Story Frame 77 – Must Love Dogs

13 March 2020 – Leif is isolated in his little flat in Finland. He sent me a photo of the empty grocery store shelves over there.

14 March 2020 – Zoë called, sounding calm and fine in her little flat a little north of Seattle, the epicenter of the virus in the US, from what we understand.

And so, we three live in our bubbles of uncertainty, not sure what is coming, not knowing what to expect, only that it will likely be bad, possibly very bad.

15 March 2020 – The turkey buzzards are circling high up in the air over our neighborhood this morning, making ominous and silent black circles in the sky. What if this is it? What if this is how it ends for me – the victim of a pandemic? That plot twist had never occurred to me. I also never thought day dreams about travels would suddenly evaporate and all travel become impossible. I never thought of a world I couldn’t travel in. I’ve always existed in a state of ‘where to next?’ Of narrowing down the possibilities based upon what I could afford. It was never a thought that I might not be able to travel for years! And when will I see my kids again?!

16 March 2020– The Fine Arts Theater downtown is closed “until further notice.” I’m strangely, morbidly fascinated by the news these days and listen to NPR almost nonstop. Like a scary thriller you can’t put down, each hour brings another unbelievable and unexpected cliff-hanger and I nervously can’t wait to turn the page and see or hear what will happen to the characters next. Only, we’re the characters in this book!

18 March 2020 – Hoping to avoid people, I made a late-evening run to Publix to get butter, coffee, disinfectant wipes, bananas and dog food – along with their last bottle of Tylenol and their last bag of rice. There are signs on bread, milk, toilet paper, and bleach to not take more than two per family, due to “the times.” Lacking the right gear, I wore kayaking gloves on my hands and a bright hiking scarf over my nose and mouth – face masks and gloves are hard to come by and it was the best I could do to stave off potential germs. A father pushing a cart with two small kids with curly mops of brown hair passed by me as I was hunting down dog food. One of the kids looked at me with eyes of wonder and as they walked away, I heard him say, “Daddy, why is that woman….”

Because in just four days, that’s what I’ve become – that woman who lives alone with her dog and wears strange things when she shops for food late at night.

In addition to the documentaries I worked with, some of the story frames of my life were influenced by feature films, like The Money Pit, which had inspired me and Steve to renovate a pretty terrible fixer-upper. Under the Tuscan Sun foreshadowed my adventures with my Under the Appalachian Sun house.

And then there was Must Love Dogs, another film starring Diane Lane. Released in 2005, the year we moved to Asheville, it also tied in thematically with my life. Although I didn’t care for the film (neither did the critics), I loved the title. Three simple words that summed up one of my key priorities in raising my kids. Looking back over the single mom years, despite all the chaos and uncertainties of an uncertain income, one thing I know I did right was to bring up my kids with dogs.

During my childhood years in London, I fell in love with a a friend’s little Yorkie whose name was Sam. My friend showed me the right way to hold a leash and the two of us 8-year-olds would happily set off for walks through the bustling city streets of Knightsbridge, not far from Harrods, with tiny little Sammy leading the way.

Despite years of pleading, neither of my parents would allow a dog in the house. I never had that companionship, which would have been a good constant for a child often uprooted and put in a variety of different schools and cultures due to her father’s work.

I must have told Steve about Sammy somewhere in the early marriage years for lo and behold, the moment both kids were potty-trained, he presented me with a tiny Yorkie puppy, a puppy that seemed to be stubbornly resistant to learning to pee outside.

She was a gift in the waning years of our marriage. I named her Zydeco for the music Steve and I both loved. She was great for the kids and they included her in whatever they did, including dress-ups. Zoë took ownership of ‘my’ dog immediately.

After we split up, Steve decided to get another a puppy, this time for Leif to have at his newly separated, single guy apartment. It was an adorable black haired Schnoodle Leif named Bandit. It wasn’t long before Steve gave me that puppy, as well.

By the time we moved to Asheville, Zydeco was old and trembly. Within the first year, she slipped away from us on a sunny day out in the gardens. The four of us held a somber Three Lives of Thomasina-style burial for her on the hillside overlooking the lake and bird sanctuary. To help offset her loss, the following Christmas, I surprised the kids with a Golden Doodle puppy with a red bow around her neck, just like in Lady & the Tramp. They named her Klejne, after their favorite Danish Christmas cookies.

