We Only Accept Heads

Max and I had been married less than a year. Needless to say I was not the apple of her parents eyes because of what we had done and who could blame them. Max's parents were a troubled couple to say the least. Dysfunction was as normal in her life as it was in mine. The scars that we bore are apparent to this day in how we sometimes live our lives.

Max and I have long been divorced and gotten on with our lives. She remarried as did I. My second marriage sadly ended again in divorce and hers sadly ending with the death of her husband. Max managed to keep her bitterness and anger towards me alive for over twenty years resulting in estrangement (on my part) from our three children. I had long before tried to make amends for all the wrong, hurt, suffering and pain that my behavior had caused her but she was unable to forgive and forget. It literally took a spiritual awakening in her life (and mine some years previous) to at least let us try to resolve the difficulties between us. I could not blame her although I did not agree with her angst, I did understand and accept it.

Max was a hard headed German, her Mom and Dad were the cut from the same cloth. Her father was a heavy drinker and was mean as yesterdays coffee when he drank. He had pretty much quit drinking but was pissed off at the world while living sober. Occasionally he would relapse, get falling down drunk and all of the old demons left sleeping would spring to life once more, resulting in severe bouts of remorse on his part. Betty wasn't much more pleasant when drinking and certainly had a superior attitude and was capable of putting on tremendous airs about herself.

Max and I had met while she was baby sitting the children of my brother in laws cousin. I saw her for the first time and was attracted to her instantly. It is my sincerest belief and personal experience that if you put me in a room with a thousand people I can find the one that needs someone to fix them and be attracted to them. Max suffered from the same problem and it was this innate ability that bound us together, not only in this marriage but in both of our subsequent marriages and relationships. We both apparently liked "Projects".

My personal experience is just this, my father died in a Pittsburgh City jail cell when I was eight years old. He was alcoholic and a bum. Although that term is no longer politically correct, at the time (in the late 1950's) it is none the less the ugly truth. The tales that I could tell are many and few of them good. Although I loved my dad it was impossible to like him and his behavior. The insecurities in my life relate to his behavior and the situations that arose from it. I do not blame my father for the problems that I have in my life for in the final analysis I am responsible for my life and all that it is or is not. Bear in mind what I am trying to do is help you understand is that it did have an effect on me. One of the amazing things is how people from similar backgrounds like Max and mine tend to find like people and keep the circle intact.

I remember asking Max to marry me. She said she wanted to but I would have to ask her mom. I made arrangements to have the necessary sit down with her mom and ask her for her daughters hand in marriage. Why did I want to get married you might ask, I am sure that it was love as I understood it back then. Also the fact that most of my friends were getting married or had already married. I knew little about life at the age of twenty one but you couldn't tell me a thing. My insecurities would not allow me to secede any hint of not knowing or understanding about any situation that came along. Basically at this point in my life I was an egomaniac with a severe inferiority complex. That is a pretty sad combination. Couple that with a stubborn streak that was just past the point of colossal, complete selfishness and self centered-ness and you might get a true picture of the real me at that place in my life. Not that I ever admitted that side to anyone mind you, but it is a frank description of what I was all about back then.

Betty, Max and I sat down in the living room of their stately English Tudor house and started the usual small talk before getting to the matter at hand.
"Betty I would like to marry Max" I said.
She looked at me squarely in the eye and replied "You'll never marry my daughter, after all you're just a bum from Mc Kees Rocks" (a lower income mill town just outside of Pittsburgh).
Betty then turned to Max and said "Johnny so and so is coming home from college next week". "He's studying to be a doctor why don't you go out with him"

I was devastated for all of two seconds and I said to myself "Oh yeah you bitch, I'll show you, I'll marry her anyway".
The last thing you wanted to tell me was that I couldn't do something or wasn't good enough for somebody. I would prove you wrong or die trying. The nerve of this bitch I thought, who in the hell does she think she is? For Christ sakes she's from the Northside, it's not like they live in Fox Chapel (the most affluent area in Pittsburgh). This woman is really nuts I thought and she has a lot of balls after all she's a meat wrapper for a local grocery chain and she's acting like she's Queen Elizabeth. I was going to show her.

Max's situation was pretty intolerable. At an early age she was made to become an adult by her drunken parents, taking care of the house, cooking meals and of course tending and doting on her demanding parents in their relative stupors. She hated living at home and anything I could possibly offer looked better than the life she had been living. Even a life with a goof ball like me seemed a far better deal for her than her life at home. There were a number of appealing aspects for both of us that also included being on our own and in control of our mutual destinies.

I also had a strong desire to prove to anybody, anywhere, anytime that I was not to be denied anything that I desired. All you had to do was tell me that I couldn't do it and I was hell bent on proving you wrong. This is really a sad form of selfishness and self centered-ness, a kind of self will run riot. This is what happened between Max's parents and I. My feelings, ego and pride were hurt and I was going to show them and indeed I did.

