As The Butter Churns

December 1st Dog Day Afternoon

   

(centenarian Helen surrounded by Vivian, Luther and Henry)

    After school today Henry and I rushed over to the post office so he could finally mail the “Dear Sasha and Malia” Obama letter. I spent over a week or so trying to find an address for their father. It was like trying to send a letter to the Easter Bunny. I sent emails. Made phone calls and left messages before finding where to send it. Sure Santa’s address is easy The North Pole. So is the President’s – The White House. But Mr. Obama isn’t the President – yet. He’s the President Elect and the President Elect does not receive mail at the White House. Mr. Obama is also not a Senator. He resigned his Senate seat, so you don’t send it to his Senate Office. Mr. Obama is also not running for office. He won the election so you don’t send it to the now defunct campaign office. So where do you send it? Well, you won’t be able to find the address anywhere on any of the websites. Oh they’ll tell you specifics about what to send including that they return anything not sent in a #10 envelope. But strangely, they don’t include an address. You have to be a bit more resourceful and call regarding employment. Then you can actually speak to a human being who will in fact give you the address. It seems, you send it to the Transition Team Office. Wouldn’t that be just perfect, Luther gets a job and I’m still unemployed.

    With relief I licked the envelope for Henry who can’t believe anyone can lick an envelope and like it. A big check off my to-do list.

    Afterward we dashed over to Summit Assisted Living for our monthly visit. The residents were gathered in the lobby near the Christmas tree listening to Christmas Carols when we arrived.

    The visit began as always with one of the residents asking “How many dogs do you have?”

    “Six at home.” Henry answers as the dogs walk around greeting the people finding a spot to sit down and be loved. Vivian is a hit with those in wheel chairs who prefer not to have Bruno sit on their laps and can’t reach Luther without risk of falling out of their seats. Luther on the other hand goes between performer, explorer and foot warmer. The new Social Director walked in smiling with Helen who’d just had her 100th birthday over the Thanksgiving Holiday. Helen was smiling as she pulled up.

    “Helen is quite a dog person,” the Social Director explained.
(Helen and Vivian)

    “I was so worried I’d missed the dogs today. You see I had a visitor and I thought she’d never leave and I’d miss the dogs.” Helen said as she reached out to pet Vivian. “Oh what a beauty. You know, I’m so happy to see the dogs. I always had dogs. My mother made us have little dogs like Pomeranians, but I like all dogs. I live here, but the hardest part is not having a dog. A house isn’t a home with out dogs. They bring true love. What’s his name?” She said looking at Bruno.

    “Bruno” I said handing him to her.

    “What?” Helen asked.

    “Bruno!” I said louder.

    “What? Benny?” She asked. While the Social Director was making megaphone gestures in the background encouraging me to speak even louder.

    “No. Bruno!!!”

    “Spell it.” She commanded.

    “B-R-U-N-O!” I shouted.

    “Oh. Bruno. I knew a Bruno years ago. I’ll never forget him….” She drifted back to some warm memory.
(Vivian and one of the residents)

    Just about this time, Henry who is not so slowly becoming my father, decided to bring out cornet in and play a tune or two. So he began his performance by just trying to hit various notes sp Luther would howl. Once that was accomplished, he went on to play a rendition of “Jingle Bells.”
(Henry blowing his horn - Jingle Bells)

    “I hope I didn’t hurt anyone’s ears. I know I sound like a wounded moose. My teacher thinks maybe I should give up the cornet and try the tuba instead.” Henry apologized. Over my father’s dead body I thought to myself silently.

    “You’re just a little low Sweetie. Your fingering was quite good.” The Social Director said kindly.

    “Would you like to have Bruno sit on your lap?” Henry turned to one of the women who come every time.

    “Well I don’t know. I don’t think I want him right on my legs.” Wanda said

    “I can put a little blanket down if you’d like” Henry suggested.

    “Well, that would be nice.” Wanda decided.

    So Henry reached over and began to lay Luther’s winter coat over Wanda’s legs when suddenly her wheel chair spun out of control doing a quick circle and veering directly into the Christmas tree where she crashed knocking out the lights and toppling it to the floor. We all sat in disbelief. It would have been funny, but knowing her general age and how fragile they all are it was harrowing. Luckily, she was fine. She was smiling and laughing with in seconds ready for Bruno to finally sit in her lap. (Henry, Bruno, Luther's jacket, Wanda and the tree being repaired in the back)

(Bruno ready to relax in Wanda's lap)

    I’m a completely awful person, I sat there stunned resisting the thought of taking a picture and hearing “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” playing in my head.

    “Did I do that?!” Henry panicked.

    “No. Honey, I think I did it.” Wanda took the responsibility.

    “Are you sure? I think the blanket; I mean Luther’s jacket might have caused it when I put it on your lap. I put it over the controls. I’m so sorry if I did that.”
(Wanda and Bruno - finally enjoy each other)

    “How many dogs do you have?” Wanda asked again.

    “Six at our house.” Henry answered again.

    As we were leaving, the Social Director came up to me and said, “You should have gotten a shot of the wheel chair crashing into the tree! Now that would have been a shot.” Perhaps, I won’t be damned to hell after all.

November 21st Wait 'Til Your Father Gets Home

(Fairhaven Middle School - early in the morning - on a band rehearsal day)

    When I got home after taking Henry to school, I got a call. “Hey, what’s for dinner tomorrow?” Tom asked strangely .

    “Whyyyyy?” I responded, hopeful.   

    “I thought you sounded down lately and so I cashed in some Alaska miles to surprise you and Henry.”

    “Seriously?” I asked, knowing he was completely serious.

