#48 - ETAOIN SHRDLU

It was the summer of 1922, and the Great War had transformed the world into a very different place than it had been just a decade earlier. Change was everywhere. The promise of a peaceful future was causing all things - clothing, music, art – to loosen, twist, and contort in joyful expressions of hope. Life was good, it seemed, for nearly everyone.

Everyone except the Briard. While his human and canine friends seemed happier than ever, the Briard had, for months, been suffering from love-induced depression. Of course, there are many ways for love to deflate a heart. A long separation, unrequited affection; these can deliver dark clouds into a life. But for the Briard, it was something different. His malaise was caused by what he viewed as an insurmountable obstacle – a terrible, socially-constructed wall – that kept him from the one he loved.

The Briard was in love with a Chausie. She was petite (of course, to the Briard, all felines were petite) and golden colored; living on the same farm as the Briard. He had noticed her one day, curled and sleeping on the stone wall that separated the main yard from the meadow where the sheep grazed each day. Before that day, he had never thought much of felines. He had never felt the deep animosity for them that some of his siblings and friends exhibited, but neither had he any warm feelings toward them. However, when he saw the Chausie there, so elegantly sunning herself, without a concern in the world, his heart grew heavy, and a ticklish sensation formed in his stomach. The same feeling had returned, without fail, each time he’s seen her since that first day.

He never stopped thinking of her. He might be chasing an errant ewe in the pasture, running and barking as enthusiastically as ever, but inwardly, his mind would be consumed by thoughts of the golden Chausie. He imagined her watching from her station on the stone wall, her two fantastically alien eyes following his skillful pursuit with admiration. The Briard was confident in his ability as a sheepdog, but recently, he found no pleasure in it. It seemed as if pleasure would never again be his until he could publicly declare his love for the Chausie, and because that was impossible, he was becoming more pitiable by the day.

One day, as he was passing through the gate that led to the pasture, he glanced in the direction of the Chausie, expecting her to be sleeping as usual. To his shock, she was not only awake, but staring right at him. Their eyes met briefly. The Briard quickly looked away, pretending to be unconcerned with her. He continued on his way, exercising great self-control in not looking back in her direction. When he reached the flock at the far edge of the meadow, he rested for a moment on his back haunches and exhaled a giant puff of air (which he’d been holding unconsciously since making eye contact with the Chausie), sending the long hairs of his muzzle waving. He shook his shaggy head, trying to refocus his mind on the task of guarding sheep. His heart was pounding rapidly.

And then, she was beside him. Her touch was so soft he first mistook her for the breeze. The Chausie had followed him into the field, and without warning, silently brushed against the length of the Briard’s body. She stopped at the base of his front leg and nuzzled her face into his side, purring quietly, so only the Briard could hear.

He stiffened, his eyes still trained on the flock before him. He wasn’t sure how to acknowledge the Chausie, and he wasn’t sure he even should. He was holding his breath again and his heart was racing worse than it had the time he had stumbled upon three coyotes lurking in the tall grass at the south end of the meadow. He was paralyzed. He wished desperately that the Chausie would never leave, but knew that if she didn’t, he might faint. 

A moment later, she stood and sauntered back toward her spot on the stone wall. When she was far enough away, the Briard collapsed on the ground, panting wildly.

That night, the Briard tossed and turned on his hay pile in the barn. He couldn’t imagine being more miserable. It was ridiculous to have fallen in love with another species, but the fact that he had fallen for a feline was scandalous. If any of his family or canine friends ever found out, he would be lambasted, excommunicated, hated. And what sort of life would it be for her? Didn’t the Chausie deserve better? If they were together, she would never have kittens of her own.

In the early morning hours, long before the sun had turned the sky pink with its first light, the Briard went for a walk. He left the farm and followed the cobblestone path to the road, and from there, he journeyed down into the village. Along the way, he passed by the homes of neighbors he had known his entire life. From yards lit only by moonlight, his canine friends called out to him, curious about why he was wandering the road at such an unusual time. The Briard raised his shaggy head, silently acknowledging each as he passed, leaving them to wonder.

He and the Chausie would never be together. He knew this. The Briard had always been practical. But, as he walked the quiet pathways of the village, he began to analyze his agony, turning it over in his mind, examining it the way he might examine one of his human’s tools or toys. The greater portion of his pain was caused by the knowledge that he could never really be with the Chausie. Another portion, smaller, but still significant, was that his love would always remain a secret, harbored eternally within the prison of his heart.

Perhaps it would be better if I left the farm for good. This seemed irresponsible, and he hurriedly brushed the thought away. Seeing the Chausie each day for the rest of his life would be torture, but it would be worse to leave behind everything he had ever loved.

