DIANA REPUBLIC

This little dog statue has now been in my family for three generations. When I was a little girl it was in my grandmother’s home: the home I lived in until I was seven.  We didn’t have an actual dog and I remember that I used to play with this one. My memory tells me that I was allowed to play with him, but common sense tells me that no one in their right mind would let a child play with something this fragile. In any event, I was very attached to him.

Many years later, when my grandmother passed away, my mother inherited the little dog figure. My little brother grew up with it in her home. That home was never without a real live dog or two, so the statue may have been neglected during that period of its life.

When my mother passed away this little dog was the only one of her possessions that both my brother and I wanted. We sifted through an entire house, an entire life, without one single debate about the future of anything except this one figurine. Even that debate was brief and seniority won out.

The little dog statue now lives with me. It is one of my treasured possessions along with the grandfather clock that belonged to my grandfather and my grandmother’s rosary beads. The little dog reminds me of a simple and innocent time. It sits on a bookshelf in my living room surrounded by books, family photos and knickknacks.

The weekend that we brought Goose home to live with us, I walked by the little dog statue and stopped in my tracks. I hadn’t thought of the statue consciously but apparently it has been imprinted on my brain. I grabbed the little dog statue and ran back into the kitchen to show Bob my discovery.

Goose was clearly meant to be with me. In a way, he has always been with me.