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Her Ninth Life?

Sep1

“This is the second happiest I’ve ever been to see you,” I told Topaz, as I returned to the yard after searching the woods this morning for her little corpse. She didn’t come home last night, which is highly unusual. I was grateful for knowing that she’s well-camouflaged, and survived a month in the wilds a few years ago after she was accidentally kidnapped. Wren and I walked the southeast quarter of the woods within a thirty yard radius, out the front gate and around to the east gate. I was grateful for equanimity and patience. I refrained from shrieking her name incessantly as I did that other time, for days. I wasn’t convinced she was dead this time, but even if she was I was able to accept it: she’s been pampered for ten years, getting her way pretty much every minute of her life, and I tell her I love her every time she walks out the door.

We came in the gate and checked out the pond end of the yard to see if she might be down there, alive or dead. As I headed back up to the house, she came sauntering toward me. It was the second happiest I’ve ever been to see her. This may be her ninth life, but I’m grateful it didn’t end last night. During the time of uncertainty, I remembered Stellar finding her brother’s remains; remembered the wrenching emptiness during her unauthorized journey; remembered her catcussion; and I also remembered stroking her back gently as she stood at the door last night, reminder her to come back to me as I do right after I say “I love you,” and before I say “No birds.” I remembered that my aspiration is to treat her always as if I may never see her again, every time I say goodbye; and that this is an excellent aspiration for any interaction with any being, ever: tenderness and kindness, just in case it’s the last time, because it could be, any time.

I let her inside and fed her, and she slept the whole rest of the day. Wren and I hung out at the pond a little while, where she hid in the rushes to avoid the pesky wasps. They’re everywhere. Sucking the hummingbird feeders dry, and always one circling ominously any time I sit still outside, whether at the pond or on the patio, where I’m spending a little time each day shooting hummingbirds.

Eyes of Wonder

Aug30

I’m grateful we finally got some rain. Yesterday it was overcast all day, drizzled off and on, and the clouds gave a good shower midafternoon. Not enough to make puddles, but enough to make the top layer of clay almost muddy. Little Wren shivered in her Thundershirt and wanted to cuddle all afternoon as I frantically plowed through R.F. Kuang’s surprising, delightful, allegorical, and ultimately very disturbing novel Babel before the digital library reclaimed it today.

I was grateful to wake this morning to sunshine on a cool early autumn landscape with clouds climbing the mountains on their way out of town.

I finally steeled myself to check on the potato harvest in the garden beds, and wasn’t too disappointed. I dug one plant’s yield from each of the small red potatoes and the Yukon golds. The red potato gave a pretty good harvest, and the first gold one did not, so I pulled a second gold and got a sizable handful. Both these potatoes did pretty well considering the grasshopper plague that never let the red ones flower at all, and only allowed a few of the golds to bloom, before demolishing the foliage. I was surprised to dig up what I presume was a skin from the seed potato of the bountiful Yukon gold.

I finally got a good look at the little silver stray that’s been streaking away after only a ghostly glimpse for a couple of months. Or, I think it’s the same cat, a pretty little thing. Topaz was fixated out the window when I walked by and when I stopped to stroke her she growled, but not at me. Only then did I look out and see what she was staring at, and who was staring back at her. It didn’t stay long: I was on my way to let Wren out, and thought it best to get it over with before Topaz wanted out again, to preclude a cat fight. The cat streaked through the fence and left Wren prancing at the gate. I have told Topaz many times since her dear brother’s untimely demise that if she wants another cat she can bring one home, but I guess not this one.

This morning we went for another ramble on soft damp ground through the cool woods, greeting trees we’d not seen for awhile.

We found ourselves at the North Pole, so named the first year I lived here when it designated the northern boundary. I’m grateful I was able to buy the field, forest, and canyon beyond after awhile, so now the North Pole marks the halfway point. We continued on until we came to the Survivor, and sat with her for awhile. She never ceases to amaze me, still living green nearly a century now since she resisted someone’s attempt to cut her up. I always ponder: did she fall over first, or did she get cut first and then fall over? Either way, she’s an inspiration to the power of stoic resistance and determined persistence. All the trees tell stories.

At the base of a decaying trunk, a baby piñon and an even younger juniper grow side by side in harmony.

We follow the course of a natural storm drain to slowly amble home. I’m grateful for the aimless nourishing hour we wandered the woods, remembering again connection, reflecting on those halcyon days when it was all so new. For decades with big dogs it was all new every carefree day. How much has changed, now carrying the weight of the new reich; through a darkening lens, yet still able to see with eyes of wonder so much beauty, and with such sweet, quiet little animal companions. Everything changes. 

Interbeing

Feb23
Meeting little Wren for the first time in person, at the shelter in GJ. She was beat up from fighting the cage she was kept in, skinny, and just spayed.