I talked her, or should I say conned Max into eloping with me to Forsythe County Winston-Salem North Carolina. I must admit, it was a pretty hideous deed on my behalf. I had no regard for her parents and how this selfish act would affect them. I just wanted what I wanted and the hell with them. It took many years to right this wrong but I did resolve it and made direct amends for my actions.

Over the period of a few weeks we were moving her things out of her house little by little. These things included her baby dolls, teddy bears, stuffed animals etc. Max was nineteen and I was all of twenty-one but we knew it all and we couldn't be told a thing. On the night we were to leave for Winston-Salem (in a borrowed car I might add) I arrived at her house to sweep the girl of my dreams away to wedded bliss. Only one problem with the whole scenario, her father Max was home and all of a sudden he's as talkative as a green parrot on speed. He rarely acknowledged me let alone talked to me and now on this night he wants to act like we are old college fraternity brothers who haven't seen each other in twenty years. I could feel the sweat running down the small of my back and into the crack of my ass making me even more uncomfortable as he continued to blab at me. I just wanted to go. I maintained my cool and he finally had to leave for work. Off we finally went to take our vows and live happily ever after.

After an eleven hour drive in a Volkswagen Beetle we arrived in Winston -Salem North Carolina, tired but excited at our prospects. We found a doctor who did the necessary blood work and off we went to the county courthouse to get our license and get married. Even though that was almost forty years ago I still remember the man's name who was the justice of the peace, the Honorary Mr. R.B. Carmichael. Funny how that sticks in my mind but he was a character to say the least. We asked if he could marry us.
"Well I don't know if I can taday, my schedule is prutty full" he replied in a heavy southern drawl. The son of a bitch was trying to hustle me and I knew it. It cost twenty bucks back then to get married in North Carolina and I wasn't going to meet this hustlers demands. Max and I said ok and we parked our butts outside of his office and waited. As a typical bureaucrat, he had literally no one enter his office the whole time. At about three o'clock PM he came out and told us if we found two witnesses he would marry us. Off we went outside the courthouse, Max at one end and me at the other.
A young black man approached me and I made eye contact with him.
"Hi, I said, how would you like to make ten dollars" I asked?
The young man stopped and looked at me and very quietly, with great suspicion in his voice said "Doin' what Suh?
"I need you to witness my wedding" I replied.
"Witness yo' weddin" he asked?
"Yes I replied just come with me"

As we entered the courthouse Max had an older black woman in tow. We went down to Mr. R.B. Carmichael's office and the ceremony began. At the end of our I do's Mr. R. B. Carmichael's slid our wedding certificate over to Max's witness which she signed in the most beautiful cursive writing that I had seen in my recollection. He then slid the paper over to my witness and instructed him where to sign. It took the young man a long time to sign the document but when done he slid it back to Mr. R.B. Carmichael.
"You needs to put your "from" next to your name" said Mr. R.B. Carmichael almost shouting at the young man.
"Huh"? he replied.
"Yo' "FROM", you know where you live" Carmichael said. "Yo' know where you live, ya do live in Winston-Salem don't cha"?
"Yowsa I does" replied the young man.
"Then write it next to yo' name richt heah" said Mr. R.B. Carmichael pointing at the line next to where the young man had placed his signature.
"How do ya spell dat' " inquired the young man.
"W-i-n-s-t-o-n S-a-l-e-m comma, N period C period" Mr. R.B Carmichael almost shouting again.
"How you make a W asked the young man?.
I was stunned. This was 1971 and for the first time I had met a young man who was functionally illiterate. The rest of my life depended on this young mans' ability to sign this document and he didn't know how to write. The older woman who was also a witness asked Mr. R. B. Carmichael if she could do it for him and R. B. agreed mostly out of frustration and the need of the twenty bucks for his coffers. She signed the document as eloquently as before. When I looked at the license I was amazed at his signature. It was as crude as a three year olds. I was saddened by his plight in the racism that was the old south back in 1971.

We hadn't been over to see Max's parents in quite sometime. It was a warm June day when we arrived at their house located in the Crafton Heights section of the city. Crafton Heights was a nice blue collar area. It consisted of a lot of narrow streets that required residents to park half on and half off of the side walks. We pulled in and Betty and Duchess were standing on the porch. Duchess was a stunted German Shepard that was Max's' bother Max Jr.'s from his days in the Army. She was a sweet dog that would never hurt a fly. I just loved her and she loved me. She was always excited when I saw her and loved to play. A friend of mine told me a story a while back and I will use this as an illustration. Take your spouse or significant other and your dog and lock them in the trunk of your car for an hour. After an hour open the trunk to see which one is happy to see you. That's how Duchess was with me. Duchess unconditional love was about the only reason I would visit my in-laws, they had great disdain for me to say the least and rightfully so.

