My Real Memoir
“Why?” That was the first word out of my new roommate’s mouth when he discovered someone had stolen his decomposing 1954 Nash. “Well, I hope they put it out of its misery,” he chuckled. That, in a nutshell, was how Doug approached everything. The only things I ever saw him get worked up over were his bassoon (he was a gifted musician) and P.D.Q. Bach, the “youngest and oddest” child of J.S. Bach, as imagined by composer-comedian Prof. Peter Schickele, over whose classical music spoofs Doug and I bonded (from P.D.Q. Bach’s The Seasonings: “If you’ve got the money, honey, I’ve got the thyme”).
My final year of college was about to start, and I was broke. So I’d put up a notice, and in an act of divine mercy found Doug, 19. He was still living with his parents in Pasadena on the weekends, so all he needed was a living room corner for his rollaway bed–and yet he paid half the rent! Doug was my first roommate, and a true friend.
My next roommate, and by extension Doug’s, was considerably higher maintenance. She was prettier than him, but needed a lot of extras like belly-rubs and potty-training.
Two months into the fall term, I decided I wanted a dog. Having grown up with cats, I’d never had to make a decision like that. Because you don’t “decide” to have a cat, you just fail to use protection and discover you have one. Or two. Or three. Still, I was about to leave the animal shelter dogless, when a pre-adolescent strawberry-blonde “Golden Irish” puppy (half Irish Setter and half Golden Retriever) took my heart hostage.
I named her Geneviève, after the sexy French-Canadian actress Geneviève Bujold. But sexy was kind of a weird basis for a dog name, so I changed it to simply “Ginnie,” a sweet name for the sweetest dog — ever.
But was she smart? At first, I feared not. She couldn’t seem to grasp the idea of stay. She got sit–she could sit leaning contentedly against me for hours–so why didn’t she get stay? And then it struck me: I was the stupid one. She simply couldn’t bear to be away from me. I was her hero, her savior. Not since I’d rescued a skinny little tabby named Zipper from a homicidal neighbor had I been the supreme star of an animal’s life. And that was why, when I said, “Stay” and moved away from her, she would sail across the floor, dragging her still-“sitting” posterior, until she reached me. She was the ship and I was her lighthouse.
Everyone loved Ginnie: Doug, my girlfriend Dar, my classmates, even my professors (dogs were allowed in classes). Everyone, that is, except Dr. Blenheim.
He refused to let her sit beside me in History of Theatre to 1660. Ginnie would have dozed contentedly through his lectures (like everyone else did) if only she’d been allowed to make physical contact with me. But, forced to stay in a corner, she’d whine anxiously until Blenheim threw both of us out.
So, I went to the administration and filed a complaint. I wasn’t the only one, they said (good!); I’d hear back soon. And I did. A week later, they passed…
A “No Dogs On Campus” rule!
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
Awww 😔
Oh, that’s too bad! She would have been an excellent Student.
;>)
So bad!
A friend of mine who taught law at the University of Milan always held his lessons bringing his dog, called Birba, with him.
It was a common practice at my school too, Luisa. I never knew what caused the rule change, but it sure threw a wrench in my works.
Thanks a lot for your kind reply 🙏🌹🐾
Great story, I’m trying to imagine if students brought their cats, with them being so snoopy. . ‘What’s in those backpacks ? I HAVE TO KNOW’.
;>)
What happened to Ginnie and Doug? I’m on the edge of my seat!
To be continued, Joanne (and thanks for being such a faithful Memoir reader).
NOT a happy ending, Mitch. I’m glad you said it will be continued.
Your roommate who wasn’t upset about being robbed reminded me of my Aunt Ellie. When she and my uncle were robbed by thieves who broke in by way of a window with glass shelves full of delicate “objets d’art,” which ended up in pieces on the floor, she opined that they were all ugly anyway. When termites destroyed a wall of their living room, her response was, “Oh goody! Now I can redecorate!” She was a breath of fresh air. (I miss her. <3 )
Aw, I’ll bet her picture is next to the world “Optimist” in the encyclopedia, Annie.
Yep. With that look of happy excitement on her face. <3
Poor Ginnie! Looking at her picture, she appeared to be a sweet natured dog. Hopefully, you didn’t have to give her up. 🙂
Calling people on the rules only to have them change the rules is one of life’s less salutary experiences.
Indeed it is, Ana.
Ginnie was a beautiful dog.
Nash cars are a fave. I somehow associate them with the comic “Mutt and Jeff.” Enlighten me why…
Afraid I don’t know, Pam. Google time.
🚗 I thought you auto know. Cuz you a wealth of knowledge!
;>)
Well that was short-sighted! But I have to admit that my college didn’t allow dogs either. They should have, in my opinion!
<3
Lulu: “Booooo bad campus dog bans! Our Dada says years ago when he first started going to a big Renaissance Faire near where they lived, they used to allow people to bring dogs. Then one of the dogs attacked one of the trained falcons and after that, boom! No more dogs allowed.”
Java Bean: “Ayyy, humans are always overreacting to things like that!”
How discriminatory of them! What happened to Ginnie? You can’t tell us just half the story, Mitch!
It’s coming, I promise, Sandy.
You had a great dog. And you’ve reminded me that a guy I knew in college had a dog named Goofy. Goofy was with him during his freshman year and maybe later years at the school. As far as I can recall, no other students on campus had a dog with them.
An early version of a support dog, maybe?
Definitely not a support dog. A close pal, basically.
Better yet.
Boo to those heartless admin people!
Good girl, Ginnie!
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Well, that doesn’t seem fair. Ginnie sounds adorable.
She was.
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