Flirt...

 Yesterday afternoon I noticed that Flirt was a little "off." I can't describe to you exactly what it was, but she was not herself. I checked her over, and sure enough, the space on her belly where she has a hernia was pooching out.  She has had this hernia surgically repaired once. At the time the veterinarian warned me it would probably recur. It has but has not been a problem. With gentle pressure, I can move things back in place.  But this felt different, it was hard and unmoveable.  I decided a trip to the local emergency veterinarian was needed. I'll spare you all the details, but it was a long (and expensive) night. A loop of bowel had slipped into the hernia. Flirt stayed for pain medication and tests, but I was pretty sure I'd be returning this morning to have her euthanized. I spent a long, sleepless night revisiting the years I've shared with this little dog. Well before dawn I called the hospital, braced to hear the worst. To my unbelievable delight, the vet told me she had been able to get things back in place, and that Flirt could come home. 

Flirt is pretty much a perfect dog. Except for that pooping in the laundry room thing. And the barking. Her voice has all the subtlety of a smoke detector, and she barks at the slightest provocation, such as when she hears a bug fart. She especially barks when anyone enters the house. There is no malice in her vocalizations, though. It's more of an announcement. "You are HERE!  Here you are!  Hello, hello! Let me announce your arrival.  HUMANS! Be alert. Joy, joy, someone is HERE." Once someone is in the house Flirt does everything in her 9 pound, cream-colored power to go convince the person to PICK HER UP and hold her. No matter if it is a total stranger or a friend she has known since the day she arrived. Some people cannot read her insistent body language and need to be coaxed, "She'd love to be held." Once she is scooped up she presses herself against the person holding her, staring into their face with complete and total joy. They pat her and she is ecstatic. If they have the audacity to stop petting, she smacks them with a wee paw until they get the hint. 

 She never meets a stranger. There are people she has a definite preference for, it's true, but mostly she just likes all humans. People will say, as she snuggles in and stares at them with adoration, "This dog really LIKES me."  I agree, "She really does." But she likes everyone. Just some more than others. One of her favorite humans is my friend Jean. It does not matter how long it's been since she's seen her, it's always a happy reunion when they meet. 

Bred by my long-time friend Debi, who lives in Georgia, Flirt was one of a litter of three.  Debi and I were chatting online and she said, "I had a nice litter of toy poodles born today." I have a long list of breeds of dogs I'd like to own before I die, toy poodles were not on the list.  "What color?" I asked. "A phantom, a black and a cream." I had a sudden overwhelming sensation that I wanted that cream puppy. This puppy I hadn't laid eyes on, which was halfway across the country. "Mail me the cream?" I quipped. Debi replied, "I could bring her to Atlanta Pet Fair, she'll be 12 weeks old."  I was going to that event. I vacillated for weeks. I didn't need a puppy. Debi sent pictures. One day she said, "Her paw pad is smaller than my thumbnail." For some reason that did it. I had to have that puppy. The wheels were set in motion, and as a family, we named the new arrival "Demi." Or so we thought. 

At the Pet Fair, sweet Debi handed me the two-pound puppy. I might as well confess right now that it was not love at first sight. I know that all puppies are cute, but poodle puppies are not as cute as most. I carried her up to the hotel room I was sharing with my friend. Kim was lying on her bed, and I placed the tiny puppy on her feet. She scampered up to Kim's face, showering her with kisses, tiny tail going a mile a minute. Kim sputtered, "What a little flirt!" The chosen name went down the toilet. I gave my new puppy a quick bath in the hotel sink and fluffed her limp puppy coat dry. She was beginning to look cuter to me.

I was working at a clipper booth that weekend and took my new addition with me. She dozed in her carrier until some groomer type would notice her and beg to meet her. I was worried she'd be overstimulated by so much noise and light, so many strangers scooping her up. She took it all in stride. I smuggled her into restaurants in her tiny carrier, no one was the wiser as she never made a peep. 

At the airport, heading home, she dangled over my forearm, taking in the sights, perfectly content to be near me. On the plane, she slept happily under the seat, and when we reached our layover I carried her to the ladies' room. I put a puppy pad down in the stall and she delicately piddled, then pooped. She put her paws on my leg and stared up, "What's next?" she seemed to ask. She was beginning to grow on me. 

I didn't arrive home until very late that night. She'd been traveling all day. We were both exhausted. I took her to bed with me, and she draped herself across my neck. I put my hand over her. We woke up in the same position. She has slept next to me almost every night ever since, an excellent little bed buddy. In cold weather, she wiggles under the covers and presses against me. When I roll over, she subtlely adjusts her position, never in the way. 

At the time she arrived, I worked in a big, beautiful, busy grooming shop. Flirt rode to work tucked down my jacket on those chilly spring mornings, then spent her days meeting people and pets. We set her up a little cozy space in a cage next to my work table, with a bed, toys, food, and water. She didn't spend too much time there, the receptionist would claim her and keep her at the desk, introducing her to customers, who were charmed by her ridiculously small size and huge personality. She still enjoys being tucked down the front of my coat on a cold day and will paw at my zipper until I get the hint. When I unzip she wriggles in backward, settling with a contented sigh as I fasten the coat around us. 