Duchess stood on the porch, tail waging, barking away at our arrival. Suddenly she bolted down the steps and across the street to our side as we were walking towards the other side of the street. She disappeared momentarily in between the crowed parked cars on the narrow street. My mother in law and Max called for her. In her excitement, Duchess darted out from between the parked cars just as a car was coming up the street and managed to go right under the front wheel. Ka-whomp, ka-whomp was the sickening sound from the tires as they rolled over poor Duchess my stomach turned as I squinted my eyes closed knowing damn well what had just happened.

The car stopped and four young people in dressed in gowns and tuxedos stepped out. The kids were part of a wedding party, they stood outside the car looking at Duchess as she dragged her crippled back legs trying to get across the street to where we were. The girls in their beautiful gowns and coiffed hair broke down crying and sobbing at what had just transpired. I ran toward Duchess as my mother in law started to scream at the driver for what had happened. The kid had done nothing wrong but he would have to suffer her wrath none the less. She strode over to him finger waving, arms flailing, cursing like a sailor at his tear stained deeply saddened face. I walked up to Duchess, reached down to grab her collar just to try to settle her down. As I reached she turned to me and placed her mouth over my right hand, clamped down fiercely as a bolt of pain shot through her whole body. The feeling was more like one of pressure rather than pain as I felt her jaw on my hand. I could feel things popping in my hand as the pressure increased. I realized that this wasn't going to be a good thing for me. Her jaws' grip started to let up. I was pulling my hand out of her mouth when another bolt of pain that was probably even more severe than the first shot through her again, her jaw re-clamped on my hand. The result was a nasty tearing wound on the palm of my right hand that would require forty some odd stitches to close.

As Duchess let go, I grabbed my right hand with my left hand, spun around, walked away starting to feel the pain and realize the magnitude of my wound and my situation. Max and her mother stood over Duchess as she lie on the side of the street. The young driver apologizing profusely as tears streamed down his face but Betty was having none of it, still cursing the boy. I walked down the street a few paces, turned and walked back to where Duchess lie her breathing now labored and shallow . Max and her mom were both in tears as they stood over Duchess, I was on the verge also as Duchess lay taking her last breaths.

As I stood there quietly, blood from my wounded hand started to pool on the hot asphalt beneath me. Max turned around, looked at me and asked if I were alright.
Looking down at my feet, seeing the pool of blood in the street I replied "I don't think so" as I pointed to the now coagulating pond.
"Oh my God " she gasped as she took me by the arm and walked me into the house. Max had me run cold water over the wound in the sink to not only cleanse the wound but also so that she could get a better look at it to make an evaluation to see if I needed to go to the hospital for treatment. Max was at this time in nursing school, she would go on to become an RN. As I pulled my hand from under the water it became apparent that I had opened an artery in my hand. I definitely would need to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Max wrapped my hand in a towel, off we went to St. John's Hospital.

We arrived at the emergency room entrance, walked in, approached the desk. A rather large woman in a nurses uniform was sitting in a chair behind the counter reading a magazine. Never raising a eye towards us, she just mumbled "I'll be with you in a couple of minutes" as she continued to read the magazine in her chubby hands. Max and I stood there for about ten minutes as she casually continued to read her magazine. The towel covering my hand had become saturated by this point and I was getting concerned to say the least. "Ahem, Ma'am" I said. Again without looking up from her magazine she said firmly "I told you I'd be with you in couple of minutes". I proceeded to unwrap the towel from my hand, placed it on the counter that stood between us. The artery in question provided just enough pressure to launch a squirt of blood onto the desk pad that lie underneath her magazine. This action elicited a favorable response as she pushed herself away from the desk startled and said "Oh shit why didn't you tell me you were bleeding". It goes without saying that my little demonstration provided the desired effect as I was whisked into one of the rooms where a doctor saw me in record time.

The doctor assigned to my case was an immigrant from Germany and spoke with a very heavy accent.
"Vas happened to you? he asked.
"I was bitten by a dog" I replied" "
Vhy did the dog bitche you? asked the good doctor.
"Because she was run over by a car" I calmly replied.
"Didn't anyvone tell you not to touch a vounded animal'? he asked.
Oh my God, what a stupid question. I thought to myself, no shit, never touch a wounded animal. I knew that, could he even remotely think that I did not. I was somewhat aggravated by his condescending tone.
"Yes" I replied, "I know that" There was no use even trying to explain or justify my actions in this case he just wouldn't understand.

