Remembering Ariel

Chore Time
Non-fiction writing assignment
Institute of Children’s Literature
Submitted 1/18/99

[The object of this writing assignment was to learn to be observant of details and to use dialogue. I am very glad I completed this assignment and noted all these details that bring the memory of this day back to me in vivid colors. Word pictures mean more to me than snapshots with a camera.]


With an inquisitive look, Ariel responds to my movements across the room. “Where are you going?” she seems to be saying. “If you’re going outside, I hope you’ll take me with you.” As I reach for my raggedy blue barn coat and cobweb-laced acrylic hat, Ari paces back and forth. She tries a pleading look, then a long stretch and bow. Gutteral sounds are emitted. “Let’s go, let’s go.” Tail wagging, she knows she’s making her point. She touches me with her wet nose. “Ouch! Static electricity,” I exclaim. I’ve still got to pull on the green barn boots, so Ari lays down with front legs extended. Her haunches are ready to spring when I give the word. “OK, Ari, let’s go.” In a split second she’s on her feet.

Out into the frozen tundra we venture with a bucket of warm water for the shivering goats in the barn. The blizzard has ended, depositing eighteen inches of dazzling white snow, but the temperature has plummeted to zero or below. “Good thing Daddy shoveled us a path, Ari. These drifts would be over your head.” The rosy-cheeked man leaning wearily on a shovel smiles broadly, then gruffly quips, “You may be a b _ _ _ _ but I’m not a dog’s daddy!”

“C’mon, Ari, let’s get to the barn fast. It’s cold out here and you’re shivering too.” Leaping and bounding through the snow, ears flopping, the playful poodle ignores the path. With a sneeze and a patch of soft white snow on her coal black nose, she finally makes it to the shelter of the milk room. “Stay, Ari. I’ll be right back. I don’t want you in the barn with the cats, chickens, and goats.” The barn cats are purring, snuggled together for warmth, one face burrowed into the fur of the other. The goats appreciate the warm water on this frigid winter morning. I toss more bright yellow straw all over the goat pen for added warmth.

Chores accomplished, Ari greets me for the return trek to the house. This time she trots along the narrow path. The snow squeaks under my rubber boots. “Brrr, it’s cold.” A toasty warm kitchen greets us. The aroma of fresh coffee delights my senses. Off comes the coat, hat, gloves, boots. I’m ready for a cup of java, but Ari appears to want something too. There’s that pleading look again. “What now?”

“Er ruh, errr ruh,” comes the insistent request.

“Do you want a biscuit?”

“ER RUH,” comes the louder reply, tail wagging furiously.

“What can you do for it,” I tease. A rather runty-sized but appealing standard poodle, Ariel sits up like a trained circus performer. “Oh, what a pretty girl!” I exclaim, lavishing praise as I release the crunchy biscuit. In a moment the treat is devoured. Ari sniffs the carpet for one last missed morsel. Satisfied, she laps up some water from her bowl and scoots upstairs for nappy time – on my bed of course. How can I kick her off; she looks so comfy curled up by my pillow. Well, maybe I’ll join her for a few minutes and snuggle. Ari gently licks my nose affectionately, then my hands get a tongue bath. Her dark eyes express loyalty and devotion. I notice her wiry black coat looks pretty scruffy. “C’mon, Ari, we’ve got work to do.”

Grooming is quite a chore with poodles. Clippers are a necessity, along with a slicker brush and metal comb. But the rewards are worth the hassle. The standard poodle is an elegant, intelligent, protective, affectionate, personable pet. And they don’t come any sweeter than my sweet, sweet Ariel – companion dog extraordinaire.

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[This was written ten years ago when Ari was 6 years old. She died on December 13, 2009 at the age of 16]