MY DOG CHIP

It happened again, just now. I went outside to water some plants and enjoy the late afternoon, and as I stepped out the door, I looked around for him. Expected his smiling face to greet me, as he always has, for the last eleven years. Even put my open hand down out of long habit, expecting his warm, moist muzzle to nuzzle it. And then I got a catch, one that I’ve felt regularly for the last few weeks, in my throat when I remembered that he isn’t there and he won’t be, ever again.

It’s so hard for me to write about the hard stuff. The everyday blessings, the extraordinary, wonderful things that sometimes happen, even the mundane, workaday business of life–these are easy subjects. But something that details loss, grief, pain…I have trouble with these. It is simply easier to pretend the hard things don’t happen, and in a make-believe world like Xanga–or anywhere in cyberspace–it becomes possible. You don’t have to know the hard things about me to know me.

Or do you?

           (less than a year ago…showing his age but still perky)

I realized today that it is possible people who read my posts think life is just easy-peasy, hunky-dory, a-ok everyday on this farm. That life always has that rosy glow and the sun always shines and birds sing on key every single day. Apple pie in the sky for breakfast and beds of roses to lie down in at night.

But that, of course, is not the truth. The unglossed-over, plain-as-the-nose-on-your-face truth is that lately life has been kind of hard. And it started in March. It was a morning when we woke up shivering, for a late-winter cold spell had blasted through overnight. It was predicted, and we were prepared, but it was really freezing and miserable, with the wind cutting straight through like a knife.

The first thing I did when I got up was to go outside on the porch because I woke up worried. I had tried to get Chip to sleep on the carport the evening before, but as has been the case all winter, he just couldn’t do it. Almost totally blind and deaf, he just couldn’t find a comfortable place inside. He needed to out there in the open, where he has been almost all his life.

When I didn’t find him that fateful morning outside the back door, I pulled my robe tighter around me and went out searching, all around the yard. It was no use, because he just wasn’t there. Soon, the Farmboy was dressed and we looked together, in all the nooks and crannies, under the big rocks, inside the tack room, even in the horses’ hay feeder, anywhere an old dog might take refuge from the miserable weather.

We didn’t find Chip that morning, and we never have, although we’ve looked all around the place. Even our neighbor helped look. Somehow, Chip took his blind and deaf self, sore hips and all, far enough away that we wouldn’t have to gaze upon him at the end. I think he knew that we would have such a hard time with that, and he did it to spare us.

As with any loss, it has been…gulp…difficult to face, but we have such grand memories of this grand dog to make us smile. Everyone loves his dog, but honestly, Chip was special. I’d like to say he was a one-woman dog….all mine…but that would not be true. Chip was everyone’s dog. If you came to visit for the first time, all it took to win him over was a friendly word and a pat on the head, and you had made a friend for life. He never met a stranger and never met a soul he didn’t like.

When Sarah came to visit, Chip was her running buddy, putting in however many miles she cared to log. When we rode horses, he was right beside us all the way, no matter how many hills we covered. I wish I could estimate the miles Chip and I covered through the years. He was a grand companion, and his joy in going with me was apparent up to the end. In fact, we walked several times just the week before he left us. He didn’t range out as far, due to his failing vision, but he still managed to go the distance. I can hardly make myself get out and walk now because of missing him so.

I think I wrote once about the time Chip followed a hitchiker all the way to our nearest town….going the LONG way around which was about 40 miles! When the man got into town, he stopped at a church to ask for money and the pastor contacted the town’s animal control officer to come and get Chip.Thankfully, his collar bore our phone number. Back at home, we were all in tears because he’d been gone 24 hours and we were despairing of ever seeing Chip again. You cannot imagine how happy I was to go into the kennel and see him there…smiling and happy as ever and completely unperturbed…it was all just a grand adventure to Chip. The people were very nice to him, and that was all that mattered.

I’ve written about Chip’s sledding abilities, learned long ago when the children were still at home and shared even last winter with the grandchildren, perhaps not as gracefully as in years past but still going down the hill with glee. I’ve written about his love of water and of how the creek was his glory…he never got enough of swimming after sticks, swimming with us, swimming by himself….he just loved swimming and was a strong swimmer. How can I ever go again to the creek without him?

                (“helping” Emma fish)

We got Chip when he was six weeks old, and for a couple of months he was a house doggie. I put up gates, the kind you use to corral toddlers, and kept him off the carpet because he didn’t take to potty-training. But soon we realized Chip was an outside dog. He had to be outdoors where he reigned over our place like a king, patrolling the perimeter of the yard and pastures around our house until he soon had a well-worn path. He took great delight in keeping all critters away and would diligently bark all night, if need be, to keep the packs of coyotes away. He was good at that. I miss even that.