Wren’s life flashed before my eyes this afternoon. It was another gorgeous day, and I’d been working in the yarden, hanging laundry, catching up with people in phone calls, telling an old friend how good she is, how fast she comes when I whistle, every time, that’s she’s an oxytocin factory. I walked outside the gate to place an ornamental rock on the newly created pedestals of a fire mitigation stump. I read a text, then whistled for Wren. She tends to race up the driveway and get caught up in smells, so I walked a little way up, past the badger hole, whistling and calling. Nothing. Minutes elapsed. Never, not once, in the nearly three years she’s been with me has she failed to come running by the second whistle. Panic rose in me. Another couple of minutes calling, looking. It felt unreal. The only reason she would not come would be that she could not come. I imagined her killed in an instant by a bobcat or lion, or caught in a barbed wire fence. My life without her loomed too horrible to imagine. What made it even worse was that since I only stepped outside the fence for a moment, I hadn’t put on her ID collar… if someone found her, alive or…

Later that first day, as Garden Buddy drove us home from the shelter…

I called my best neighbors north and south to enlist a search party. Then, and only then, did I breathe, pause, and consider alternatives. I’ve become so accustomed to her stealth accompaniment with my every move that I often call her and she’s right behind me. Could she possibly be inside? So I hurried down to the house, opened the door, and there she was bouncing up and down, so relieved to see me, though not nearly as relieved as I was to see her precious face. I canceled the Wred alert, with gratitude knowing that my neighbors would be as relieved as I, and not annoyed with my calling for help. That’s what we do, and we all share the joy in a happy outcome.

Later this day, GB brought us a bag of goodies, and asked me to never write about the badger hole again.

That my go-to was panic when I couldn’t find Wren speaks to the underlying tension many of us are living with these days. A month ago it would have occurred to me much sooner that she was probably in the house. I am far better internally resourced to handle the stress of this hostile administrative coup than I was during the first regime, but all that means is that the anxiety isn’t crippling, not that it isn’t there. I’m hearing more specific accounts of people who’ve lost their jobs to the DOGE axe (including a fired federal worker who is now suicidal – I’m sure he’s not the only one), and the offensive letters they’ve been fired with. But I keep coming back to the message of courage and resilience as I also speak with more people each day who are jumping on the action bandwagon. Resistance is not futile: in fact, our future depends on it.

Sustenance after the scare: havarti, romaine, avocado, potato chip crumbs, mayo and mustard.

This morning I listened to a fabulous talk by Rebecca Solnit, about MLK, interconnectedness, climate chaos, and the nihilist ideology of isolationism and authoritarianism, among other things. She wraps it up with a marvelous message of interdependence and belonging. I also downloaded an app suggested by a friend, which makes it super easy to call your representatives: it provides scripts on a wide range of concerns, and even dials for you: “5 Calls – Contact Your Congress.” Resistbot is another good app to use to send letters to your reps. Spread the word, and remember the economic blackout this Friday, from midnight to midnight. Don’t spend money for one day. Let’s see what happens. I’m grateful for comprehending interdependence, and the feeling of belonging, of interbeing, that arises from that understanding.

Parmesan Cheese

Dec9
I was grateful I wasn’t the teacher this morning, so I could stay in bed a little later than usual. It was cold and grey all day with around five inches of snowfall, significantly more than the half inch predicted. Topaz looks like she wants to go out but she hates snow more than anything; possibly as a result of her unauthorized journey almost five years ago when she lived outside alone for a month in winter.
I’m grateful that I have some twice-baked potatoes in the freezer for easy heat-up going into this solstice season.

Though my pasta dough didn’t turn out quite as well as Bello’s, I tried his simple two-ingredient pasta last night with boiled broccoli and flour, zapped in a food processor. The motor on my small unit started to grind so I dumped out a sticky mass and had to knead in a lot of flour by hand, but in principle it worked! Then I boiled water and simply scissor snipped bits of the dough off into boiling water and cooked for awhile; meanwhile, frying some bacon. I dried the bacon, drained the pasta, and tossed the little broccognocchis into the hot pan, and added a little parmesan as they continued to cook.

Bacon crumbles and more parmesan on top, and it was a delicious – though ever so greasy – dinner. There was enough dough leftover to make three more meals, so one of them was lunch today, vegetarian this time, with an organic roasted garlic tomato sauce, sourdough toast with butter, parmesan, and grated granulated garlic. So simple, so delicious. I’m grateful for playing with my food, and for parmesan cheese.

Milestone

Jan2

It looks as though the internets might finally be back in business here on Fruitloop Mesa. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and it’s too late for a puzzle update tonight, so instead I’ll simply share my gratitude for this precious milestone, only one year and a couple of weeks later than I predicted: Wren and Topaz sharing the hearth rug.

Oh well. “Prediction is difficult, particularly when it involves the future,” as Mark Twain allegedly alleged. Let’s keep that in mind as we navigate this year in politics and polls. Happy New Year!