    This wasn’t my first surprise like that. I thought back to a phone call I got years ago in Minneapolis. It was the anniversary of my assault and I was feeling alone. I was at a photo shoot when the photographer’s assistant said there was a call for me.

    “For me?” She nodded, and handed me the phone.

    “Hello?” I answered, completely bewildered.

    “Hey, what’s cookin’, good-lookin’?” Tom answered in a cheerful voice.

    “Hey. I’m just at a photo shoot,” I answered, figuring he had no idea what day it was.

    “What are you doing later?” Tom asked.

    “Going home. Nothing special," I said, feeling sorry for myself.

    “Well, I thought I’d take you to dinner,” he said with a smile in his voice.

    “WHAT? How is that possible? You’re in Santa Monica and I’m here.”

    “Ahh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’m at the airport and will be there in a few hours - if you don’t mind picking me up. I have to be at work tomorrow, so we can go to dinner and I’ll fly back in the morning. With the time change it’ll work out fine.”

    “Do you know what day it is?”

    “Of course..”

    Back to today and this surprise:

    I asked for details.

    “I’ll be there at 8:00PM,” Tom informed me.

    “Drat. I’ll be in Burlington with Henry, finishing gymnastics. Do you mind if Alexis picks you up?” I asked. I hoped it didn’t sound like I didn’t want to pick him up.

    “Sounds great; he’ll probably be on time.”

    “You think you’re funny.” He knows how to shoot the zingers.

    “It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other.”

    “I’m so excited. I can’t believe you're coming.”

   
(transformation begins)

    (no more salon for me)

    I didn't say a word to Henry, but I had less than a day to transform myself back into a girl. I colored my hair and bought lipstick and a bottle of "Out the Door" topcoat at the beauty supply - just in case I had time for a pedi. Knowing I needed a new outfit, I went to "Whistle Work" with Lisa and picked up a brand new pair of navy coveralls. She said they looked like they could be my Sunday dress coveralls. When we were just about ready to walk out the door for Burlington, Henry looked me over carefully.

    “Mama, you look awfully nice to go to gymnastics.”

    “I just thought it would be a nice change from my farm-wife look.”

    “Oh.”

    Alexis offered to feed the animals, and I took him up on it as it was raining and I didn’t want to ruin my hair graining the cows.

    Bursting with excitement while driving to gymnastics, I had to stop myself from dropping hints.I was  barely able to contain myself and almost blurted it out a couple of times. But I knew it would completely distract Henry from his workout and, with competition only weeks away at this point, I tried to be maternally selfless. I ran some errands and tried to keep myself busy.

    Henry watched “Baby Boom” with Diane Keaton in the car on the way home. I’d forgotten how funny the movie was and how much I’d relate to it at this point. Diane Keaton’s character loses her big job because her long-lost cousin leaves her a baby and abrupt motherhood interferes with her “Tiger Lady” reputation. So she purchases a place out in the country. The workman at her 62-acre Vermont home  keeps telling “J.C.” that "it will be just another $7,000 dollars." Her well goes dry, her roof leaks and she goes from loving to loathing the place as her bank account dwindles, all of which helped keep my mind off the surprise and my mouth shut.

    I called Tom from the road and found out his plane was a little delayed, so I knew we’d beat them home.

    When we arrived, I tried to tidy up a bit and get the dogs fed. When I heard the dogs barking, I called Henry downstairs. I imagined the wonderful moment when Tom would walk in and Henry would see his daddy. What I got instead was:

    “God damn it! IRISH! DOWN! God damn it! What the. . .,”  erupted from the pitch-black game room. Tom continued his tirade in complete frustration, ignored by an anxious, overgrown puppy who kept leaping in the air, trying to lick the long-lost daddy and managing to knock off his glasses.

    Tom was home.

    “Daddy! You sound like Grandpa. Mom, Daddy’s here! Mama?” Henry shouted, and then he turned to me in sudden realization. “Wait a second; you wanted to look nice for gymnastics?  I don’t think so. Mama, you bought that new cranberry lipstick for this guy?”
(guilty as charged)

November 19th Nothin' But A Hound Dog

(Henry and Luther Zacharia - from Daphneyland Basset Rescue)

    As we were driving home a few nights ago, Henry heard on the radio, as most people did, that the Obamas were going to get a puppy from a rescue.  He heard about their inexperience as dog owners and the allergies. It was then that Henry decided he needed to impart some of his experience as a dog owner to the Obama family. And weigh in on the canine appointment - The result follows:

"Dear Sasha and Malia,

    Hello I'm Henry Miller I live on a farm in Western Washington. I think your dad will be a great president and your mom as first lady, but what I want to talk to you about your puppy.
    I know a thing or two about dogs considering I have 6 - an Anatolian shepherd, Rottweiler, Coon hound, lab, rat terrier and last but not least my basset hound Luther. Obviously you don't need a guard dog.(Henry and a few of his dogs)

    I love my basset hound very much because he is loveable and affectionate. My mom says basset hounds are such clowns that if everyone had one there would be world peace.  (Luther and his gaggle of goslings)

(Luther flies through the pasture) (Luther & Emmett snuggle)

    Here are some reasons why you should have one, bassets can take all the pressure in the world, they love to play and sleep so they'll play when you want to and sleep when they feel like it,
  (Luther curled up in the laundry)

they're very obidient, you don't need a heater because if they lay on your feet it's very comfortable
(Henry and Luther sleeping)

plus they double as a foot rest, they're also extremely funny to everyone, you can even teach them to howl on command as long as you howl with them, also they're ears feel like velvet. I also know your allergies and I know that when people with allergys are around the things their allergic to they can grow out of them. Basset hounds live long so he or she will be loved a long time.
    Whatever you get, I hope you have the same connection with your dog as I do mine.