                     (just after a haircut)

Chip’s coat was so thick in winter that he never was bothered by the cold, even though it worried me for him to sleep outside. He would nestle into a bed of leaves and be as cozy as if he was under a down comforter. But that warm coat didn’t work in warm weather, so, come April, we knew it was time to go short. The farmboy used cattle shears and gave him a good haircut while I tried to hold him. It wasn’t that he ran off–he just enjoyed all the attention so much that he would lie down on his back and expect a good belly-rubbing, rolling around in that mess of shorn dog hair.

For a couple of winters we took Chip bird hunting. He was a Springer and wasn’t bred to point, but when he smelled a covey of quail Chip would stand stock still, letting us know they were there. There aren’t enough quail in our part of the country anymore to do much hunting, but it was fun to see him work when we could find some birds.

What a smart pup he was! I remember the day I brought home my first batch of ten chickens and let them loose in the pen. Chip had slipped in behind me (he was always at my heels) and when live feathered creatures emerged from the pet carrier, he must have thought it was Christmas, birthday and the Fourth of July, all rolled into ten squawking, flapping, hysterical birds.

So there, I’ve done it. I’ve written about a really hard thing that has been going on in my life, along with the perfect sunsets and the full moons and the smell of flowers and the creeks happily flowing along. While I’m at it, I’ll also say that my brother has been very ill…but now is better. And my dear mother-in-law is battling health problems which cause deep concern. Wonderful friends face life-threatening illnesses, and others grieve heart-breaking loss. Life is not just that bowl of cherries I usually make it out to be; it’s also the pits.

But maybe this helps. Maybe it is a good thing to share the hard parts with friends, like you.

Now do me a favor and go give your beloved doggy an extra treat and a real good tummy rub tonight. Do it in memory of Chip…

Today my Farmboy was planting green-graze in a field not far from our house, and he asked me to bring lunch to him. We have always considered it a treat to have lunch together “in the field,” and today was no exception…a beautiful, warm spring day, with birds singing and bees buzzing and wildflowers blooming and the creek flowing nearby, close enough that we could hear its song.

So after we ate, I rambled a little bit before going back to the house. I love it when our creek flows…so clean and pretty.

This rock formation reminded me of a double throne…moss-covered and perfect for sitting upon if one wanted to wade the icy-cold water to go across.

A beautiful sycamore….

with interesting, gnarly roots was just downstream.

The air was heavily laden with the scent of this scourge lovely rose…the multi-flora.

This one is pink…check out those teensy sweet rosebuds. (My apologies to landowners everywhere…they are a pestilence in the land, but they smell so sweet right now and are so pretty in bloom.)

I don’t know the name of this plant, but it has little bell-shaped blooms right now.

The fire pink is really red.

Daisies adorn the ditches.

Lacy ferns love shady places.

Log cabin love…lucky to have two in the neighborhood.

This little stream is a tributary of “my” creek…how I wish I could play its music for you, the sound of water splashing down over those stairsteps created over time. 

This is another tributary. In that dark place above the water is a bluff, one I call the lion’s den. Our mailman saw a mountain lion cross the road here (in one bound) and leap up the hillside into that bluff where we think it makes its home. I’d really like to see a mountain lion and am always vigilant in searching the landscape, but to no avail, so far. 

The air smells sweet back at the house, too, with the fragance of heavily-blooming bushes of double peonies. I dug these up from a cow pasture about 20 years ago, and every spring they faithfully reward me for saving their lives. They make the prettiest bouquets.

Now it is back to work, nose once more to be applied directly to grindstone. Ironing calls out loudly for attention, but I liked my little detour. Hope you did, too…we’ll do it again soon. Bye!

                (Yes, that is an armadillo…long dead, thankfully…)

Six-year-old Wyatt spent the day with me yesterday. He didn’t have school because it was a day for screening next year’s kindergarteners. And since it was such a beautiful day, we spent it outside. We planted some flowers in pots, hoed weeds out of the garden, raked it and planted tomato and pepper plants and some heirloom zinnia seeds. He insisted on calling them “zeenias,” and he claimed one tomato plant to be “his.” When it bears, NO ONE else is to get to eat the tomatoes from it; instead, I am to make HIM salsa from ALL the tomatoes on HIS plant.

As we worked, there was an ongoing discussion of all things “nature.” We watched a bluebird busily making a nest in a nearby box, and Wyatt understood, although it was very tempting, that the mama won’t come back if he goes over to lift the lid and investigate.

