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Shaved Collie Summer
by Constance

Princess was banished to the life of a 100% outdoor dog within days of her arrival. And, there is nothing more final than this decision—even one month of outdoor life usually leads to unpotty-trainable futures in combination with powerful stink. Thus, once an outdoor dog, always an outdoor dog. Princess was waiting on the porch for me when I came home on my 8^th birthday, a shocking gift considering my parents’ continual refusal to allow my sister to get a hamster. It was only a matter of time before the hopelessness of brushing a collie that always lived outside sunk in. Matted hair became part of her character just as shaving off the thick tangled mess became a summer tradition. Before she was even a year old, Princess had a litter of puppies, one of which stayed and became my sister’s dog. The two got along well in their extreme, outdoor dog existence. When my dad remarried, a new dog came to live outside, too. Boomer also had the puffy, twisted, matted hair embedded with grass, twigs and clumps of dirt like Princess did; only he was about half her size. The three got along well in their extreme, outdoor dog existence. As Princess got old, she became arthritic, and could hardly stand up. The process was painful to watch, and continued more years than I thought it would. Finally, Princess contented herself with living next to the water bowl for a few days and then just disappeared. Being well versed in a noble dog’s effort to die alone, I was not really surprised, and I was not too disappointed that my dad could not find her body to bury. I had this vision of someday walking in the woods and finding a perfect Princess-shaped skeleton that had died in peace. It was only a few months later that I learned about Boomer finding Princess before any of us did. My sister said the evidence was unmistakable—it was a dog’s skull with a long ski ramp nose, and Boomer was happily chewing on it in our front yard. My dad had not planned to tell me, but my sister cracked.