As she has aged she looks a little bedraggled. Rachel says she looks like a child's discarded well-loved stuffed toy, one that has been dragged through the dirt and embraced by small, grubby hands. She often sleeps this way in her little bed, looking like someone just tossed her there. 

In December she will be 12. She has some heart woes, but other than taking medication twice a day you'd never notice. She's playful and cuddly, barks too much, and as previously mentioned sometimes forgets her manners and defiles my laundry room. The endless hours without her last night gave me too much time to think about what life without her will be like. 

As I write this she is snuggled up against me, groggy with pain medication, but warm and solid and very much present. As she has been for so many happy days, a gift of a dog. 

Happy things...

In the fall, I toss old pumpkins, gourds, and squash into the pasture. The chickens and hoofstock like to munch on their flesh and seeds. Happily, some sort of broadleaf plants pop up around the field from the seeds left behind every spring. They thrive in manure-rich soil. It is always an interesting mystery to see what will emerge from the bright, orange blooms. Amazingly, the critters usually don't bother them, and I can harvest a crop of whatever it is that grows. This year we were blessed with delightful little white pumpkins and some unusual gourds. 

The chickens look pretty nosing about the plants. 

I love having little white pumpkins EVERYWHERE! I use them to decorate for fall. 

On a different note, I have always had a strong attraction to hawks and other birds of prey. Today this beauty buzzed close by the porch window, then landed in the birch. It posed a while for me to take some pictures. I suspect it was looking to dine on some songbird that frequents our feeders. It failed, but I was happy to get a photo, up close and personal. I am hoping someone can identify it for me. 

And now this... daughter Rachel and her husband just bought a fantastic house just 5 minutes from our home. This makes me happy on many levels. However, a few things are needed to make it more comfortable when they move in, such as light fixtures. For more on this, kindly read on.

This week a lovely young mom that Rachel went to high school with messaged that she had some items the baby might need. She lives on an island off the coast but was coming to town. Could we meet her? We had a busy day, so we got to thinking who we knew who might be willing to let her drop stuff off to later collect it. It only took a moment for me to think of Gloria, a sweet customer who lives near the ferry terminal. We called her, and she kindly agreed to our plan. So, tonight we drove to Gloria's adorable house and picked up a treasure trove of bouncy seats, baby baths, and more. We filled Rachel's sedan to the roof with gently used baby items. Then we headed to the hardware store, where we wandered the isles looking for bathroom light fixtures and such. We found a lovely light fixture and a new vanity that would nicely replace the tired one currently in their bathroom and snagged it. 

As we pushed the cart out of the store, a horrid thought occurred to me. The car was stuffed with baby seats, tubs, and bouncers, and we had this oversized heavy vanity in our cart.  "How are we going to fit this?" I asked.  Rachel twinkled at me, "MAGIC!" she said with firm resolve, then she flounced off to get her wee car. 

We restacked the baby items, wedging them in the back seat and freeing up the way back. As we got ready to shift the vanity from the cart to the car, Rachel spied a sturdy-looking young man headed our way. "Sir," she said in a sweet voice. "I am pregnant, and I don't want to make my mother do all this work. Could you help us?" The man grinned and approached. He nicely lifted the big box and stuffed it into the back of the car.  

"You can tell people you helped a pregnant woman and an old bag all in one fell swoop," I quipped. He laughed and helped us secure the load. 

We headed home.  On my road, Rachel had to swerve to miss a dead fawn on the pavement. But, true to form, she turned the car around, grabbed a flashlight, and hauled the deer off the road and onto the gravel. She then called the sheriff's department to report the deer, so perhaps any meat could be saved to feed the hungry. 

We were sad about the dead fawn but happy about the lovely new house, the whole car of wonderful gifted baby things, the kind man who laughingly helped us load the new vanity and time together. So there was a lot of happiness in our day. 

Bray-less...

 The pasture is quiet. 

Sarah and Abraham,  inseparable in life, went to a bigger pasture today. 

Besides being elderly, they both had Cushing's disease, which caused irreparable hoof problems. When the vet took care of their teeth in the spring she discovered that Abraham also had a disease that was causing the roots of his incisor teeth to be absorbed. While he could still manage to eat grass, hay was impossible for him to chew, and he was in pain with every bite.  The decision was made to put him on a regime of pain control medication for the summer, and then put him to rest before the pasture was spent. 

The day they met, Abraham fell visibly and instantly in love with Sarah.  The pretty redhead had some reservations and kicked him soundly dozens of times. We could hear the sound of her hooves ringing on his noggin, but he didn't care. In fact, he seemed to like it.  Finally, she gave in to his adoration and the two were never far apart. They ate cheek to cheek, often slept touching, and spent happy hours grooming each other.  They used to play and romp a lot but lately had slowed down to just being quiet together.  

With deep sorrow and their best interest at heart, the veterinarian sent them quietly, peacefully, to a long nap together this morning. They ate fistfuls of their favorite animal crackers until the sedative given made them too sleepy to chew, then folded their sturdy legs one last time, while we stroked their dear faces and long ears. 

