Caccha
(Kasha)
The idea of dog ownership was a fantastic responsibility for a ten-year-old girl in a large family. My Sister’s dog, Daemien, had a litter of puppies in our barn and I wanted one, parental combinability was the obstacle.
To be heard over the voices and antics of older adolescence siblings, most of who male, required a distinctive creative effort. There was no shortage of teenage male hormone wafting throughout the hallways. The adolescent male posturing was a ritual, as one of my brother, of which I have four, would burst into the house after a Soccer game full of joust and holler a cryptic message to my other two brother’s, “Yak-a-mo”. A duet could be heard in response with just as much enthusiasm, “yak-a-mo”. Inevitability the first real words out of soccer brother’s mouth were “Did anyone call?” Which actually meant, “Did any girls call?” Mystified and in disbelief when the answer was – NO.
Piles of worn out Nike running shoes, soccer cleats, and dress shoes defied their holding place, scattered here and there across the floor as items for trippage. Earth Wind and Fire cranked on the turntable, its harmonic beat boomed over homemade speakers strategically place upstairs and down. Four brother’s and a sister all of whom to look up too and emulate, or not, came and went in deliberate missions. Doors opened and closed, and footsteps swiftly padded over floorboards.
The household pets consisted of two cats, three dogs, and a cockatiel named Jericho who domineered the sunroom and whom had a crush on Hestia the torishell cat, a notorious bird hunter. No one, not canine or human could enter the sunroom without a hiss and charged by the four-inch gray-feathered fowl. Jericho was allowed to fly free, his cage door open allowed for a return to roost at the end of the day. It was amazing how the two species, cat and bird, connected with one another. Hestia, virtually ignored her loyal guard.
Miss Pig, and her seventeen suckling piglets that frequently squeezed through the sheep fencing to scour the yard for munchies with their firm, rubberized snouts to leave perfect miniature ruts occupied the barn.
This possibility of personal ownership came the day my sister’s dog, Daemian, had a litter of ten puppies. It took some convincing (I still have the note), but with eloquently phrased sentences and a smile, I managed to talk my parents letting have a puppy. Exactly what the household could use, another dog and a pooping, peeing, disobedient puppy at that. After painfully writing up my terms of care, my parents agreed to let me choose a puppy. My mother shared her wisdom on how to pick the right one. The key she said was to let the puppy choose me.
Down to the barn I went and there I sat in the straw laden stall, among must, mildew, spider webs and ten puppies. There were five longhaired and five short haired, five were female and five male. A female was the hearts desire. A momentous occasion in life and still to this day it is easy to recall the ecstatic delight when Caccha presented herself to her young mistress.
Caccha became my princess, spoiled, pampered with a tendency for the dramatic. All she wanted was to be by my side. She brought happiness and warmth wherever she went and gave it to whomever she met. A devious, proud and affectionate little creature, sitting tall with her head held high, ears cocked, watching, listening to every motion in her world. It seemed she would live forever and in my heart, she does. Photographs capture her in various phases of life and places spark memories. From the seashores of Maine, to the lakes and winters of New Hampshire, to the long travels in between she was always. Caccha became what I had dreamed someone to cherish and to whom I could talk to, walk with, something to hold and make me feel extra special. She watched my every move and I watched hers. We had a special link that only we shared. A special way of communicating, a special way of loving, No one will ever know what that link was or how it felt, except for she and I. That is what made us for each other. She was the true description of love and affection and that is all she ever wanted, so simple and easy to share.
She Departed from this world, not by her own will, and leaves a space that no one could ever possibly fill. Until eight years later after Caccha’s death, at the age of twelve and half, on a spring morning in May. When eight weeks later I would be chosen again this time by a Labrador retriever puppy eventually to be named Caccha’s Willow of Theia – Willow.
MGW
