My Sister and The Hungry Dog

Borrowed from Cristin Carole via Facebook.
I'm 13, Cristin is 21.  She often took me to bars for photo booth snapshots.

I have three sisters that span two families and two generations.  My oldest sister could easily be the mother of my youngest sister.  In fact I could also be the mother of my youngest sister.  My oldest sister is not related in any way to my two younger sisters; people may call my sisters half-sisters.  But that makes no sense to me at all.  They are my sisters, through and through, wholly.

Cristin is older than me by 8 years.  We share the same birthday month, which played a factor in my decision to move to New York City (we agreed to meet in the Big Apple for a birthday weekend celebration; I flew in from California and fell in love with the roaring city; she did not even though she loved exploring the insides of the buildings).  

I digress.  I am writing about Cristin and a hungry dog.

We are polar opposites in every way imaginable--I love cats and she's allergic to them.  She loves dogs which I am allergic to.  But we both crave the bucolic life despite living in big cities.  Last October Cristin drove from Chicago with her son Winter to Tennessee to pick us up from the airport.  From there we drove further south for an hour to nowhere with a name: Woodbury.  

When we got to the house we were staying at, there was an emaciated dog sniffing about.  Someone had abandoned the dog (with grotesque jutting hipbones) earlier and took off.  We were nonplussed by this guest who had arrived just before us.  It looked as if it would collapse and expire any minute.

Instead of luxuriating in nowhereness we were consumed by the weight of the skinny visitor and oppressed by a heavy, continuous drizzle.  

Winter named the dog Spike while the Tennessee adults discussed the details of "taking care of the dog" (taking it out to the woods and shooting it).  Overpopulation and deserted dogs are commonplace; the county did not even have an animal shelter.  

I hovered over  Levi out of fear--the dog was extremely affectionate with Levi, licking his head every time he stepped outside.  This mama did not like it at all.  Was Levi protein potential?

Cristin fought for the dog's life.  She called around, finding the nearest pet shelter while Winter fed him.  The Tennessee folks shook their heads at Cristin, thinking that she was wasting her energy.  She contacted friends if they wanted to take the dog in.  She even contemplated adopting the dog herself, despite having dogs at home already.  It weighed on her that weekend, causing some tension with the host.  Conversations kept turning back to Spike and his clearly defined ribcage.

By the time we had to go back to the airport, the car was packed full with our baby gear and her stuff and one very hungry but friendly dog.  Much to my dismay Cristin wanted to swing by a pet shelter out of the county in hopes of getting help for the dog.  The animal shelter was not that easy to find, and Levi is no fan of the car.  I did not object because what Cristin was doing was right.

Rejected by the shelter, Cristin dropped us off and drove for eight hours with Spike on the brink of death and found him a new life with some neighbors.  I think Spike is now Rocket, or maybe Blue?  I assume his ribcage and hipbones are no longer visible.  I suspect he's still excellent with young children.

Cristin is big.  She is taller than me by a couple inches.  She has a big personality and trumps me in many ways--figuratively and literally.   As a little girl I adored her for her blazing independence, beauty, smarts and confidence. Now that I am older, my adoration is not blind but more acute than ever--it is her big heart that I adore.