He was going very slowly, his head low, eyes fixed on the brick road. As he passed a white-stone building, he became aware of human voices coming from inside. Light from the windows shined brightly onto the ground outside. The Briard didn’t care much, but he managed a glance, and caught sight of a few men busy at work. They were huddled together near a large, unwieldy-looking machine. One of the men was furiously tapping at a portion of the machine that contained numerous buttons. As he tapped the buttons, a sheet of paper advanced upward, like magic. The machine seemed to be producing small, familiar markings on the paper.  

The Briard watched for a long time. He began to see a process emerge. The man hunched over the buttons would produce a piece of paper with markings, and then, before long, the machine would spit out a larger piece of paper with even more markings. The Briard was instantly familiar with the larger paper. Each morning, a boy delivered such a paper to the farm, and while his human’s ate their morning food, they would look at it with fascination.

The Briard was about to leave, but before he turned to go, the three men stood in unison and exited the building. They stepped out a side door, not far from where the Briard had been watching. One of the men removed a small package from his pocket and distributed small, white sticks to the other two. He lit the sticks with a very small fire, and before long, the three men were exhaling puffs of smoke into the night air. They were laughing loudly, kicking the ground beneath their feet, seemingly unconcerned about waking the sleeping villagers.

The door the men had exited from had been left slightly ajar. This caught the Briard’s attention; years of guarding sheep had heighted his awareness of weaknesses in security. He found himself inching toward the door. The men still hadn’t noticed him. Without making a sound, he was able to wedge the door open with his nose and slide inside. Though he was calm, he felt completely out of control; propelled forward by some unseen force. Up until the moment he was standing before the large machine, he wasn’t even certain of what he planned to do. Once he was there, staring at the panel of buttons, it became clear. He rose up on his rear legs. Lifting his furry left paw above the first two columns of buttons, he thought: This is my declaration of love. This is how the world will know.

He brought his paw down hard upon the buttons, losing his balance and dragging the paw as he fell. Two lines of markings appeared instantly across the paper: etaoin shrdlu.

“Hey!” A human voice shouted from behind him. The Briard turned and saw one of the men standing in the doorway, his face fixed in an expression of shock. He charged past the man, out the door, and back into the night. When the two remaining men saw him, they exploded with laughter. The Briard began running. He didn’t stop until he had reached the farm.

The next morning, when the boy arrived with the paper, the Briard was waiting. Before the humans could retrieve it, he snatched it up and rushed to a secluded corner of the barn. With some effort, he managed to remove the paper from its outer covering and unfold it on the dirt floor. He examined it carefully, line by line, searching for the combination of human markings he had created the day before, the markings he would never forget. Finally, after what felt like hours, he located the two lines. When he saw them, a slight whimper escaped from his muzzle, a sound he hadn’t made since his puppyhood. He glanced around to make sure no one was nearby to hear it. The barn was empty.

Using his paws and teeth, the Briard carefully tore the paper, removing the section that contained his declaration. He did his best to re-fold the rest of the it. The result was a wadded mess, dampened by his drool. His declaration was intact, however. Ragged at the edges, but whole and mostly free of slobber.

He returned the paper to the porch, where the humans would look for it. He then went to the barn and swiftly retrieved the portion he had removed. He clenched it gently between his teeth and, with as much dignity as he could muster, jogged to the stone wall, where, he prayed, the Chausie would be sunning herself.

He was still a long way off when he caught sight of her golden body, glistening in the morning light. He slowed his gait and approached cautiously. When he arrived at the wall, she didn’t look up. He stood motionless for several minutes and then, mustering his courage, stood up on his haunches, extending to his full height, and balanced himself with his paws against the wall. Very slowly, he lowered his nose until it was inches from the Chausie. He relaxed his bite and allowed the small scrap of paper to rest on the wall in front of her. He took one tiny – nearly imperceptible – sniff. It was enough, and he knew the Chausie’s scent would haunt him forever.

With that, he dropped his front paws down to the ground and stood there beside her while she slept. She didn’t stir for a very long time. At last, just before he was ready to give up, her eyes opened slightly – two dark, thin lines – and she sleepily glanced toward the declaration before her. Just then, a gust of wind picked the paper up and tossed it several yards into the meadow. The Briard reacted instinctively, rushing after it. He wasn’t fast enough. Before he reached the paper, it twisted upward into the sky, and the wind lifted it higher and higher, until it disappeared.

The Briard’s head dropped. He closed his eyes. The world became quiet, except for, from atop the stone wall, the low and enchanting purr of the Chausie. 

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To learn more about ETAOIN SHRDLU, read the original Wikipedia article HERE.