(Henry & lovable Luther)

Sincerely,

Henry Miller age 11

  (Click on letter for pop-up window - to Malia and Sasha Obama)


  (Click on letter for pop-up window -letter to Malia and Sasha)

  (Just riding in the car -  Luther, Bruno and Henry)

November 8th Shadow Of A Doubt

(The Red Baron - Irish wearing protective eyewear)

    I woke up to a wet nose being shoved into my eye socket. Sleepily, I reached my hand out to snuggle the baby giant. This would be Irish’s one and only attempt to wake me before he peed a puddle the size of one of the Great Lakes - infamously known in our house as ”Lake Irie”. Despite the dark morning, this is motivation, as I go through Costco packs of paper towels like other people use milk. I opened one eye and peered at the clock - 5:30AM. Reluctantly, I threw back the covers, slipped my feet into my fuzzy slippers, threw on Pea’s tattered, but warm red robe and shuffled down the stairs. Opened the front door and put Irish on the porch before going back to bed for another hour of sleep.

    Still dark at 7:00AM in the Pacific Northwest. I finally got out of bed and forced myself to go outside and feed the barn animals before taking the time to brew my coffee. I felt selfless, virtuous and proud of myself. As I was about to open the barn door I saw a humongous print.

(paw print by barn)

    I wondered what animal had been so close to the barn. I opened the barn doors and released the geese. Honking and flapping, they made their way outside, only to turn around - as they often do - wondering what’s taking me so long. They all came back inside to watch me let the goats, sheep and Miracle out of their pens, but they lost interest as I went about separating flakes and feeding the four-footed animals.

    I was dutifully filling up the goats' water when I heard the geese begin shrieking. Dropping the hose, I ran across the rocky driveway, struggling to keep my slippers on by curling my toes and holding the red robe up so I wouldn’t trip as I awkwardly tromped.

    Irish was off the porch and chasing the geese. I began calling for help. Screaming over and over, “Henry! Help! Irish! NO! Henry! Help! Irish! NO!” Poor Mabel had been singled out and was flapping and running for her life. I caught up to them as Irish had his mouth around her neck. I don’t think he meant to harm her. I threw my robe over Mabel. It worked, and Irish bounded off in another direction. He cornered the rest of the gaggle as I continued screaming for help, my throat hoarse. I couldn’t keep him away from every goose. He’s unbelievably agile and incredibly fast. I felt very alone and desperate as I screamed for help. Bruno momentarily distracted Irish, so I seized the opportunity and ran up to the door pounding and screaming. No one came. I ran back toward the geese, toes curled, to usher the gaggle to safety in the dog run. Once they were inside, Irish ran around happy as you please with the rat-bat dog, Bruno. Bruno probably couldn’t outrun Irish on a straightaway, but then again, he’s not dumb enough to try. Rather, he darts around like a bullet, making quick turns Irish can’t keep up with. Truly a big baby, Irish just wanted someone to chase and to chase him. Mabel was not as forgiving. 

    About this time, Henry came out and I yelled hoarsely for him to turn off the hose in the barn. I figured it was flooding all over the place. I realized that when I had let Irish out this morning the gate must not have been closed. Wayne had come in late and probably left it open, so all this time Irish had been wandering around enjoying his freedom. It was his footprint by the barn. Obviously, my brush with the cougars had left me paranoid. We did not have large predators coming this close to the house. I went inside and brewed my coffee. I had really earned this pot.

    After that, the day went on quite nicely. I haven’t mentioned it but, sadly, Kristie moved out of my dad’s apartment above the shop and in with her friend, Jena on November 1st. I was very sorry to see her go. We didn’t do all that much together, but the occasional glass of wine and knowing there was another woman around was comforting. However, today my new tenant, Alexis, moved in. He’s a great guy who moved here from just south of San Francisco.

(Alexis bearing gifts of coffee, cookies, pinot grigio and dog biscuits from Trader Joes™)

    Alexis is the kind of guy who jumps right in. His first real day here and he offered to help Henry in the barn while I finally took down the now out-of-place and goose-ravaged graveyard. The moment Alexis produced an impressive Butterfly knife Henry was an immediate Alexis fan. After what seemed to Henry a socially acceptable amount of time, he asked Alexis where he got his unusual name. “After all, it is kinda odd for a boy.” The answer seems to be his mother was French and his father was Greek so they chose a name that would suit both cultures. There’s another version according to his cousin in North Carolina that has to do with a czar, but we’ll leave that for another time.

    It was past time for me to grain the cows, which made me a little nervous. Gallantly, Alexis offered to join me. We walked down and I showed him where I’d been standing when I’d seen the cougar and where the cougar had been. Not wanting to freak him out, I said that many people had lived on Mosquito Lake Road for twenty years and had never seen a cougar. “In fact, Wayne says I’ll probably never see another one, which is OK by me."

    The evening brought Wayne, Henry, Alexis and me together for a celebration of his first real night on the farm. Naturally, our fare included chili, chocolate-butterscotch cookies and “Journey to The Center of the Earth”. Poor Alexis had every single animal on his lap for a time. A good sport, he hugged, snuggled, petted and accepted kisses from Bruno, Abbey, Luther, Irish, Emmet, Vivian and love-starved Deli – who inexplicably lights up when Alexis walks in the room.

    After the movie, Wayne sleepily climbed the stairs to his attic world while I walked Alexis out to the front porch. We stood there in the bright moonlight talking about the beauty of the place, the pros and cons of living here and whatever else entered our minds. As I was talking to Alexis I noticed a movement behind him in the shadows. Ever paranoid, I doubted myself. Wondering if my eyes or the shadows were playing tricks on me, I asked Alexis to turn and tell me if he saw it too. He looked and, after a moment, said slowly, “Yes, I do. There’s something light-colored there. I can see it moving. I wouldn’t have seen it if you hadn’t pointed it out.”