Empathy

Dec14

My intention today was Patience, because I had to take Wren to the vet forty-five minutes away. Monday morning she was fine, but after she’d been in the sunroom awhile, where she likes to lie in the windowsill, and also roll on the rug, she came back to the living room with her brown eye squinted shut and weeping. When I gently prised it open, it didn’t look bloody, or swollen, and I didn’t see any foreign object in it. So I watched it. On Tuesday, it was no better, so I called and made an appointment for today. Yesterday it was no better, but no worse, and this morning she seemed to be opening it just a little bit more often. Clearly it was still uncomfortable, so down to Delta we drove.

Where’s Wren?

We waited calmly together in the same room we had last time. I was calm because of mindful intention, and she was calm because I had carefully doped her up a few hours before, so that she might not freak out as she did last time. She trembled when we first arrived, but because we had a nice long wait, she calmed down by the time the skilled tech came in. I offered her some treats to offer Wren, and she sat down beside us and showed me a trick that worked like a charm: she held my hand and offered it to Wren to sniff, quickly rotated our hands to put hers in front of Wren’s nose, and back and forth a few times before we exchanged treats. It was fascinating to watch Wren’s subtle resistance to D’s hand dissipate, and her fear of taking a treat from a strange hand melt away. Then D slipped a lead on her, gathered her up, and carried her off.

I was grateful all happened before the tragic wailing commenced in the next room over. The walls are thin, and the doors loose sliders. I was already feeling empathy for the man in the room west of me, who had carried his dog in and laid him on blankets, as the tech asked how long the dog had been unable to walk, and heard that he’d been having seizures. I thought of Stellar’s last few days, and could relate to his distress. I’m grateful for empathy. And then, a woman in the room on the other side suddenly wailed and began to sob. There is only one thing that causes that sound in a vet’s office.

I knew she had just received word that her dog would have to be euthanized. I became very still, and allowed her weeping to hold my attention. I let her pain wash through me as I relived that trip home from the vet two years ago when I wailed for twenty miles over the body of my beloved Stellar. I felt the empathy that I imagine my friends in the front of the van felt for me then. I heard her use my very words, my best boy, as her keening waned. There were murmurs from others in the room, and earnest explanations that I couldn’t discern, and her sobs rose again. My chest swelled and emotion rippled through me, down my arms, and out my hands. My eyes filled, and a tear overflowed. All the while, I held her pain, knowing she would never know, but nevertheless sending compassion out toward her, and toward the man on the other side. How helplessly we love our dogs.

Soon, it was over. It was suggested that they sedate Wren because she wouldn’t let them dye her eye to see if there was a scratch, and if there was she’d need a temporary stitch in her third eyelid (that membrane that slides up from the inside corner when they blink), after which I’d have to give her antibiotic drops twice a day for a week. I asked if I could skip straight to the drops and see if that solved it. I wanted both of us out of there. It had already been a long day. If the drops don’t help, I’ll bring her back in a week, in the morning before their day is complicated by an overtime surgery and at least one emergency euthanasia.

As we were checking out, Dr. Natalie walked by and smiled at us. “Little Monster,” she said. I assume she meant it in the Lady Gaga term-of-endearment way. I asked her to pause and give my little monster a few treats, and she kindly did so. We stopped for a milkshake on the way home and she got the whipped cream. She fought the first application of drops, but allowed the second more readily. I think they’re already helping.

A Cozy Moment

Dec13

Wren and I took a little nap this afternoon, and Topaz joined us — for the first time ever! And Wren didn’t attack and Topaz lay down over Wren’s bottom and purred, and we all fell asleep. I’m grateful for this miraculous, peaceful, cozy moment.

Rainy Sunday

Nov19

Well, it took cropping and posting this picture to finally locate the missing match I dropped before lighting this fire 😂 I’m grateful for a sweet, quiet, rainy Sunday.

Driveway

Aug21

I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned the newly graveled driveway. I was grateful for the smooth footing as we walked up it this evening. I’ve lived here for thirty years and had the driveway graveled only once, a long time ago, since its initial creation. Many years of weather took their toll, and it’s been two ruts of big base rocks for years.

I’m so grateful that I was able to afford to refinish it, and grateful to my neighbors for sharing their hired crew. It’s been a pleasure to walk and drive on it for a couple of months now. And this evening, late sun breaking below clouds, a cooling breeze, with a little dog’s nose on high alert, was a moment of utter contentment.

One Year with Wren

Apr25
On our ride home from the shelter with Auntie Carol.
Her poor little face when she arrived, having tried to escape cages in shelters.
So thin…
Wren meets Rocky for the first time.
I begin to understand that she will eat anything… horseradish leaves.

Indulge me. I couldn’t help myself. I spent a little time reviewing a year of her photos — maybe a duplicate or two but I tried to pick those that haven’t been posted here before. There’s really no need for words. I’m grateful for our first year together, and wish us many more.

She is proud to have found Biko all by herself for the first time!
Romaine is just about her favorite snack
365 days of multiple hugs, most of them a little inconvenient, all of them welcome.
How she pulled this off?
Singing herself happy birthday this afternoon!