CHAPTER 27
The Story Of Sonya - For All Dog Lovers
Sonya was my constant companion. She came along with me to all of my
rehearsals. During the
Kalinka Russian dance rehearsals, she would lie on a pile or
Russian shawls in the dance studio and watch every move the dancers
made. At the balalaika orchestra rehearsals she would sit and
listen, loving the sound of Russian folk music.
 She
even appeared in some of my ballets as a walk-on.
Photo: Sonya onstage in my Tucson "The Two Pigeons"
choreography
Sonya was my dog. She certainly was no pedigree but just an
ordinary, all white terrier-mix. I retrieved her at the Tucson
Humane Society. She went practically everywhere with me and, like
all men’s dogs, loved to sit beside me in the car. Even when I drove
to Hollywood she came along. I like to tell the story about when, on
a Paramount Studios sound stage, she peed.
And when she came along with me to Disneyland,
well, at least as far as the kennels at the main gate where I had to
leave her for the day.
I don’t know where she came from or what kind
of abuse she may have suffered at other’s hands, but she always felt
safe with me.
This circle of protection was broken one
morning during our usual walk on a nearby desert trail. We were
passing two greyhounds held on leads. I had no sooner mentioned to
the owner how beautiful they were when suddenly they broke loose,
ran to Sonya and viciously attacked her. As I later found out, they
were rejects from a Tucson race track, a notoriously cruel place
where they kill and discard the Greyhounds in the desert when they
have no further use for them. These adopted dogs probably thought
Sonya was a white rabbit that they were trained to destroy.
They dragged her, screaming, down the rocky
trail and onto the highway with me crawling after, trying to defend
her. We ended up in the middle of oncoming, morning traffic on busy
Speedway Blvd. I was still pounding on the greyhounds to let go of
Sonya’s back legs. Fortunately a man from one of the stopped cars
managed to kick them off and with Sonya in my arms, I ran home. Both
her sides were torn off and her back legs were terribly mauled. I
rushed her to the animal emergency hospital and left her there while
I myself went to a hospital, still wearing my bloody shirt and with
bitten hands.
Then there were the weekly visits to the vet.
Every time he led her away to his operating room she would look back
at me pleadingly, knowing somehow he was going to hurt her again.
With clever graft of skin and lots of medications, Sonya survived
and spent 3 months in recovery, at a cost of over $6,000. Finally
she was able to go through her doggie door and into the garden but
was never able to run and frolic again.
Sonya’s death
Several months later, a Russian dance group was performing in
Prescott, Arizona, a four hour drive North from our home in Tucson.
By then, she had also developed vestibular syndrome (head stays
tilted to one side) and was on medication for that, but her vet said
it was okay for her to take the trip.
Our hotel was across the street from Yavapai
College where the performance was to be held. As soon as I checked
in she began acting peculiar. I thought she was asking to go for a
walk so I took her over to the campus and around the College Theater
in hopes of seeing some of the dancers. She was not to make it and
suddenly fell with a convulsion. I picked her up. She gave a pitiful
cry and there, while waiting for the cross light to change, she died
in my arms.
That evening I attended the performance as I knew she would have
wanted me to. And she died in close proximity to the Russian dance
that she so loved to watch.
I drove back to Tucson with her lying in
the car trunk and buried her in my garden, surrounded by
cactus.
Sonya was known far and wide. In Moscow,
a Russian writer friend of mine wrote a book recounting his
visits to Tucson, including the story of Sonya..
Photo: Sonya in her later years |
In the foothills overlooking the city of Tucson, when I walk the
desert trails around my home, I can still see her dancing by my
side.
Epilogue
We might not care to admit it, but we’re all headed in one
direction. Old age paints a scary picture. But once we look at that
picture closer we can find that our later years can bring us a new
vitality and rich rewards. I’ve long wanted to write down my
memories in a narrative form. The story of my life has not been one
of a linear struggle, but of sporadic events. Who knows … sharing
these recollections may help another young dancer as they begin the
long and difficult road to a career in dance. I hope they may gain
the ability, as I eventually did, to transcend the hurts and the
many disappointments that seem a part of a dancing life and to
forgive those who may have violated their trust.
 After
I left New York City I never dreamed that I would ever dance again.
But I did. There were few male dancers around when I created the
Kalinka Russian dance group. To fill that gap, I had to join in and
dance. During the years there must have been hundreds of young
people that I trained as Russian dancers. Some stayed for many
years. Others left after they graduated, moved away, changed jobs,
married.
Photo: Drawing of Kalinka dancers in women’s round dance
around Saguaro cactus.
I danced right along with my dancers until I
felt it was time to stop. At that time, my long-time friend and
dancing partner Kathleen Schwartzman arranged an on-stage tribute.
After accolades from Kathleen and Nancy Hammarstrom - who had danced
in my original Tucson Civic Ballet - I received a long, standing
ovation from the audience as well as orchestra members. I then
performed my squat kicks in a farewell Russian dance. The same squat
kicks I did as a youngster at my very first dance lesson at
Russakoff’s studio in Boston.
Of course I still continue dancing, by myself. And naturally, as a
choreographer I have to demonstrate steps in rehearsal, but no more
dancing in public. It’s not that I can’t. I just feel that if
dancers can’t give a perfect performance then it’s time to stop. But
I continued playing my balalaika in the orchestra.
Photo: CD cover photo of musicians, singers, and dancers of the
Arizona Balalaika Orchestra. I'm on the right in green rubashka [a
Russian shirt].
You can look at aging in two ways. Your powers can diminish or you
can think of it as an opportunity to develop in new ways. I prefer
to keep growing. My love of dance has never ceased, but I have also
acquired other interests
I grew up in unspeakable poverty. I chose dance as a profession, a
profession filled with struggle and disappointments. I faced these
alone. In spite of it, I managed to achieve a measure of success.
For a small boy from Braintree, with no one to help, this was major
accomplishment.
But this should not be a story of
victimization or of retreating into the past. The only time
any of us will ever have is now. Our lives can never be
filled with complete happiness, with everything our hearts
desire. Living here in the desert of Arizona, surrounded by
cactus plants, I can’t help but admire them. They remind me
of my own life. A cactus has its survival built in. A
dancer’s life, in fact everyone’s life. is often filled with
undesirable situations and conditions. It can become a bed
of roses only when we are willing to pull the cactus thorns
out of the flesh and throw them away.
  Copyright © 2006-2008 Richard Holden
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