    “It’s a cougar, isn’t it?”

(taken the next day from the porch - the cougar was on the other side of the driveway between the pine tree on the left and the post on the right)

    “Yes, it is. It’s definitely a cougar. Look at how it moves,” he answered almost inaudibly. As we watched a giant version of Emmett slink casually down the path between the apple trees and along the pasture fence line, I ran inside to get a flashlight. The big one Tom bought me didn’t work. Again. So I grabbed a little one and ran outside, yelling to Henry we had a cougar in the front yard. We held up the flashlight and, sure enough, two green eyes blinked back at us. The cougar had been about eighty feet away from the house.

     “Hey, do you want to hop in my jeep and go see if we can get a closer look?” Cool. A new playmate.

    “Is it a hard top?” I queried hesitantly. Small chuckle.

     “Good question. Yes, it is a hardtop.”

    “Heck Yeah. Let’s go. I’ll grab my camera.” I ran inside and asked Henry if he wanted to go.

    “Uh. NO! I do not. Mom, I don’t think you should go out looking for cougars either. Moms don’t do that when they have children.”

    “This one does. I want to see one, just not standing next to me.”

    As we hoisted ourselves into the jeep, I glanced up to Wayne’s room because I knew he’d want to go too, but it was dark and I didn’t want to wake him to go on what would probably be a wild goose chase (my second today).

    Scanning the pasture, trees and surrounding brush for eyes, we saw raccoon eyes, and a lone doe, but no cat so we returned home from our safari planning our next adventure. We thought we’d do a beaver pond stakeout. We’d need blankets and hot beverages, flashlights.

October 17th Why Can't We Be Friends?

(Vivian Irene & Luther Zacharia)

    Vivian is my third Rottweiler. My first was Josephine Margaret, then I got Gladys Ann and finally Vivian Irene. When Vivian was just a little puppy, I spoke to Daviann, the breeder, who I knew quite well by then, about how it was going. During the conversation I excitedly told her of our other new dog, a rescue we’d just named Luther. She expressed her disappointment about my getting a basset hound instead of a bigger dog. She thought I should have gotten “a dog a Rottweiler could really play with”. Over the years, as Luther and Vivian have cared for each other, played their own version of tag, snuggled and looked out for each other I’ve often thought of her words and how silly they were.

    If she could only see Bruno and Irish.  Bruno is smaller than Luther by 55lbs and as big as Vivian seemed, she looks like an undernourished poodle next to Irish. (The new & ultimate Mutt & Jeff)

(Irish & Bruno) (Irish & Bruno tostle)

    Two stranger playmates are hard to find. Undaunted by their size differences, Bruno doesn’t mind Irish’s big fat clumsy club like paws smacking him down. He simply clamps down on Irish’s eyebrow and snarls. Bruno’s snarls are absolutely ridiculous. He sounds like a mad mosquito followed by a snort. Irish a baritone sounds as if he’s doing some sort of Gregorian chant.
(More Bruno & Irish)
    Really they have nothing in common. Bruno is a tiny boned rat terrier, light as a feather, and sort of cat like. He has a thin coat and sits by the heater vent willing it to go on. Bruno will pee in a cat box and sit on the top of a sofa cushion. He likes to burrow under the covers and eats a thimble of food.

    Irish on the other hand is bred to withstand the elements and likes to sleep on the porch outside. He is as tall as the kitchen counter with a tail that can clear a coffee table. When he pees it’s about the size of Lake Erie. And when he sleeps he throws himself to the ground with a thump near a window hoping for some cold air. (more wrestling) (Irish's accommodation for Bruno)

    Despite these differences they’re the best of friends. Irish has learned to use only his head when playing and play they do until they’re exhausted, proving friendships are not simple or predictable. Love endures all things - and overcomes all challenges.

October 14th The Trickle Down Theory

(A big 'un)

    Henry and I leashed up Irish and Deli and took all the dogs for a walk to the pond to get a little fresh air. Henry’s been sick and I’ve been sick with worry. Worried about money, worried about our future, worried about what’s going to happen. Worried about whether or not the 750 billion dollar bailout will ever reach the people who need it. So, should we give up on Fort Flashback? Sadly, I think the answer is yes. We, like most people, have got to concentrate on the basics, paying the mortgage, gas and food.
(Deli and Henry in their fall coats)

    In the beginning, I talked to banks until I was blue in the face. Although encouraging, the bankers were mainly helpful only in passing me on to the next banker, who could not loan us the money either. At the time I didn’t know the economy was on the verge of collapsing. Back then I spoke endlessly to venture capitalists who were interested -- if they could have a quick exit strategy. There really isn’t a quick buck to be made in a colonial living-history facility. I was told to try and get grants because my cause was altruistic, but I’m no grant writer and, frankly, the ins and outs of nonprofits elude me. I’d need help. I’ve spoken to potential investors who say the plan is viable, but time marches on and nothing happens. Financial consultants want me to become a Bed & Breakfast. Which I suppose is still a possibility but, honestly, I hate doing my own laundry, never mind other people’s.

    I know I’m not alone. My friend, Doug, told me of a man in Porter Ranch so despondent he killed his whole family because of his financial situation. And the other day I sat next to a teary-eyed woman at gymnastics who was speaking on the phone to a friend about walking away from her house and starting  over completely. It seems they were going to have a big family reunion in Italy this summer, but now no one can make it. She was going to try and sell their computer to buy food. Strange that we’ve come to a place where this doesn’t shock me. Is this peek through time? Is this how it felt in the '30's?
(Henry swings -)

Will we look back and call this the second Depression? As we walk along, I push back my tears. The dogs racing around with tails wagging, the cool crisp air on my face, and Henry’s laughter seem to melt my worries away. 

