Gloria's Story

By Gloria Max, as told to C. P. Jennings

Photographs by Ariel Jones

When I was a pup as yet unweaned, I was the glory of all my mother's babes. There were eight of us in all, and I was both the oldest and the biggest. As such I was entitled to more of my mother's nipple than my siblings, both because of seniority and because, being bigger, I needed more nourishment to keep my strength up. Humans never understood that; they would laugh, call me "greedy little pig", and pull me away from my dear mother, replacing me at her breast with the smallest of my brothers and sisters. As a result, I never had enough and have been hungry ever since.

There is something about being a victim of constant hunger that makes you seem stupid in the eyes of the world. Think of it: on the world stage it is the third world nations - where there is never enough food and where famished populations are constantly on the move seeking their next crust - who are disdained by everyone, interfered with when they shouldn't be, and left to their own devices when they most need help.

And so it has been with me.

All my life I have been laughed at and made to go on diets. When I was an adolescent I lived with my stepsister Frances, who was credited with a brain the size of a human's. God only knows why. She wasn't the smartest dog around, any dog could tell you that, but she was clever as hell at pulling the wool over human eyes. What she had was laissez-faire and joie de vivre - and an extremely modest appetite. So there it was: she ran off and was credited with intelligence for doing it, while I stayed around hankering for a good square meal. And being laughed at for my efforts.

It is even worse now. I have a new stepsister, Lila, who is even dumber than Frances was; she also has hardly any appetite and is, in fact, that most unevolved of all creatures: a PICKY eater. And on top of it, she happens (through no effort of her own) to be pretty. She yaps around, flirting with every man in sight, and they all fall for it.

She gets to go places in the car as a result, while I am made to stay at home, discounted, neglected, hungry. "You bark too much, Gloria," they say, when all I am doing is telling them which restaurant we should be driving to. If they only knew! If they knew my secret life, they'd change their tunes!  I used to be so miserable when they'd leave me alone, but I finally figured out that it is the inner life that really matters. After all, that's what we're all left with in the end anyway, isn't it? Our own, private, inner lives?

First I taught myself a few tricks: how to unlatch the box where the dog food is stored, for instance, and how to close it up again. I also figured out how to open the back door - now that took some doing! So after a good hearty meal, and after carefully cleaning up after myself, I let myself out the back door and go for a ramble.

Usually I go to the woods down by the dike that goes around our town. You can run down there for hours, scenting squirrels, raccoons, and skunks (well, about anyone can sniff those out!), and then flop down on a patch of moss for a good reverie.  I especially like to imagine my piano recitals at Carnegie Hall, but because I happen not to be a verbal animal, it isn't something I share with humans. And in the dog world, of necessity as you can see, I am a loner.

By the time my humans and Lila return, I am safely home and looking as though I'd been there all day. They take my fatigue for laziness. Unfortunately, Lila knows at least part of my secret life - one day she found a piece of moss dangling from my ear and guessed. And I'm not the best dissembler I'm afraid, when confronted.  Lila would betray me if she could, but since her powers of communication are limited to flirtation and flattery she can't, so all is well.

I don't like being considered stupid, I must admit. But now that I know what's really important in life - ones inner self (especially the stomach) - I realize it's just as well to have a facade that protects ones privacy. And if the facade is one of stupidity or one of hunger, that is just the way it has to be. I have made my peace with my fate, and have even come to understand that my humans love me in spite of the severe limitations of their imaginations.   

Caroline Jennings

is a highly original painter and writer whose career spans nearly 30 years.  Originally from West Virginia, she is one of the best-known regional painters in the southeast, where she continues to keep an active exhibition presence.  Jennings lives and works in New York City where she moved, permanently, in 1999 from western Massachusetts.

Ariel Jones

Was for many years considered one of the best head-shot and portrait photographers in New York City.  She moved her studio and business to Turners Falls, Massachusetts in 2000 where she continues her studio work in portraiture, as well as fine art photography, working extensively with digital technology. She also maintains an active exhibition space in the downtown studio, featuring both two and three-dimensional work by regional artists.