Sunday, August 30, 2015
Instead, I came home with a 7lb, 5 month old female dachshund/miniature pinscher cross puppy with god knows what else mixed in. She'd been picked up as a stray on the mean streets of Albuquerque. She was never going to be big, that was for sure, and, of course, was not house-broken. She was very timid, and hid behind the TV for the first hours in our house. When I approached her, she would run away, and her cautiousness reminded me of the coyotes I was hoping to keep out of our yard. But there was something about her that spoke to me, some quality of reserve and dignity that I could see under the fear in her skinny body. When I finally managed to catch her and then pick her up, I could feel her surrender, melting her body into mine, burying her head in my chest, safe at last.
Sunday, August 16, 2015
As an adult, I came to realize that there was no one good guy, or, perhaps better said, all in nature is the "good guy". Without one, we can't have the other. Rabbits, and there are a lot of them, are eaten by predators, and predators, which there aren't so many of, face starvation if they don't find prey. They both live by their wits, and if they don't, they die. The reality, beyond the death of one animal or the other, is that both fox and rabbit live on, headed in different directions but sharing the same world of sky and forest.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Sunday, June 28, 2015
7:30 a:m on a Sunday and I was getting dressed to go for a run. My husband came into the bedroom, pale and anxious and said he needed my help. Worried, I hurried to finish dressing and found him sitting at the desk in the family room with his laptop open. "I can't get this to work. I just don't know what to do. I feel terrible". He was due to leave for a week long workshop in Colorado, a seven hour drive, and was trying to post a letter of recommendation to an application portal that was due the following day. It wouldn't let him in. I couldn't help. His despair deepened. I suggested he call the listed contact number the first thing the next morning for help. "But everything is here in the computer" he groaned, "and I've got to get going". I reminded him that the computer was a laptop, and he could take it with him. His face brightened. I made us some breakfast, we ate, and he drove away, free of his burden IT burden.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
But we are still the same us inside, still making the same silly mistakes that we have always made. We are still sure that we will live forever and think of death and misfortune as something that happens to someone else, but not us. We swear that we won't make the same mistakes as our parents who refuse to go into assisted living even though they can't see and can't remember, but, of course, we will. We carry bad feelings about family members, and it's only when they come down with a serious illness that we realize how foolish we've been, and how much time we've wasted thinking bad thoughts and saying hurtful things. We think if we don't eat sugar, and cut grains and processed foods from our diet, our memories won't go, and we will avoid pain and discomfort because we exercise regularly. I'm hoping that at some point we will acquire wisdom, patience, and tolerance to substitute for all that we've lost. However, I'm afraid we may just keep bumbling along, just as we always have, thinking that as long as we can stand on our heads, we will be okay.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
I'd never owned a terrier before we got Niko. He was one or two years old (the go-to vet age when no one really knows for sure except that they aren't puppies and they aren't old)when I found him on Craig's list and added him to the family. He's a very handsome guy, and incredibly athletic. He is sweet, even tempered, and, for the most part, pretty easy going. He weighs in at 16 pounds. However, he is a killer. The breed was bred to go after vermin(hence the moniker), so that anything that moves means that his entire focus is on that thing. That also means that he is constantly alert to movement and noise, and, with incredible speed, will take off after anything moving. He's so fast, and so intense, that in a moment he can be out of my sight, headed straight for some kind of big trouble.
When I really think about it, I feel terrible for the constraints I place on him. He has to put up with the indignity of a leash, a fenced yard, and when he is free and running I'm always calling him back, pulling him away from the incredibly wonderful sights, sounds and smells of his Rat Terrier world. Not only did I have him castrated, but, to add insult to injury, I bath him after each time he finds the most wonderful things to roll in--usually shit or a dead carp--completely nullifying the magic of the back deep in the ground, digging deep roll. He gets scolded for just being himself, for discovering and eating great great things(I don't even want to know). I watch him, I admire him, I love him and even with all the care I take, I worry that one day, that Rat Terrier nature will take him too far away for him to come back.