Eunice was such a pro that night. All I had to do was put the Christmas wrapper from the kids’ presents down on the ground, and she knew what she needed to do. I saw it in her face. Like, her tear ducts get all weepy. Her teats get all full, ready for her pups. I could see it from the dinner table, where I was sitting. I knew we were going to have Christmas puppies. She has had about five litters with me. All of those puppies sold like hotcakes. But puppies born on Christmas? What a score.
So, anyway. I gathered all the wrapping paper from the kids’ presents and made a manger just like Jesus had. Except I was the only one there for the Nativity. No wise men. No kings. No bloody Mary and Joseph. Just me, Cindy Brown, in my Walmart holiday pyjamas. In the kitchen. It was a hoot.
I knew I might be there a while, considering how old Eunice is. So I double-layered cushions and put three kitchen chairs together to lie down on in case I got sleepy.
Before I sat my ass down, I slid the lace curtains of my kitchen window to the side to see if anyone in our community housing cul-de-sac was making the move to do Christmas fireworks like last year. There was no one but that Black boy, Victor, walking to his house. I could see him looking back behind him, like he was suspicious of someone following him. Wouldn’t put it past him to do something stupid on Christmas. I don’t expect much of him, after his arrest. I heard he was vandalizing with his paints. What a shame. Victor waved at me, and my face got hot. Quickly, I slid the curtain closed.
“Mom?” Travis came in, looking all sleepy. I fingered his haircut. God almighty. I must’ve given him the worst haircut on the surface of this planet. I was being stupid, watching HGTV while cutting my kid’s hair. I couldn’t help it. I love watching home improvement shows. You know how you can’t watch naked body porn in the presence of your kids. But you can watch house porn, get all turned on by the prospect of crown moulding and double vanities while you eat dinner with your ungrateful family. Only problem is, it makes me the worst hairdresser. Not like I need any help with that.
“Are they here yet?” Travis had seen so many puppies being born. Before Eunice, it was Wendy, a Shih Tzu. They were named after my mother’s ugly sisters.
I still have pictures of Travis and Gabby dressing up Wendy’s puppies in baby clothes, standing on carpet covered in dog turds. It was sad as hell when Wendy started barfing uncontrollably, morning and night. I had to shell out cash just to have the vet look at her. He said, all judgmental-like, “How many litters has she had?” As if he couldn’t tell I was in the business of selling puppies. I know it was him who called the cops on us. I could smell his suspicion. By the time they busted open my garage door and found Wendy in her cage, fooling them with her pretend shakes—she always did that to get pity from anyone she met, what a drama queen!—we had done one of those midnight move-outs to avoid the damage fees from our landlord. I knew that asshole would be coming at us, wondering about the pile of dog shit on the balcony. I was doing her a favour anyway, what with all the barking and such. I still miss Wendy, though.
“Not yet, mister.” Travis sat on my lap and put his head into my neck. Of all my four kids, it took the longest to get him off the boob. Lord, what a little perv.
I could tell by the way his breath smelled that he hadn’t brushed his teeth like I’d told him to. This is what happens when you send him to school with a bunch of Caribbean people. Like, they have no manners, you know? One friend of mine who is ashamed of his Guyanese roots told me that when he was growing up, his family would have a sink full of dirty dishes and would clean them only when they needed them. Thankfully, he married some Chinese woman who wouldn’t take that crap. I mean, who grows up like that? People don’t get what it’s like to be one of only a few white kids in a bad school.
Back when I was attending grade school at St. Malachy, we were a small trashy lot. It was a cash-poor school, like, I am talking only one snare drum and one recorder in the school band kind of poor. Most of us were the grandchildren of senior citizens who turned their cottages into their retirement homes. All of us smoking cigarettes at the back of the school, while our teachers thought we were in the gym for Easter mass. One day when we were punching holes in the bottoms of beer cans and sucking them dry, I saw a bus roll into the school driveway. It was full of people from El Salvador. All of them were refugees from the war down there. Suddenly our school was majority brown and majority English as a Second Language bullshit. Scarborough was never the same after that bus rolled in. Next came the Sri Lankans and all the other Pakis. The Chinese were sneaky; they were trickling in all along. Those Filipinos just kept having babies. Now I can’t walk into Scarborough Town Centre without the lot of them taking up all the space in the food court, smelling like curry.
Travis smelled sour, which wasn’t much better.
“I said to brush your teeth.” He groaned like he always does. Like he was surprised he had to brush his teeth, yet again.
“But I wanna see the puppies being born.”
“Okay, fine. Go brush your teeth for two whole minutes, and you can come watch and wait. I’ll set the timer on the stove. Now go.”
I couldn’t blame him. It was exciting.
I remember when we all visited Riverdale Farm downtown. We took two trains and a streetcar to get there. I was in charge of two refugees from El Salvador. Both girls were dressed like Michael Jackson, trying to be hip, but with clothes from the Goodwill. It was so hard not to laugh. We were led to a barn door. Inside was this sow lying on her side, in so much pain. Poor thing looked right up at me. I could see her piglets all wiggling about in her belly. It was so crowded in that belly, I could see their snouts and tails. The skin was so taut. I approached her with caution, wondering if she would bite me. I rubbed her head. She closed her eyes. I could see it felt good.
I did the same to Eunice that night. I do the same to any dog about to give birth. I rubbed her head. She closed her eyes because it felt good. There was something about these puppies that was different, you know? Like something in my tummy told me things were going to change.