Giacomo & Slick

A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Or so states the line from As Time Goes By the song made immortal when Dooley Wilson sang it for Ingrid Bergman in the movie Casablanca. While a kiss might be just a kiss most of the time, there are special kisses. I bet you remember your first kiss, and maybe a few others. Some kisses are so special you never forget them.

When you’re writing about a kiss, you can’t just describe it and have it mean anything. No matter how great you are at describing a kiss, it has to mean something to the characters if you want it to have meaning for the readers. In other words, if a kiss is to have impact, it has to have a story.

Different Kinds of Kisses

• Peck on the cheek
• Reluctant kiss
• Stolen kiss
• Sloppy kiss
• French kiss
• Passionate kiss
• Goodbye kiss
• A kiss hello
• A good-morning kiss
• A good-night kiss
• An I-want-you kiss
• An after-the-fact kiss.

The list goes on and on. But no matter the kiss, it has to have a story. Think of some of the most famous movie kisses:

• Gone With The Wind, when Rhett Butler proposes to Scarlett and kisses her while Atlanta burns in the background.
• Pretty Woman, when, after proclaiming throughout the movie that she doesn’t kiss clients, Julia Roberts’ white knight finally comes to get her and they kiss.
• From Here to Eternity, when Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr shocked the movie-going audiences with their passionate kiss on the beach.
• Casablanca, when Bogart reunited with Ingrid Bergman in his upstairs apartment.
• The Princess Bride. Who can ever forget the kiss to end all kisses.

I was writing a scene the other night that had a kiss in it. I got to thinking about the different kinds of kisses and realized the one I was writing had no meaning. Then I thought of a story to get my point across. First, though, you’ll have to get to know my dog.

Whiskers

Whiskers

I’ll start off the story by telling you flat if Whiskers were a human, she’d be a hermit. To call Whiskers independent would be a gross understatement. Aloof wouldn’t come close. Anti-social would be closer to the truth.

We have an animal sanctuary with forty animals, and twelve of them are dogs. Whiskers won’t sleep or eat with any of them. Dogs are pack animals; they’re supposed to want to live together. Not Whiskers.

We first met Whiskers when she was two months old. She was living in a drainage ditch under a little bridge. I used to joke that she was like the troll from the children’s story, Three Billy Goats Gruff.

For about a year or so she lived by herself on the street. One day she got hit by a car and couldn’t walk. We took her in and tended to her. For a month my son carried her outside every day to let her go to the bathroom. He took care of her until she was able to manage by herself again. She stayed with us after that, but it was on her terms.

Whiskers’ Rules

• She wouldn’t drink from inside the house
• Wouldn’t sleep with other dogs
• Wouldn’t sleep inside at night
• Wouldn’t live with other dogs
• Wouldn’t eat with other dogs
• Wouldn’t stay in the fenced area

In return for our generosity, Whiskers appointed herself guardian of our property, about 15 acres. Every night for the past ten years, she has stayed outside, through heat, rain, cold—it didn’t matter. She has fought with, and driven off stray dogs, chased deer, fought coyotes and even held her ground against wild pigs, though she stopped short of fighting them.

A Crippling Event

A few months ago, while I was writing, I heard a noise outside. When I looked, I found Whiskers dragging herself toward the house. Her back legs were crippled. I carried her in and the next day we took her to the vet. He didn’t give us much hope. We kept her in the clinic for two weeks, but she still couldn’t walk. We decided to take her home.

For three more weeks we gave her pills and carried her out every day. There had been slight improvement, but not much. She still couldn’t walk ten feet without falling down. We decided we’d give it another few weeks.

Disappearance

The next morning around 6:30, I fed Dennis, our wild boar, fed the horse, gave Whiskers her anti-inflammatory pill and took her outside, then went to the kitchen to make coffee. When I finished my coffee I went back outside to get her—she was gone!

I looked everywhere and couldn’t find her, so I got my wife and we both looked. Then we got the tractor and drove around the property—through the woods, around the pond¦ she was nowhere! I got that sick feeling in my gut. Something was wrong.

We started at square one. This time I walked every inch of the property, calling her name the whole time. After almost an hour, as I was making my way around the pond for the second time, I heard a whimper. I looked, but couldn’t see her. I called her name, and again I heard a tiny whimper. It was coming from the pond!

Giant Salvinia

Rescue

As you can see from the picture, the pond has been invaded by giant salvinia, a species of plant from South America that takes over in a matter of weeks. It is damn near impossible to get rid of.

When I got to the edge of the pond, all I could see was her nose, and, when she bobbed her head, a bit of her mouth. She went under just as I got there. I jumped in, and briefly went under, all the time I worried that the giant salvinia might be much more than an invasive plant species. Images from Aliens which I had watched a few nights before came to mind. Suddenly the salvinia seemed to have hands or at least grippers.

I grabbed hold of Whiskers and tried getting to the shore. My headset fell off and submerged. My iPhone, always in my shirt pocket, went down for the third time, and I prayed that it was not the metaphorical third time like in the movies. All the while, Whiskers struggled to stay afloat in my arms, and I struggled to stay on my feet, as the bottom of the pond puts the definition of slippery to shame.

To top it off, I must tell you, I’m not a water person. I have no fish in my ancestry. Not anywhere. I grew up in the city, and while we had a public pool a few blocks from the house, I think it costs a dime to get in. Dimes were better spent on cigarettes in those days.

So there I was, slipping my way toward the very-steep bank, and struggling to keep Whiskers’ head above water. Oh, and I wondered aloud, with more than a few curse words, why I ever wanted to live in the country.

Whiskers

I managed to get Whiskers to the side of the bank and push her up on it, but she kept sliding back. The floor of the pond had a steep slope and I couldn’t keep balanced. I finally found a foothold on a branch from a tree. I gave Whiskers one big push, stabilized my position, and managed to crawl out onto the ground next to her. While I lay there on the bank with Whiskers, I leaned in close and said, “You damn crazy dog. You almost killed us both.”

She let out a small whimper, and then she did something she has never done. Not once in the ten years I’ve had her—she reached up and kissed me.

That might not seem like much for you people reading this. It’s not much for any dog. But for Whiskers it’s a lot.

Whiskers Has Never Kissed Anyone. 

• Not my son, when he carried her outside every day for a month after she was hit by a car.
• Not my wife, when she spent days tending to Whiskers after a copperhead bit her and her face swelled until she looked as if she had a grapefruit attached to it.
• Whiskers has never kissed my grandkids, my niece, or me. No one! Ever.

That kiss was magic! There’s no doubt in my mind what it was. It was a “thank-you” kiss.

The Bottom Line

If I told someone, “I got a kiss from my dog Whiskers today  it wouldn’t mean much. But if they knew Whiskers, and what it takes to get a kiss from her, it would carry a lot more weight.

So the next time you’re writing a scene with a kiss, think about Whiskers, and make that kiss magical.

PS. Now that I know what it takes to get a kiss from Whiskers, I hope I never get another.

Ciao, and thanks for stopping by,

Giacomo

Giacomo Giammatteo is the author of Murder Takes Time, and A Bullet For Carlos. He lives in Texas where he and his wife have an animal sanctuary with 40 loving “friends.”

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Filed under: Animal Sanctuary, Life Lessons, Storytelling, Uncategorized, Writing by Giacomo