"Did za dog haf rabies shots"? the doctor asked.
"I don't know, why do you ask? I replied.
"Because you vill haf to get da rabies shots if it did not or if you do not haf papers for za dog he stated in a matter of fact way.
The dialog between us almost sounded like every World War Two Nazi or Gestapo movie I had ever seen.
"But Doctor, the dog never went out of the yard" I replied.
"Ve do not care, if za dog does not haf papers you vill haf to get za thirty rabies shots zat za law requires".
My heart sank. I knew what this entailed. Each day the patient (me) would have to come into the hospital and have a rather large needle full of rabies serum injected into their lower bowel through their navel.This was (unlike today) a very painful process and the thought of this process scared the living hell out of me.
"What are my options Doc" I asked hoping against hope that there had to be a better way than the prospect that I was facing.
"Vell, you can call za Allegheny County Health Department and zey can examine za dogs brain for signs of za rabies,
"You can produce za necessary papers zat say zat za dog has had za shots or you can take za shots".
The most promising of the three was getting the necessary papers. I went to the pay phone and placed a dime in the slot and called my mother in law Betty.
"Betty this is Chuck, I am at the hospital and they need to know if Duchess had her rabies shots". Do you know if she did or not"? I asked.
"Max Jr. brought Duchess home from the army and I don't know, you will have to ask him" she answered.
My brother in law was a meat cutter for a local grocery chain and worked at different stores on an as needed basis.
"Betty I need to talk to Max Jr., what store is he working at today"? I asked.
"You can't call him at work it has to be an emergency" she answered.
"What do you think this is Betty" I asked.
Little did I know that Duchess had died and Betty was in the process of making funeral arrangements for her. Duchess was as a full fledged family member who was going to have a casket, a funeral procession, be buried in a pet cemetery and have an engraved tombstone placed on her grave. About the only thing missing would be the cadre of men from the local VFW to give her a twenty-one gun salute I thought to myself!
"Well you can't call him" she yelled and hung up the phone.

This was it. The big payback, the get even shot of get even shots. Betty was finally in a place where she could wield the power of life and death over me for absconding her daughter and marrying her. She could kill me legally for all of the hurt and aggravation that I had caused her. Oh! what a bad place I was in.

I tried to call one of the stores where Max Jr. worked and lucked out, he was there and got on the phone with me. I told him what had happened to Duchess and explained what I needed. Max Jr. did not have the proper paperwork but was "pretty sure" that Duchess had received all of her shots. His response provided little comfort to me.

I next called the county health department and explained to the woman who answered the phone what my particular situation was and that I needed to have Duchess brain examined for rabies. Her reply startled me and I asked her to repeat what she had just said,
"We only accept heads" was her reply.
I was confused and asked her to repeat it again. She replied word for word the same answer she had given me twice before "We only accept heads".
Surely this must be a cruel joke I thought.
"You only accept heads?" I queried into the mouthpiece of the phone.
"That's right" she replied "We only accept heads".
I thought that I might be having a flashback from some of the California Sunshine LSD that I had taken in the late sixties, this was way too surreal to be anything close to reality.
"Sir we don't accept whole dogs, we only accept heads". "It's a space and disposal issue" she calmly said.
"But you don't understand ma'am, this dog is going to be buried, have a funeral and everything, I just can't bring her head" I gasped.
"Well sir, that's all we accept" .

My heart sank as I dropped the phone from my left hand and watched it dangle by its' cord. I could not envision me or anyone else beheading Duchess. I could only imagine the furor it would cause if I even asked my mother in law to even consider this action. Even if I were to receive her permission, this is something that I could not do myself and where in the hell was I going to find someone who would. Mind you I am not at all squeamish about such things. I was raised hunting deer and small game in Western Pennsylvania as part of our up bringing. Gutting an animal although not appealing certainly was not that difficult a task for me. To behead a beloved family member or even the thought of it was certainly daunting to say the least. I knew it was beyond me and I knew of no one who would do so.

I explained to the doctor my dilemma and he was all to eager to start the first of thirty injections right there. I passed on his suggestion and asked if there were any alternatives.
"Vell you can take your chances and not take za shots" he explained.

That is the path I chose. Duchess never hurt a soul during her life and loved everyone unconditionally as a dog is wont to do.

Although somewhat concerned about my choice and waiting anxiously for the next ten days to pass to see if I would contract the disease. I had made my choice and was willing to live or die by it. That's the beauty of youth, one posses that strong sense of invulnerability that slowly dissipates over time as we age and come to our senses. Besides, the thought of anymore harm coming to Duchess remains after her tragic death would have been more than I could have borne. The outcome of my decision is apparent because I am writing this today a full 37 years after the tragedy of Duchess' passing. I must have made the right choice. By not having Duchess head removed and sent over to the "We Only Accept Heads Division" of the Allegheny County Health Department thus committing the most unforgivable crime in the eyes of my ex mother in law I avoided the fury and wrath of a crazy woman. The decision also allowed Duchess to be buried intact.