(Henry swings)
(Vivian dares Henry to play)
(Vivian makes sure Henry knows she's still fast)
(Vivian wins)
(Vivian dives in for kisses)

(Bruno - the rat bat dog)
(Luther being pursued by the rat thing)

     Bruno races around the other dogs like a bat out of hell. He seems to have springs in his legs as he jumps over Luther, dashes around corners and squeezes himself under just about anything. Irish is fascinated with him, watching Bruno’s every move. Anticipating where he’ll be, Irish tries to block him. He loves playing with Bruno, but Irish is still recovering from his July motorcycle injury and must remain leashed until he gets the pins out of his leg. (Bruno leaps) (Irish still recovering)

Deli, on the other hand, is always leashed or she’s gone, gone, gone after some enticing scent. Luther and Vivian are very easy, taking turns racing, rolling and investigating. They come running at just the mention of their names and are never far from sight.
(Vivian and Luther enjoy the day)

    The pond was not as we expected. Wally (the beaver) has completely dammed the pond. Again. This time he has done an unbelievable job. There isn’t even a trickle flowing past his dam. The pond level is high and the water is stagnant. Wally's taken down more trees around the bank, stripped the bark off others and cut some trunks into manageable pieces to move. We inspected his work, amazed at his craftsmanship and diligence. I really need to set up a beaver-cam with night vision.
(Wally's work is never done)

(Always a new project) (Some of Wally's trees, the pavilion & Lu)

    Not quite ready to go home, we circled around the pavilion and walked on. At the end of the path we were surprised again. The barbed wire fence marking our property line was gone. The creek just beyond it had been filled in, with just a tiny stream running through a buried tube. Where trees used to be someone had bulldozed a gash in the forest. Pushed-down trees were strewn about like giant pick-up  sticks. (trees on the sides pushed almost, but not quite, over)

Stunned, we walked on. The path kept going and going until finally we came upon the instrument of destruction. Obviously, this was the noise I’d heard at times in the mornings. I’d thought it was loggers taking down cedar, as we’d been asked if they could selectively log some of our trees.

    “Mom, they annihilated the creek.”

    “ I know. I can’t believe it’s just gone. I can’t believe they had permits to do this. That was a wetland.”

    “You mean they’re sneaking?”

    “That’s exactly what I mean. This place looks like “Over the Hedge” where the men come in and recklessly chop down the forest and fill in the water source without a thought. I really can’t believe it.”

    “Should we tell someone?’

    “Well, it’s a little late.”

    “Yeah, they can’t ever put it back.”

    “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.”

    “Is that what people think?”

    “Sometimes. You know, I don’t know for sure they didn’t have permits to do this, but it just doesn’t seem right. I am not allowed to have our cows come within a hundred feet of the creek that runs along our property.”

    “You mean the one Wally dammed up?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Are you going to call someone, Mama?”

    "I think I am. I don’t really like tattling, but this just isn’t right and if I don’t say anything, then I’m part of the problem, too. I don’t think anyone can build here because of the wetlands. I think this will just be for hunters.”

    “Just great! More gunshots. Who are you going to call?”

    “The County.” We started walking back, surveying the damage. Deli was on high alert. I wondered what animals were displaced. “Henry, we’ve got to come back with a shovel and open up that stream Wally blocked.”

    “OK, but what’s the big deal?”

    “Well, there isn’t even a trickle getting through.”

    “I know, but he likes it that way; he lives there and he keeps doing it. Why don’t we just let him?”

    “Well, what about all the animals that depend on that stream as it winds to the river? That’s their drinking water. Toads, frogs, raccoons, bear, deer and who knows what else.”

    “Well, they can come to the pond.”

    “Henry, we don’t know how far into the forest it goes before it meets the river. They can’t all come across the road to our pond. Wally has shut down that stream just like the bulldozer.”

    “Why that ..., he didn’t have a permit. Call the County on his beaver butt.”
(Wally's dam)

October 7th Braveheart

(fall leaves)

    Mike came up from Tacoma today to visit and help me do some bookkeeping. We chatted a bit catching up before we hunkered down with matching coffee cups in the dining room and spread everything out on the table.

    Hours rolled by as we sorted, piled, noted, filed and recorded all sorts of information. We looked up and it was suddenly 2:00PM and we were starving. I knew Mike would never actually cook anything and I did owe him for diligently helping with this tedious job. I began grilling turkey melts when I heard a noise and Deli started barking fiercely. Not taking any chances I turned off the stove and went to investigate. Looking outside I saw Irish who is normally confined to the porch during his convalescence standing on the driveway wagging his tail looking down toward the creek.
 (career criminal)
    “Irish is out!” I cried frantically for many reasons. First, Irish might run in the road if a motorcycle came by. Second, he might re-injure his leg with too much activity and third, I remembered. “The geese are out! Where are the geese? Irish hasn’t been with the geese unsupervised. EVER. I don’t know if he’ll hurt them.” Mike came dashing out, as much as a man with bad knees can dash. Just as he was about to come down the steps, I called to him to get one of the air horns from the kitchen just in case. He disappeared into the house. I figured, the noise would shock Irish if he grabbed one of the geese. “He’s got them in the brush below the hill!” I was scared. I didn’t know how long he had been out. He’s not a mean dog, but he’s just so big and rambunctious. I raced down and started calling him toward me. He loped over to me tail wagging as bouncy as you please and at the last moment darted out of my grasp. If he could have laughed he would have. Happily he toyed with me enjoying his freedom. Dashing from me to the geese in the tall grass as if he'd read the Notre Dame playbook. I could hear honking, but I didn’t know if any of them were injured. And then just because Irish is truly still a puppy, he walked up on the porch and gave up. Game over. 