Meanwhile, Jezebel has moved up the street to live at a friend's farm. I didn't want her to be alone, and there she will have a couple good looking geldings to boss around. My friend will also put her on a diet because we are well-known over-feeders here at FairWinds. 

I will miss the sound of Abraham's rusty hinge holler when he heard my feet hit the floor in the morning, and the sight of all three of their little faces peering in the window at me while I worked. I'll miss them shadowing my every step any time I was in the pasture, and their soft velvet muzzles checking my pockets for treats. 

Rest well, little donkeys. You brought me much joy during your years here. 

And then...

 Yesterday a friend stopped by. The three of us, and the two dogs, were in the back yard at the picnic table, chatting. Flirt poodle was in my lap, Bravo at my feet. 

It was late afternoon. The chickens were ranging about in the meadow, some very far out, some close to the backyard fence. Suddenly the neighborhood crows began to scream their "alert" call. I snapped to attention, looking for a fox. Then I saw a very large Red Tail Hawk swooping towards us, heading for a chicken just outside the fence, about 20 feet from where we were sitting. As the hawk dipped, its talons brushing the hens back I didn't know what to do. Impulsively I yelled, "BRAVO!" I'm not sure what I thought he could do, there was a 4-foot hardwire fence between us and the unfolding drama, but I called his name just the same. 

He woke from his nap with a ferocious bark and leaped forward. The hawk saw him, and lifted away from its quarry and off, its broad wings flapping as it went over the fence, then above our heads and off.

Our hen had a narrow miss, thanks to our good dog. Bravo, Bravo! 

Al Fresco and emergencies...

 There is not much Chris, and I enjoy more than enjoying a simple supper outside in our yard when the weather allows. Tonight it was grilled steak and fresh corn on the cob from a local farm. We start as early in the spring as we can and repeat most nights all the sweet summer season. Sometimes we sit at the picnic table; other times, I stretch out in the lovely recliner sister Deb gifted me. When I do this, Flirt likes to hop into my lap. If she leaves, Bravo takes her place.  This evening there was a distinct fall-ish chill to the air. All of us enjoyed the view of goats grazing and storm clouds rolling in. 

Last week I glanced outside one day and noticed that Spirit goat had a bald spot about the size of the palm of my hand on the right side of her rib cage. Upon investigation, I saw that though her hair was missing, the skin was normal and healthy. I put some balm on the area to help prevent flies from nibbling on her and repeated this for a few days.  All seemed well. She was eating and drinking and going out to the big pasture to graze in the evenings while I did chores, so I didn't think too much about it. A couple days passed, and I checked again. To my horror, she had a terrible skin infection going on. It distended from the original bald area down to her chest and was raw and angry-looking. I will spare you the photographs but trust me, it was ugly.  I immediately contacted my vet, and she came right out. She gave her antibiotics, steroids, anti-inflammatory medication, and a special spray for her infected skin. This was on a Friday. On Saturday, I had Spirit out to give her injections and spray medication on her wounds. While I was working on her, she urinated, and to my dismay, it was thick and full of bright red blood.  I contacted the veterinarian again, and even though it was raining and the evening, she came right over. Of course, she lives over an hour away, so it was 9:00 PM before she arrived. Poor Spirt didn't want to eat or drink and clearly felt absolutely awful. More medications were given. I was worried, and worse yet, I was due to leave the next morning for my annual delightful visit at Wag It Camp with Bravo.  Chris assured me that he could medicate our sick goat and that I should go ahead as planned. I vacillated. 

The next morning Spirit was clearly feeling better. She was eating and drinking, and her urine looked far more normal than it had the night before.  Chris insisted I pack up and depart. I did but worried he would have trouble with the multiple injections our goat needed every morning and evening. I messaged Cheryl, who lives just up the road, and she very kindly took time from her own busy life and livestock to come twice a day and help Chris over the weekend. Between Chris, Cheryl and Rachel, I came home on Wednesday to a goat acting perfectly fine. Her skin is healing, and she runs from me when it is time to medicate her. That is always a good sign. 

Because the home team so kindly joined forces to take care of Spirit, I was able to sneak away for a few delightful days.  Bravo and I spent hours swimming, training, walking, snuggling, and visiting with some of our favorite people. He won a nice stack of ribbons.  I relaxed deeply, smiled, and laughed lots. At one point I was chest-deep in the clear water of Ossipee lake, completely alone. No boats broke the smooth water, no people dotted the beach. I was admiring the mountains and firs when a large bird flew into view. "Oh, let it be an eagle..." I wished. It was. It flew closer, its bright white head gleaming. Then it dove with a mighty splash and rose, a flapping fish held tightly in its talons. I was the only observer. Gifted. 

As for my good dog, he enjoyed every tail-wagging moment. 

Sometimes goofy. 

Other times regal. 

He was tired at night and clearly wondered where I planned to sleep! 

He even got a "Pup Cup." Ice cream with a dog cookie garnish. 

I loved our trip but was glad to get home to well livestock and Al Fresco meals. This interlude reminded me just how lucky I am, on so many levels. Family, friends, pets, long swims in crystal clear lakes... I am blessed beyond measure.