mother did a painting of this I vividly remember hiding in the closet with him holding his velvet ear. I loved that dog so much, he was my best friend.
I can’t stop crying after reading this post about your first book and your first dog-and I guess your first loss. Thank you for sharing your pain and self realizations. It’s why we can’t wait for each book-it is like a gift and we are kids on Christmas morning.