When nightmares come...

Heidi looked a lot like this German Shepherd

As I was watching the Westminster Kennel Club show tonight and the night before, a terrible memory gripped me. I didn't know what to do with it, other than write about it.

My aunt and uncle who lived in Gerritsen Beach had three German shepherds. Back in the 70s, this section of Brooklyn was a rough neighborhood. Teenage thugs used to steal cars and burn them in the open field across the avenue, among other illegal pursuits. My aunt and uncle had the corner lot on their block and a fenced-in backyard, which offered lots of running room for the dogs--Lucky, short for Lucifer, and Heidi who mated and had a pup, Wolfie.

The three of them made a fiercesome pack of sentinels. Standing outside the front door upon arrival as a schoolage child, I'd hear their savage guard-dog symphony, and become terror-filled, afraid to go inside. However, once their master, my uncle, admitted us to their home, the dogs were as accepting of us as if they'd grown up with us.

Lucky was a beautiful boy--white and black, not tan and black like many shepherds. Beautiful, regal, strong. Heidi was the traditional tan and black colors. And Wolfie was almost all black.

My sister and I used to sleep on the sofa bed in the living room when we stayed with them. I remember Wolfie jumping up there and sleeping with us all night--and he was the biggest of the three.

Beautiful, loyal, dutiful dogs.

A couple years after our last visit, I learned that somebody in the neighborhood fed the dogs something tainted with poison and killed them all.

I can't imagine someone poisoning my dog. I cried when I heard the news. I might have even gotten sick--I can't remember. I still tear up when I think about it as I did tonight. Why would someone poison innocent dogs? Because they barked a lot? Dogs bark--that's what they do.

So, now this memory, which I hadn't considered for years, has filled my head. I can scarcely think of anything else to write about.

I ask you, fellow writers. What do you do with searing memories? Do you write about them to assuage painful memories and hope they resolve themselves and leave you alone? Do you exorcise the most painful memories in your writing? Or do you let them remain the substance of nightmares?