Seven Children, A Dog, and a Guitar (revised)

The night my parents sat my sister and me down in our living room and explained to us that Mommy was going to have a baby, I imagined a baby doll waiting in the garage for us. I waited patiently, and then expectantly as they explained that soon we would have a little brother or sister. Neither of us spoke, and at the time I assumed Tara was waiting with diminishing patience, as I was, for one of them to go out to the car and bring in the baby. Of course, Tara was only three at the time, and once he arrived, it took her close to a year to even realize she had a brother. It is more probable she was watching Sesame Street in her head or pretending she was a puppy. I, on the other hand, remember a distinct feeling of confusion when I realized that not only was there no doll, we wouldn’t even get the baby for months.

Talk about a letdown.

When the call came from the hospital, and my baby-sitter informed me that I had a baby brother, I congratulated God on his listening skills. I was not-so-secretly praying for a brother, not being all that impressed with the sister I already had.

While my sister and I had much in common, we differed in the details. I could never understand why Tara insisted—despite all evidence to the contrary—that she was a dog. I slowly began to appreciate that, when life hand you a lemon, well, you just gotta get on all fours and pretend that lemons were dog food.

I, too, lived in a dream world, but my dream world took place on the mountaintops of Austria. “My name is Leisl,” I would announce. “Oh look, here is my sister Louisa.”

But Tara was having none of it. “I’m not playing. I’ll only play if I can be the dog.”

“Tara, the von Trapps did not have any dogs.”

“What about ‘when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling bad…’” Tara sang.

“Then you simply remember your favorite things—and nobody’s favorite thing was a dog!"

“Then I’m not playing. I’m only playing if I’m the dog.”

“Unh! Why do you have to ruin everything? Just be Louisa for a little while!”

“Woof,” she said matter-of-factly before settling on the floor with her head on her paw to rest.

I sighed. My mom really did enjoy singing and playing the guitar, and I would often put on her dress clothes and mope around the house, pretending my father had given orders that under no circumstances were we to have play clothes. The lack of children in our family wasn’t really a problem, because we so obviously made up for what we lacked. It was only Tara’s insistence that she was a dog that was keeping the rest of the world from knowing it too.

“Woof,” Tara repeated stubbornly.

I stomped my foot impatiently. “The von Trapps did not have a dog; they had guitars, and fun uncles, and Nazis!”

I thought to myself, this wouldn’t be a problem if Brennan had wanted to the dog. Brennan had never seen The Sound of Music and so was resigned to the lowly role of Kurt, who had barely any lines. But Tara knew the lines and, more importantly, knew the songs. She knew exactly when to step back and let Leisl have her solos. Tara understood that Leisl was the oldest and sweetest and kindest and prettiest, and therefore the most important.

Louisa, on the other hand, was manipulative and liked to crawl into normal people’s bedrooms with whole jars of spiders in her hands. Tara was perfect for Louisa and if she couldn’t see that …

I tried again. “What if Louisa is a girl who thinks she’s a dog?”

Tara chewed on that. “Can I bark whenever I want?”

“I guess.”

“Can I have a solo?”

“What do you want to sing?”

“I don’t want to sing, I want to bark.”

It became clear that I was going to have to say so long, farewell, auf weiderhesen, good-bye to Leisl and her siblings. No one wants to play with me, I would moan to myself. I may as well be an orphan.

It’s a hard knock life.