Remembering Isabella

Sometimes inanimate objects aren’t necessarily inanimate. The photo above is of a carved statue of an English Bulldog. It was carved many years ago from a certain Balinese wood (its species escapes memory), and purchased by my better half, Dee Dee, and placed on our staircase in effigy of her little English Bulldog, Isabella. Isabella came into Dee Dee’s life in 2005 before I arrived on the scene, and remained with us until her death in January of 2020. She was the most loving, carefree little dog. Her loyalty was as boundless as her affection for us, and her cuddliness. She was truly one of a kind. I’m writing this particular piece today, on what would have been Isabella’s 19th birthday.

The little wooden bulldog, Isabella’s handcarved representation, possesses no discernable life force. It is ostensibly inanimate. It doesn’t bark, or scratch, or poop on the floor. It can’t cuddle and give me kisses as the real Isabella used to do. But what it can do is stir memories and evoke emotions…

Dee Dee purchased the ersatz, yet beautifully carved, Isabella one year while on a buying trip in Bali, Indonesia. It was as if the little carving called to her. On the other side of the globe, unable to reach out for the physical manifestation and assurance of the real Isabella’s love and devotion, Dee Dee’s eyes met those of the remarkable little wooden likeness and she was instantly moved to obtain it, and keep it in her hotel room’s bed with her for the duration of the trip. Once home, she placed it on the first tread of the stairway to our home’s second floor. The heart of the home.

Throughout Isabella’s lifetime, the statue remained with us, while Isabella loved us, and played, and romped, and farted, and did all of the things that made her Isabella. And Dee Dee and I loved her back. The little statue sat unmoving on the bottom stair, but still was a part of it all. Now, one look at that little statue brings all of the memories acutely back to me. Memories of Isabella, of Dee Dee, of our life together.

Through its longstanding and/or profound association with those of the living, can a seemingly lifeless, man-made item become imbued with a measure of life of its own? I’m not going to get into that, or even publicly hazard a guess. A great deal has been written about this particular topic over the years by those with a decided metaphysical slant in their genes. I’m not going to argue for or against that possibility just now.

What I am going to do is suggest that a whole lot of life was experienced in association with the little wooden Isabella. The life of the artisan who created her (Did I just write that? Her? So be it.), and, more to the point, our lives – Isabella’s, Dee Dee’s, and mine. And it goes without saying that all of the emotions and memories experienced in those lives, from the time of her creation in Bali, throughout the years she spent in our company here in our home, right up to the present, where I alone see her sitting in her usual spot. Actively being inanimate, and making my heart skip a beat.

Pictured above is the real Isabella. Nothing or no one could ever replace her.

Thanks for giving this one a read. See you next time.

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