As we worked, Wyatt designed a unique alarm system that could potentially solve my problem of critters eating hens. When they come around the henhouse, a loud alarm, one that would wake the dead (demonstration with very loud sounds at this point) would be triggered so that Poppy could jump out of bed and go shoot the invaders, especially the nasty raccoon that likes to pull the head off its victim and leave the rest for Mimi to find and dispose of (SAD!)

Sometimes he would say, “Mimi, I just feel like I need to run….can I show you how fast I am?” and off he would go, at top speed, racing around the whole place, just for the sheer fun of it.

We talked about how he will never shoot a songbird with his BB gun that he has shot once at a target, and we watched a crow playing chasing and squawking games with a hawk. We couldn’t tell if the hawk liked it or not, but the crow was obviously having fun. I think it was a little boy crow.

We talked about the buzzards soaring on wind currents high above us; we decided that they are not pretty birds but they are really helpful, being Mother Nature’s cleanup crew. And then I learned this: “Mimi, do you know what buzzards eat first? EYEBALLS! They eat their dessert first!” (followed by hysterical laughing).

My tasteful lesson for the day…

To all you readers who have reliable, consistent, dependable, reasonably-fast internet service, may I just say this? Do not take your good fortune for granted. Ever.

I live in a place where internet access is limited. Out here in my country-world, we choose between dial-up (yes, they still have it, and it still makes that little splish-splashy, ding-ding noise when it is connecting), something from a satellite (if you don’t have too many trees to block the signal or if you have too many trees you must cut them down, only not me!), or using our phones as modems. Since those first two options are rife with problems, I choose the third, with the first as a permanent backup. This is not to say that the third option is without problems. It has many, not the least of which is that when it rains, the signal becomes very weak or non-existent. Usually the latter.

So, when we get a lovely rainy spell such as the one we’ve just come through, I just have to go back to living without internet, just like the good old days. It rained for forty days and forty nights. You think not? Well, it seemed like that. In reality, it was about 10 days of non-stop rain, during which time more than 20 inches of rain fell. I could rarely connect, and when it did stop pouring for a minute, I’d run to the computer, go through the motions of connecting, and then it would wickedly drop me at the most inopportune times, such as when I was in the middle of sending an important email or had just written a nice, entertaining blog post and was ready to SAVE….and then…fizzzzzle. Out it went. It was a good test of patience. And a reality check. How soon we forget.

Today has been simply beautiful! Blue skies, no wind, no rain, no serious clouds….my connection has been flawless. I smile, and all is forgiven.

On a cold, wintry April night last week, I was knitting away while the Farmboy was watching television, and I looked down at my work….a darling little baby hat, similar to hundreds of others I’ve made in the last couple of years….and I suddenly needed a change. I laid the little hat aside with no guilt; there are, after all, six finished little hats on the closet shelf, and every little person I know is well-hatted right now, anyway. So I went to my knitting closet and pulled out this:

a red shawl that I began two years ago (at least…let’s not count), a project I haven’t touched in a long time. Suddenly it became very appealing to me. This is a pattern that requires my concentration, but I’ve enjoyed reacquainting myself with it. I can do about two inches a night, and since I have about 16 inches to go (I’ve done about six since pulling it back out) I calculate that I’ll finish this project before winter, which is when it can be worn, since it is a nice, soft merino wool. If I don’t get tired of it before then….

This is a little baby hat I finished last week. No, we do not have another new grandbaby. My lovely model is Mi Bebe, Sus’s baby doll, brought by Santa one Christmas long ago. This baby has also been loved by all three little granddaughters. I love her, too, and am glad she is ageless.

Last weekend we visited our daughter,

son-in-law, and their two little girls. We went to a soccer game,

cheered this little monkey on the monkey bars,

cheered some old guys playing b-ball,

chatted up these pigs on the way home,

bought this bull,

and met this sweet little real baby.

Doesn’t he look like a little man? Better than a doll, any day. HIs cousin is so proud of him! Technically, we’re not related to this little guy, but we claim him as part of our family. You can do that with babies, you know….

I’ll leave you with a parting shot of our alarm clock.

That’s D.T., already in his roost in the dogwood tree. This chicken gives new meaning to the phrase, “bird brain.” All winter, in the absolute WORST weather, he has roosted in this tree, refusing to enter the henhouse. It’s getting to be a little tiresome when he crows at 4:30 a.m. Delbert the Third may not be long for this world, so I thought you should see him now. Look quickly.

Sweet dreams…and to all, a good night.