    Mike immediately locked him in the house while I went to see how the geese were. To my shock and dismay I only found one. You never find just one alone. I called. “Hey, hey, hey little geese, hey hey hey” and waited. I trounced down into the tall grass calling them over and over. Nothing. Just Quackmire came flapping up to the top of the hill walking around aimlessly looking for his flock. I scooped him up in my arms snuggling him. He stuck his bill in the crook of my neck. He seemed to be shaking a little. I whispered to him telling him he was ok now. Then I called to Mike, “I only can find one goose!”

     “Just one?” (Quackmire)

    “Yes!” Fearing broken necks, feathers and white fluffy bodies stained with blood strewn about the yard. I held onto Quackmire not budging. I’d have started looking if I had to, but Mike was there and I could see he was already searching the property. Had there been a massacre while we were sitting just inside working? Had I let them down?

     “Denise! I can’t find them. I don’t hear them” The latter being even stranger if you know anything about geese.

    “Do you see feathers?”

    “I see some, but not enough to indicate anything, I’ll keep looking.” I waited with Quackmire on the grass his breast feathers soft against my cheek. Would he be alone now? I thought of Dr. Coffee who wants to get goslings from me in the spring. We just sat Quackmire and I.

    “Denise! Denise!” Mike called frantically.

    “Are they alive?”

    " They’re in the barn!”

     “All of them?” (everything's ok)

    “I counted seven.”  I breathed a sigh of relief. As I walked over to the barn I realized that Quackmire is their leader and he probably lured Irish away from the flock. Knowing the barn is their haven they went inside. I looked at cranky Quackmire with a whole new respect. He had sacrificed himself for his family. He was no chicken, he was one brave goose. I mean gander.

October 6th Living In The Moment

   

(October!)

    An entire month has rolled by and it was time again to go to Summit, the assisted living facility. To prepare, I took Luther, Vivian and Bruno to Ferndale to see Lisa at Glacierview Animal Clinic. Bruno needed his rabies vaccination. After being weighed and discovering Bruno was a hefty 13lbs. He really doesn’t look an ounce over 7lbs.

    After I did a sweep of schools I had Quinn, Phoebe and Henry with dogs ready for our 3:15 appointment. What a difference a month makes. We weren't having popsicles outside, it was icy cold. Unfortunately, the director, Stacy wasn’t there so things were not organized like last time.
(arriving at Summit)
    I had prepared the girls on how to answer repeated questions and they were fabulous. Phoebe patiently answered, “Which dog is your favorite?” the same way maybe eight times.

    “Well, I love them all, but I’ve known Vivian and Luther the longest.” Quinn was gracious taking Vivian around asking if they wanted to pet her and assuring them she was gentle. While Phoebe took Bruno around to people’s laps. Once he landed in one lady’s lap, she wouldn’t let him go. Bruno got very comfortable and it made me wonder if they shouldn’t get a permanent dog for the facility. Not Deli.
(Phoebe & Bruno) (Phoebe shares Bruno)
(Bruno is almost stolen) (Bruno gets comfortable) (Bruno and the ladies)
    The visit was far from perfect. Bruno peed on one of the Halloween decorations and was scolded by some nurses. Vivian after an hour of being loved by the residents and eating plenty of vanilla creme cookies from one man’s room growled at a visitor to protect her new people. (the cookie man cometh - you could never get a picture of Vivian catching her cookie as there isn't a shutter speed fast enough)

Luther almost jumped in one woman's wheelchair when she offered him a cookie. And then when Henry had him on the leash he almost took one woman down when it got wrapped around her from behind. (freshly peed upon)
(Luther also got his rope wound in a woman's wheelchair)

    Henry didn’t see Franz. He waited and looked but Franz didn’t appear. So Henry anxious to see his new friend took Luther and went to his room. Franz didn’t remember him. He wondered how Henry knew so many things he knew about him. Henry told him and they had a pleasant time, but it was hard for both of them.
  (Vivian enjoys the attention)
    The truth is, I don't think anyone remembered us, but they enjoyed themselves. And we enjoyed ourselves chatting and laughing with the residents. One woman in particular captured Quinn's heart. She was funny asking Quinn all sorts of questions, telling her to play basketball and making interesting observations. They were fun to watch.

     After we left, Quinn always looking on the bright side said "Maybe it's a blessing they don't remember. Then their days don't seem all the same."

   

September 30th Rumplestilskin

    (homemade wool drying contraption)

    Toby arrived intending to stay two days and now she’s been here twenty. Funny, she keeps thinking she’s intruding, but I’ve never eaten such well-balanced meals and had all my laundry washed and put away and my bathroom organized complete with tea candles by my bathtub. Of course, she can be snarly and cranky, but I love her anyway. As far as I’m concerned she can stay forever, but alas she feels it’s time for her to move on in the morning
. (Bruno having stolen Luther's special spot)

    One last hurrah to go, she’s decided to spin some of the lambs’wool. First, she washed it and made a funky contraption over the stove to dry it. Then broke out the spinning wheel. It’s a newer looking thing, not exactly what I would get if I took up spinning because it doesn’t look colonial. (Toby carding the wool in her egg buying pjs)

Nonetheless, everyone was fascinated. Henry wanted a turn, I wanted a turn and mostly Irish wanted a turn. He couldn’t keep his nose out of it. Thrusting his snout in the wheel to make it stop. Stomping on the pedals. Trying to taste the newly spun thread. Pawing the tools Toby uses to card the wool; he couldn’t get enough.
(Irish carding wool)

