During my sophomore year, my parents took me to get Holly; I was having a really hard time at school and they thought it would help to get a dog. Mishka had died the previous summer -- it was the hardest time of my life.
Holly has lived with me off-and-on the whole time we've known each other. She lived in the fraternity house during my second and fourth years at college. She didn't get much sleep - if anyone was awake, she was awake with them. Sometimes she seemed tired, but I know she had a lot of fun.
Robby, my roommate during 4th year, loved Holly. That's one thing that was so great about having her in a frat house - there were so many people who really cared about her. In particular, Niems, Nate, Reggie and Robby. I would often come home and Holly would be out with one of them; I'm glad she had so many good friends growing up.
Robby told me about a dog park he had found. Next to a baseball diamond, a patch of land with hard dirt and an occasional bit of grass was bordered by a chain-link fence. At the far end, a creek marked the other boundary of the park. Dogs ran around; they were different shapes and colors. Some were aggressive toward each other and some just loved to run . . . circles, figure eights; I don't think it mattered. It's funny how dogs just NEED to run sometimes. Like when we'd give Mishka a bath . . we would dry her off and let her loose in the living room. She would tear circles around the couches; you could hear her nails ripping against the carpet's fibers as she leaned into the turns.
The fraternity house had a room with three walk-in showers. That's where Holly got her baths. When she was little I could carry her in one arm and soap her up, then hold her against the spray of water. She would try to wriggle away from it, but it was actually really convenient. Then I'd put her down and take my shower. She'd shake and I'd feel the cold droplets coming from her corner of the room.
One day, Robby took Holly to the dog park and stood with the other owners while their dogs played. One of the people there was a fixture around Charlottesville. I'm not sure if he was a professor or a grad student or just a Charlottesville resident. But he looked like the comedian Steven Wright. Bald up top with long, curly black hair coming off the sides.
He approached a woman in her late 30's, standing near Robby.
"Can you feel the hype?"
"What?" she asked.
"The dog festival . ." he said, gesturing to the park and its animals.
"Oh . . . sure," she said.
"It's the year of the dog," he continued.
"OH! Right!" she understood.
"I'm a monkey," he said.
"I'm a monkey, too!" she exclaimed.
Robby and Holly, 1998
Holly and Nate, 1998
Holly sleeping, 1998