by Patricia Misiuk, a volunteer for the SPCA Florida in Lakeland
Like oil and vinegar, kids and cameras seldom blend well. Add a 75-pound German Shorthaired Pointer to the mix and challenges multiply exponentially.
In 1953 at the age of seven, I shared my childhood with two brothers; a four-year-old human named Jimmy and a two-year-old, four-pawed sibling called Jack, better known as the stealthy stealer.
Thanksgiving erupted in chaos as relatives flitted about and Mom, in her haste to mash potatoes, placed the 22-pound turkey to cool on the sideboard. Jack, with a seamless swipe, grabbed the bird and devoured all but the carcass and then washed it all down with his favorite beverage, water from the toilet bowl.
While a bloated Jack was burping and succumbing to a tryptophan coma, Dad was plotting our annual holiday greeting. Yes, a non-Currier and Ives card featuring not snow but song.
Simplicity and moderation never factored into Dad’s lexicon of life. During pre-digital days, seven decades ago, props for our family photo shoot included bagpipes, a Rolleiflex camera secured on a tripod, countless rolls of film, a hymnal, flashbulbs whose intense light would bounce off the moon, and last but not least, boxes…many boxes…of Milk Bones.
A two-biscuit bribe coaxed Jack onto a low table between Jimmy and me. To paraphrase Cecil B. DeMille, we were ready for our closeup, er, closeups.
Jimmy and I shared a hymnal and pretended to sing while Dad played the bagpipes, enticing Jack to howl. Mom clicked the cable release as hissing flashbulbs blinded us.
“I can’t see,” Jimmy whined.
“Jack looks like a rocket,” Mom commented, reaching into the bag of treats.
Frustration accelerated as the photo session wore on Jack’s Pavlovian response to anticipating treats. Strings of slimy saliva landed on the hymnal.
Patience went out the window as we three blinked, sighed and yawned during endless takes.
Murphy’s Law––if things can go wrong, they will––dominated when film jammed, flashbulbs either exploded or failed to activate, the shutter release kicked into overdrive, and Jack passed enough gas to heat our house all winter.
“I think I got a winner,” Dad exclaimed several rolls of film later. Music (but not from strident bagpipes) to our ears.
“Take Jack out for a run,” Mom said. “He’ll need to go.” An understatement considering the two empty boxes that once contained Milk Bones.
Next came Dad’s journey into the unknown, the laundry area repurposed as a darkroom, to develop film. Running a faucet or flushing the toilet was off limits since unwavering water temperature was paramount to successful photo outcome. Following a series of steps culminating in photos emerging in chemical baths, only one image passed muster for our unique holiday greeting.
As Mom was addressing envelopes and licking three-cent stamps for postage, Dad was conjuring up the theme for our family’s 1954 holiday greeting. The scenario and logistics, while thankfully not set in stone, involved fitting Jack with a reindeer costume and anchoring him on a Radio Flyer sled. Jimmy and I would hold on to Jack for dear life while Dad secured a ladder for our ascent to the roof. ###
The Art Of Dog.™ 