    Irish is a funny thing, truly a mimic. I wonder if it comes from so many years of breeding to live with different livestock. Perhaps it’s part of the breed to take on the characteristics of animals around them. The other day, I heard spooky music coming from the game room. Knowing I was the only one home I bravely went to investigate. Only to find Irish on his hind legs playing the piano presumably while trying to catch a moth. When he’s with the cattle he tries the hay. When he’s with the cats he starts to knead the rugs and now he’s a spinner.
(Irish take note of how Toby does it)

    The thread Toby spun was very pretty. She did some “regular” wool first so we could see the difference in the different textures and lengths. She’d feed some wool in and then slowly lean back and let it pull. Over and over it was almost hypnotic. I thought I should consider spinning although I’ve never been a capable knitter or had any aptitude for crocheting. My grandmother, Irene tried endlessly to teach me, but I didn’t have the patience I guess. Bye the bye. I think I dying the wool and spinning it would be fun.
(Irish paying close attention)

    So in the morning, Toby and Dean will move forward on their adventure to who knows where. Somewhere in Los Angeles where Toby can resume work as a script supervisor and Dean can attend a special day class. As for Eric, we think he’s leaving Canada tomorrow, but then again we’ve thought that every day for more than three weeks now.

(Learning new things can be so exhausting)

September 8th Henry's Heroes

 (Luther meeting residents at The Summit in Fairhaven)

    Right after school, Henry and I headed over with Luther for our first visit to Summit Place, an assisted living community. Luther was the star attraction. I was signed up with Henry as a volunteer, but Luther was the one who was going to do a little snuggling, tail wagging and if called upon, warm their feet. Henry and I were really along for the ride.
(Luther makes the rounds)

    When we arrived, Stacy, the director, and several residents had assembled out on the patio to enjoying raspberry popsicles and the warm sunshine. Luther trotted up and greeted everyone, roaming from one person to the next. Henry began nervously mumbling answers to eager questions about Luther. After awhile, the ham in Henry began to take over and he became louder and more animated. Fifteen minutes into our visit he wanted to set up a monthly schedule to insure our return. He howled with Luther and made sure every one got a chance to feel Luther’s velvety ears. Luther not known to shy away from a good scratch was happy to oblige.
  (Luther howls for the people) (Luther is a ladies man)

The doors to the facility opened and a man appeared in the doorway. Luther, never one to forget his manners trotted up to greet the man. Stacy introduced him as Franz. I'd dated a Franz. German. I thought. He spoke with the same laughter in his words and the same thick heavy accent of my grandfather. The sound of apple strudel, starched white shirts, Black Forest Ham, prescription pads and antiseptically clean refrigerators. (Stacy - Franz meets Luther - Henry)

I asked him “Where are you from?”

“Austria.” He replied.

“Ahh, my grandfather’s favorite country.”

“Where was he from?”

“Berlin, my mother too.”

“We were part of Germany – in ’38. Hitler you know” He said turning to Henry.

“Those were dark days.”

“Ya, ya.”  He nodded.

“Your ring,” Henry interjected. “Your ring, it looks like - the jewels look like the Olympic rings. Were you in the Olympics?” Henry said wide-eyed.
(Olympic ring from the President of Austria)

“Ya. St. Moritz 1948 and then in 1952 and 1956 as a coach for the Canadians”

“For what?” Henry inquired.

“I don’t understand him. He mumbles. My hearing is not too good.” Franz said looking at me.

“He wants to know what event you were in.”

“Ahhh. Alpine, There is only Alpine.”

“Did you, uh, um did you get a medal?” Henry asked cautiously not wanting to take away from his accomplishment, if he hadn't.

“Ya. Silver.”

“WOW! MOM! He got silver. Were you for Austria or the United States?”

“Honey, I think only Austrians win Alpine.” A kind man, Franz laughed at my pitiful national humor.

"Oh, the Americans, they're good now." He conceded.

"I told my mother. If I ever went to the Olympics I'd get a tattoo of the Olympic rings. She said if I went to the Olympics she might get an Olympic rings tattoo. Did you watch the Olympics on TV this time?"

"Some, but it's not so exciting as the Winter Games. In just two years it will be here."

After that, Henry and Franz became fast friends. Franz told Henry he was born on "da" skis. Henry did gymnastics for Franz.

    As the afternoon went on we heard about going skiing after dinner and climbing up hills. Franz spoke of dedication, commitment and sacrifice for a dream. He encouraged Henry and told him to pursue his dreams. Henry was fascinated and asked a zillion questions. Henry found out, the president of Austria gave Franz the ring he wears. His medal is in a safe somewhere.

Franz told us, he’d written several books and offered to give Henry a signed copy, so off they went to Franz's room. Henry, Franz and Luther trailing behind, leaving me there to pick up popsicle wrappers. (Henry, Franz Gabl and Lu)
(Franz Gabl - 1948)

On the way home, Henry started the book Franz gave him, and learned he'd fought in World War II and was a prisoner of war in Russia. Afterward, Franz was so poor he had to beg for food. Later, when he’d won his silver medal the same people who’d given him food, came up and asked him for his autograph.
  (Henri of France - Gold --and Franz Gabl - Austria Silver 1948 St. Moritz)

“Mom, wait 'til you read this, Franz is amazing. Did you know, the guy who beat him was named Henry? He was from France and did the race in under three minutes actually 2:55. You see, no one back then had really come close to doing it under three minutes. No one. Franz couldn't believe it. He thought that race was going to put him in the hospital, but he got the silver instead and he beat three minutes too. He did it in 2:59 He won the first downhill medal for Austria -EVER. The first one! Can you believe that? He wasn't just an Olympian, he did all kinds of stuff. Isn't that amazing?  He's amazing. His son lives in Deming. - I can’t wait to go back and see him again. Talking to him was so much fun. Everyone was nice, but I liked him the best.”

