1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE: LLAMA HOUSESHOES

The ban against dogs in the house continued, at least in spirit. But after Daddy got back from Peru, we let Julie in for a short period of time daily. We had to. She was the main player in the game we created with Jan and my llama houseshoes. In order to continue the ban, Mother pretended she never saw her though she couldn't have missed her galloping through the house, growling and chasing us.

When we picked Daddy up at Love Field on his return from Peru, he came out dressed neatly in a navy blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. He wore a gray fedora and a huge smile. All the men exiting the plane were dressed similarly, and the women wore Sunday dresses with high heels, hose, and lots of big costume jewelry. With their dark red lipstick, some of them looked like Marilyn Monroe or Jane Russell.

Daddy always grabbed Mother first, but we were willing to wait our turn for a hug. He carried several shoeboxes and some smaller packages, which we silently hoped were for us, but we didn't want to appear rude or as though we were just glad he was back because he'd brought us presents, so we pretended not to notice them.

He carried his suitcase, and by tacit agreement, Mother took the boxes from him. One of them held my hand and one of them held Jan's; Susan walked next to Mother as we all crossed the street in front of the airport, moving toward the parking area.

As soon as we got in the car, Daddy said, "Well, girls, I brought something for everyone. Susan, these are for you, and Felisa and Jan, these are for you." He reached into the boxes and handed each of us something in the dark interior of the car. Only the parking lot lights shed any illumination.

Susan let out a little squeal, and I almost did because of the furry feel of the things he thrust into our hands, before he said "They're llama houseshoes. There are lots of llamas in Peru, and they use the fur to make products like houseshoes."

"Thanks, Daddy," Susan, Jan and I said in unison, stealing looks at each other in the dark.

"You're welcome," he said. "I have some other things for the "big kids" and this for your mother", he said, handing her a beautiful silver necklace studded with purple stones, a matching bracelet and earrings.

"If you want to fly anywhere, you can dress up like those other ladies," Jan piped up.

"Yes, yes I can," Mother said, putting the necklace on.

Daddy drove home, his internal radar getting us quickly out of Dallas; he never let Mother drive when he was in the car. She'd get lost anyway, so we were thankful he took the wheel.

When we got to the house, we looked at the houseshoes more carefully. We were used to the idea that things were killed to make coats, earmuffs, and even houseshoes,especially since Daddy once raised mink, but a llama? That was a big animal.

I'm not sure if it was because Susan's houseshoes were a sleek deep brown color with shorter hair while ours were made of dull brown shaggy hair, but
the game developed within days of our receiving them.

Jan and I noticed that Julie had a fascination with our footcovering when we wore the houseshoes.

"Grrrrrrrrr," she growled as menacingly as she was capable of, trying to grab the toe of the shoe in her mouth. "Grrrrrrrrrr," she continued, putting both her front feet on the tip of the shoe and biting down, trying to get it to hold still. If we stepped out of the shoe, she shook it violently, trying to kill it, making her amusing "vicious" sounds.

We found that if we ran with the shoes firmly on our feet, she chased us around the house growling with every step, her brown body hopping toward our foot as though it were a live animal.

Since every room connected to the other and there were no halls or dead ends, we could effectively run in circles through the house, screaming, with Julie following us, nipping at our heels. The denouement of the game was our jumping on the couch, Julie soaring up behind us, yelping and grabbing wildly for the houseshoes which we hid by sitting on them.

Daddy wasn't ever home when we played chase with Julie, or he might have wondered at our appreciation of his gift, brought from such a distance. We played for years, until the shoes, both Jan's and mine, were in shreds. Susan kept hers carefully in the wardrobe and never wore them when Julie was in the house. Hers were prettier anyway.




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