When Bandit died, several years later, he was buried in the gardens of our big old ‘Under the Appalachian Sun’ house. And then, shockingly, Klejne died unexpectedly in her 11th year, six months before the pandemic.

Tom’s cousin Celeste’s dog had just had a new litter of puppies and he suggested I get one. Fortunately, I did, for I had Kiitos (meaning ‘thank you’ in Finnish) by my side before the pandemic started.

21 March 2020 – I find myself watching and reading the news too much – afraid to look away and not see something, and also afraid of what I will see and read. I follow the news of Italy compulsively. 726 deaths just yesterday. Or, was it the day before? More than 9000 have died so far. Their economy is in ruins. Hospitals, doctors, nurses and morgues are stretched beyond capacity. The doctors themselves are dying.

Yesterday, I lost my first gig because of the pandemic. It was not unexpected, but Sun Studio in Memphis has been a client of mine with their music series for eleven years! That takes away $9000 in income this year. I may continue to help them anyway, in a reduced way, as John Schorr, owner of Sun Studio and Jeff Davidson, the series producer, have both been very good to me over the years.

The kids and I kept in touch with phone calls, text messages and face time on Skype. I was grateful for the technology. On one of our calls, I asked Leif if he wanted to stay in Finland after he graduates.

“No,” he said. There was no hesitation in his response.

“Where are you thinking of going next?” I asked. He wasn’t sure, he said. But probably not the US.

“What about Prague?” I said. “I’ve heard it’s a good place for digital nomads and software developer types like you.”

I’d read that somewhere, but to be honest, I also suggested Prague because it was high on my list of places to visit. A Dutch friend of mine had recently sent me a government PSA video with a pretty young girl in Prague demonstrating the proper way to wear face masks and emphasizing they should be worn any time you leave your home. I forwarded it to Leif and suggested he try to make some face masks if he was unable to buy them. And for once, he listened to his mum. Sort of.

He cut up a pair of his cozy pants, using the fabric to fashion a couple of masks. Then he went to work researching a move to Prague, which for him meant getting on Tinder to see if the girls there were ‘hot.’ And that’s how he met Maria. She thought it was cute he posted a photo of himself wearing his home-made cozy pants mask.

Despite the pandemic, those years brought life partners – and dogs – to both Leif and Zoë.

Leif and Maria had got to know each other well talking to one another daily via facetime for three months and when the borders opened up, they moved in together. Not long after, they got a little puppy, a long-haired daschund they named Bambi.

In the spring of 2021, Zoë called. When I answered, I was surprised to hear her boyfriend, Brian, was also on the line. They’d met the year before the pandemic and were now they were calling with the delightful news that they were engaged. Love in the middle of a world pandemic, how incredibly uplifting and romantic.

That fall, they visited me in Asheville. Brian had not grown up with dogs, as my kids had, and was initially a little uneasy around Kiitos, who now weighed about 75 lbs.

Two days into their visit, I lost track of Kiitos one afternoon. The last place I checked was the guest room, where I found him lying on the bed between Zoë and Brian, his head on Brian’s chest. Looking up, Zoë smiled at me. Must Love Dogs.

When she and Brian got married two months later, Tom and I gave them a puppy – another one from Celeste – for their wedding present. They called her ‘Islay’ in memory of a trip to Scotland they’d taken together a few years earlier.

Was it a coincidence I’d just taken on a new feature film called The Water of Life?

Produced by Blacksmith & Jones, the documentary, which tells the story of the resurrection and creative explosion within the world of single malt whisky in Scotland, was filmed primarily in Islay.

[photo of me, Zoë & Leif with Zydeco and Bandit by Moni Taylor, Asheville 2005]

Kristin Fellows is a published writer, world traveler, and a well-seasoned documentary film consultant. When not writing, Kristin can often be found traveling, listening to someone’s story, or behind the lens of one of her cameras.

More about Kristin @ kristinfellowswriter.com