Jo-Ann Mapson

Some artists can capture the essence of a person, but I believe it takes a special kind of eye to capture an animal’s soul. One afternoon while visiting my agent, my husband Stewart drew pictures of her rescue retired greyhounds, and got it so right she was excited to get them framed ASAP. This past Christmas, he drew me a pencil portrait of Henry, our doofus of an Italian greyhound. Nothing’s more special to a dog nut like me.

Our friends Wendy Shaft (printmaker) and her husband, Don Bixler (handset printing guru) were over for dinner a couple of years back when Echo was still alive. Echo Louise was the doggy ambassador. If there was one person in the room who needed affection, or swore up and down she didn’t like dogs, or didn’t feel up to snuff, that was the lap Echo would choose. We were sitting around the coffee table, chatting, and Wendy and Don love dogs, so Echo curled up in a chair by herself, just to be near us. Wendy remarked, “That’s going to be my next card,” and she pointed to Echo, who was in one of her usual Lauren Bacall-type poses.

Time has a way of flying by no matter what the circumstances, which is why I haven’t written a single essay for my website (I’m stealing time from student homework, which is stealing time from my novel rewrite, to write this!) since September. So it didn’t seem at all out of the ordinary when Wendy’s finished project arrived last week. Echo’s been gone almost three years now. It doesn’t seem possible so much time has passed. I still miss her so much it’s hard for me to talk about her. Stewart says losing your first dog is the hardest, but the truth is that Echo was not only special and intuitive; she was good from day one. Even Max, who’s close to seventeen and was a royal pain the butt his entire life (ask anyone who’s ever met him) and pees indoors and leaves us Yule logs from time to time, seems precious to me now. And Henry, Echo’s replacement, is a loveable goof, but anyone who compares him to Echo will hear me say, “Sir, I knew Echo Mapson Allison, and Henry is no Echo.”

Don brought the cards over. It had been a hard week—12” of snow on March 28, and Stewart fell hard while snow blowing the driveway for me to get to an 8:00 A.M. appointment in midtown. I was driving in a whiteout most of the way there, which should have been an omen. As Mondays go, I went off to school—Stewart having told me his back was fine—but around 3:30 I got the urge to call home, and he was not all right—in fact, he thought he needed to go to the hospital. So, driving the long way home to avoid the icy streets, I turned into the safer route and slid down the hill into what looked like a snow bank, but had a core of solid ice.

My teeth clacked together, the radiator blew, and though the car was “drivable,” I knew I had to get it towed or burn up the engine trying to get anywhere. On a day when 140 car accidents are reported, no tow truck driver cares that you are trying to get home to take your husband to the hospital—a husband who refuses to go in an ambulance, even though he outweighs you by forty-five pounds. In true Alaskan tradition, a neighbor I’d never met offered to help. He pulled my car out of the road, waited with me for the tow truck, drove me home, AND helped me get Stewart down the stairs (if there’s a next time, believe me, he is getting the ambulance) and into the other car, my blue rodeo I bought with the movie money from that CBS film in 1996. To make a long story short, why do we have to wait 5 1/2 hours in an emergency room to be seen? Armed with prescriptions that took five seconds to write, we arrived home—after another harrowing slide down a hill—close to 11 P.M. I was pretty much ready to sell my cars and start walking everywhere.

So when Don visited a few days later, it was extra special. I looked at the cards Wendy had made, and for the first time I could think of my special dog without brimming tears overflowing. Wendy saw something in her that was new to me. She depicted Echo Louise as a book editor, and somehow all I could think of was how she’d been there with each book I’d written, her presence creating an atmosphere that made me able to go deep inside myself without fear. She knew the sound of the keystroke when I closed a file. Every afternoon at 4:30 P.M., she’d start in, letting me know that was enough work for a day, what was required now was a WALK. Her inner clock never failed.

What a gift to have this image, these beautiful cards that I am thinking should become my personal stationary. How lovely to travel back to happy memories, and realize that with time, pain does ease, and that points to a better future than I used to believe was waiting for all of us: my husband Stewart, son Jack and his wonderful wife Olivia, our other dogs, though it will be wrenching to see them go, and I guess, me. Every time I look at the cards my heart feels eased.

Please take the time to visit Wendy & Don’s website: www.limnerpress.com. Her cards and journals are rendered in wonderfully bright colors, something we Alaskans sure appreciate in the winter months. Not only are they a great gift item, but Wendy has the ability to see in dogs and mermaid and wildflowers and moose the quirks that give them personality. Don assures me that Echo’s card will be up for sale soon, but right now they are packing for a move back to Wendy’s home state of Michigan. We sure will miss them.

On the writing front, I am two-thirds done with my rewrite, and anticipating a burst of work to come after school lets out. Hopefully the sun will burst out then, too. I’ve learned a lot from this rewrite, and have an idea percolating for my next book, too. If you want to read an excerpt, buy a copy of ALASKA WOMEN SPEAK: a voice for women in the Greatland from all walks of life. The issue is XIII, Issue I, Spring 2005, and it’s $4.50. The website is: www.alaskawomenspeak.org. It’s a cool magazine, and they are committed to publishing women’s voices.

More later,
Jo-Ann

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