A Short History of Indians in Canada: Stories

The Dog I Wish I Had, I Would Call It Helen

The Dog I Wish I Had, I Would Call It Helen Jonathan lay in the tub with just his head and butt out of the water and practised his swimming. “I am swimming because I am four now, and, when you are four, you have to know how to swim.” “That’s right,” said Helen. “In case a ghost throws you in the lake.” “It’s always good to be safe around water.” “Only the ghost wouldn’t do it on purpose. Only if she slipped.” “Let’s wash your hair now.” “Am I four now?” “Yes, honey. Yesterday was your birthday.” “But I didn’t get my dog.” “Should I use the bunny soap or the squirrel soap?” “If I had a dog, it would scare the ghosts away.” “The bunny soap smells like strawberries. Here, smell.” “No, no, no. It wouldn’t hurt the ghosts. It would just fool them.” “The squirrel soap smells nice, too. Why, I think it smells like lemons. You like lemons.” 20 “The ghosts would think it was only a pretend dog, and, when they got close, it would jump up and scare them.” “Let’s use the squirrel soap this time.” “But I don’t have a dog.” And Jonathan sat up with a splash and began to cry. Jonathan stood at the edge of the table and watched the side of his cereal bowl. He stood on one foot, and then he stood on the other. “Look, Mummy!” Helen smiled at the book she was reading. “Look, Mummy!” “That’s nice, honey,” said Helen, and she shifted in the chair without taking her eyes off the book. Jonathan went into the kitchen and dragged his stool back to the table. He climbed on the stool, leaned across the book Helen was reading, took her face in his hands, and turned her head toward him so he could see her eyes. “You have to look, Mummy.” “You haven’t eaten any cereal.” “You have to feed me.” “There are some nice peaches in your cereal.” “You put in the wrong cereal.” “I’ll bet you could find those peaches if you looked.” “I don’t want peaches. I want you to look.” “I am looking. And you know what I see?” “A dog?” The Dog I Wish I Had, I Would Call It Helen 21 “I see some yummy raisins.” “A dog would eat that cereal,” said Jonathan. “If I had a dog, it would eat all that cereal.” “Maybe there’s a four-year-old who would eat that cereal.” “No, there isn’t,” said Jonathan, and he dragged the stool into the bedroom closet and shut the door behind him. That evening, Helen got a cup of water from the bathroom tap. Jonathan was standing on his bed. He had taken off his sleepers, again. His diaper was balanced on his head. Helen held out the cup. “I don’t want that,” said Jonathan. “You said you were thirsty.” “No, I said . . . I said . . . I said I was werstry.” “Oh.” “That’s how dogs talk.” “Which story would you like tonight?” “If I had a dog, I could talk to it.” “Shall we read the one about the donkey?” “If I had a dog, I wouldn’t need you.” “Maybe we should read one of the new books we got from the library.” “My dog could wash my hair and make my cereal.” Helen smiled and gathered Jonathan up in her arms. And before she could catch herself she said, “Maybe we should read the one about the Pokey Puppy.” She felt Jonathan stiffen in her lap, and, almost as 22 A Short History of Indians in Canada soon as the crying began, she could feel his warm tears pass through her skirt and trickle down her belly. Helen had read an article on mothers that suggested that you didn’t have to be the perfect mother. In fact, it said that mothers who did everything might actually be injuring their children by removing all the frustrations and obstacles from their lives, things that tended to educate and strengthen. What one should strive for, the article said, was to be a “good-enough mother,” someone who loved her children but who didn’t try to protect them from all of life’s difficulties. Jonathan’s father was in San Francisco, and when Helen called him one night...