Oh Where Oh Where has My Little Dog Gone?

Oh Where Oh Where has My Little Dog Gone?
-Barb Kitzmiller Curtis

I was a little girl, just 5 years old. Mommy taught me how to care for myself and my toys and how to be a good girl. Daddy taught me how to recognize the bad girl in me and what consequences were. I loved them both . I loved my big sister, Rachael. I loved my stuffed dog.
I was playing in the side yard of the townhouse that was our home in Laurel, Md.. The sun shone brightly onto the table where I had placed a big metal tub . The trees cast dancing shadows across the green garden hose which wound carelessly through the yard and over to the table. I stood ready to bathe my beloved black and white spotted stuffed dog.
Washday clothes fluttered in the spring breeze, the line waiting for my doggy to hang there with them to dry once its bath was over. I sang and scrubbed and enjoyed the feel of my light brown hair caressing my freckled face in the same breeze that caused the clothes to dance with happy abandon.
Suddenly all around me grew still. The birds who had been singing a cheerful harmony became eerily quiet. The sun withdrew behind an ominous cloud. A large mix breed collie appeared as if summoned by the surreal atmosphere. But I am not afraid of the dog. I like dogs. They are much like me. They love -- just because. They are just waiting for a moment when someone will shower them with attention and be kind to them. In which case, they will cover you with sloppy kisses and unconditional love.
This dog ran to my table. He snatched my soggy stuffed dog from the washtub. "No, oh no!" I cried out as he ran toward the woods behind the house. I yelled louder, racing after the felonious canine. But it was too late, happening in an instant. As the two dogs, one stuffed and dripping, one very alive and trotting, evaporated into the spring green stand of trees I stood horrified. With tears of shock, I saw that the sun had returned from behind the cloud and shone brightly as the birds once again began to chirp.
Mommy and Rachael rushed out to me in response to my desperate cries now muffled into sobs that shook my little shoulders. Mommy assigned Rachael, 6 years my senior and then 11 years old, to help search the woods for my toy: my stuffed, tangible, confidence -sharing toy companion. I begged. I prayed. I hoped with all my little heart that the big dog had dropped my doggy.
Rachael sang as we searched, " Oh Where Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?". I cried and stumbled along with her. Sadly, we didn't find anything. I always cry when I hear that little song. Over the years, teasing me like all siblings will do from time to time, Rachael would sing that song just to make me cry. It always worked. Even now when I hear it , I still cry.
The loss that day was not just the loss of a toy. That day, joy was torn from my very hands and I lost a piece of innocence. I had experienced and would remember this first journey through the valley of grief.‎



Occurred in Laurel, Md. I was 5 years old.
Recorded: Wednesday, ‎October ‎27, ‎2010