September 1st Whistle While You Work

(Luther takes a nap in the laundry pile)

Labor Day Weekend is supposed to be a respite from work, but it isn’t. It’s the last weekend before school starts and every self-respecting mother of school-age children is attempting to get life in order to start the school year right. This means all shoes are to be lined up in the closet. The old and tattered clothes are to be weeded out. The mountains of laundry are to be neatly folded and put away. The stalls are to be mucked, the hay stacked. The car cleaned. Pencils should be in the binder and a new scheduled charted. Ready to start fresh.
(Cleveland and friends help out)

    We have been hard at work determining a fair and equitable chore list. To this I’ve met some opposition. I am officially the meanest mother in the entire northern hemisphere – which is some achievement. Last year, I only made it into the semi-finals in the United States division. Apparently, most middle-schoolers don’t do chores. Why? I don’t know. I don’t care how much money one has or doesn’t have I would expect children to learn to contribute and attain a work ethic. But there I was watching Henry commiserate with his friends on ichat and none- NONE had to do any chores. I guess I am mean, but at least Henry can clean a cat box, load the laundry and is no stranger to a toilet brush. I’ll admit it will be years yet before he is proficient with a broom, but at least he tries. These are not skills learned willingly, but skills nonetheless he’ll be happy to have –one day.
(trying to fold clothes with my "helpers")

    Tonight the night before the first day of school, he was on schedule, dogs fed, geese penned, backpack fully loaded, showered and in bed on time. He couldn’t sleep. He lay there with Bruno, Luther, Vivian and Emmett snuggling and all I could think as I turned out the light was - thank the Lord they weren’t in my bed. Again.

August 27th Friendship the perfect blendship

(Irish who until now has never shared his toys, shares a stick with Bruno)

   

    Our friends, the Iversons: Susan & Gile and their four children Kyndal, Parker, Sawyer and Cabryn stopped by on their summer trek through the Western United States and one very unfortunate day in Vancouver – (their words not mine) in the RV they rented. The boys immediately started pushing each other and running around as if no time had passed. We ate tacos, drank margaritas, pool balls smashed against each other as the insults flew and laughter filled the house. (Susan makes friends with the bovine as Cabryn watches Deli)
    (Henry's betrothed, Cabryn age 4 and her new friend, Bruno)

    The boys worked out with Henry. And when it was over we left them at the gym. They drove away as we headed home. Windshield wipers beating "they're gone" "they're gone" over and over. Henry and I drove looking at the scenery. By the time we got home I was exhausted. I poured a cup of coffee and my eyes began to fill with tears and I stood in the kitchen weeping. My shoulders shook I cried so hard I surprised myself. I don’t cry like that when Tom leaves, but I always know he’s going to come back. I guess I just didn’t know how lonely I was until I saw Susan. Someone who used to be there day in and day out carpooling to gymnastics. Someone I went to meets with and trick or treated with, had margaritas with and breakfast while the boys worked out on Saturday mornings year after year.

     I began to realize that although I’ve met nice people, it’s hard for me to make friends. I don’t really fit in the city, but I’m not your average country girl either. I seem to hit it off with engineers, weight-loss consultants and owners of heritage livestock but I live far, far away in a magical land. I guess I can talk to the animals. It worked for Snow White.

  

   

August 24th What Big Ears You Have

   

(Bruno enjoying the sun)

    

I was standing on the porch when I heard the screams. I looked over and realized the shrill sounds of panic were coming from a terrified Bruno. Miracle! Bruno had squeezed into the new part of the pen and Miracle was chasing him down. I could see her stomping with her front feet as I took off screaming. Pleading “Miracle Stop! Miracle Stop! Miracle NO!” I ran, but as I did the screaming and the stomping stopped. I saw her standing still, head down next to a limp and motionless Bruno. I was horrified. I moved closer. Miracle twitched her ear and looked up at me. I realized she had Bruno pinned with her nose against the fence. When I got to the fence, she let him up and he ran to me under the gate. She’d let him live. Diet-shmiet, she got extra packer pellets for being such a good listener.

August 22nd Size Doesn't Matter

(Irish and Bruno snuggle)

    So that I could begin creating a compound around the house, I purchased all or most of the necessary fence to get started. I got a fantastic deal despite the increasing price of steel at The Whatcom Farmers' Co-op. After unloading my new purchases, I made a call about a job. The Fairhaven Girl’s School advertised on Craigslist for a teacher. I thought this might be a great opportunity. Somehow by the end of the conversation the job had disappeared, but I had agreed to volunteer at the school with Henry. How this happened I’m still not sure, but I heard myself agreeing to show up at 7:00 PM in my navy coveralls no less to help paint. As if I don’t have enough projects at home, off we went to help a girls’ school get off the ground.  I told Henry since he doesn't get an allowance, I'd take fifty bucks off his debt for the purchase of Bruno if he'd make me look like a good mother and competent teacher. ( my camera isn't working right- me unloading fence)

Over the course of the evening, we moved boxes, books, bookcases fabric, odds and ends and a piano, met a lot of nice people and were interviewed for the Bellingham Business Journal; our pictures will be in the paper on September 1st. The great thing about the evening was meeting Amanda, the director. The girls’ school has been her dream and she was more than willing to help me get in touch with some of the people who made it a reality.
Henry was polite, opened doors and didn’t burp once. He earned every penny.
(Henry finishes football camp and loves it)

August 20th Dancing Queen

(Emmett surveys h