Category Archives: Animals – especially dogs
A Doggone Week
Last week, along with the excitement of Bailey Library’s reopening, Clif and I also had the excitement of taking care of our “granddogs”—Holly and Somara. Oh, what a flurry of activity they brought to an already busy week at the little house in the big woods. But what dear dogs they are.
Holly is bold and energetic, and her moniker Hurricane Holly is a fitting one. With her long legs and her tan and orange coloring, she is a striking dog. Holly has the most expressive face of any dog I have ever known, and at times she even sneers like Billy Idol.
Somara lived in a shelter until she was two years old, and she is sweet and affectionate but timid. Fortunately, she hit the jackpot when Shannon and Mike adopted her, and now Somara has a lifestyle that any dog would envy. A very, very loving home, plenty to eat, and daily runs in the woods. If Somara could talk she might say, “It’s a dog’s life, and I love it.”
Poor Liam was a little overshadowed by the two dogs. He is a Sheltie and a herding dog. Although Liam is friendly, he also has that aloof quality that herding dogs are known for. He doesn’t like having his head patted, he’s not a cuddly dog, and he prefers to sleep on the floor. Holly and Somara, on the other hand, wanted to be on the couch with Clif and me when we watched television. Holly often rested her head on my leg, and Somara was always ready to be patted.
But for the most part, everyone got along well. (Holly did chase the cats from time to time, but it was an occasional event rather than an ongoing one.) There were walks and doggie treats and romps in the yard.
Last night Shannon and Mike picked up the dogs, and today the house is quiet. The child gates are back downstairs, and the cat dishes are on the floor rather than on the small wooden table in our kitchen. It is a dripping rainy day, but it looks as though the rain is backing off, and I’ll be able to take Liam for a walk this afternoon.
The girls, as I call them, will be back soon when Shannon and Mike come for a backyard barbecue. How nice the dogs feel comfortable here.
And how nice the little house in the big woods is dog friendly as well as people friendly.
Gardening and Library and Dogs. Oh, My!
The end of May is just around the corner, and what a busy time it is for the residents of the little house in the big woods. Gardening and planting have reached a fever pitch, and as I am someone who does not like to hurry, that along with writing and other household chores would be plenty to keep my days full.
However, next week our library will be having all sorts of events to celebrate the grand opening of the new addition—a speaker on Tuesday; on Wednesday a chainsaw carving of an owl for the children’s room; and on Friday a true open house where a “book” cake will be served.
To add to the jolly chaos, we will be babysitting our granddogs, Holly and Somara. I am praying for good weather so that the dogs can spend much of the day outside in the backyard.
In addition, we’re having friends over for a barbecue on Sunday, to celebrate Memorial Day. I’ll be making the first potato salad of the season, and we’ll be having the first grilled chicken, too. And grilled bread, of course.
Next week on the blog, I might focus more on images than words. Naturally, I’ll want to write a little something about the library’s grand opening. Just a little something.
And in honor of Memorial Day, as I work in the yard, I’ll remember family and friends who have passed. They are missed and are certainly not forgotten.
Mother’s Day Brunch
Over the years, we have realized that our favorite way of celebrating special days and holidays is to cook together as a family. (The family that cooks together stays together?) Birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, and, of course, Mother’s Day all bring about a flurry of mixing and cooking.
Yesterday, Shannon and the dogs came to the little house in the big woods to celebrate Mother’s Day. With Clif, we were a small but mighty team of three humans—Mike had to work, and Dee lives too far away—and three dogs. (Both Clif’s mother and my mother have died. How we miss them!)
This lucky mother got the best pancakes in Maine, if not the United States; fruit salad; home fries; and delectable flourless, chocolate cupcakes, which I request every year for Mother’s Day. Clif made the pancakes—his truly are the best—and Shannon made the rest.
For the most part, Clif and Shannon wouldn’t let me help, but I did manage to sneak in a couple of things such as wiping the tables, inside and out.
“You’re not supposed to be helping,” Shannon said. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
“Well, whose daughter is she?” Clif asked.
Shannon and I laughed. My mother couldn’t stand not helping, and it was a real effort to get her to relax. Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as the saying goes, and it I will admit it makes me a little fidgety to sit while others bustle to prepare a meal. However, for the most part, I complied with their wishes and stayed out of the kitchen.
After brunch, we headed out to the patio so that the dogs could roam and sniff and we could enjoy being in the backyard. We were able to spend quite a bit of time outside before the black flies drove us in.
Even though it made me a little antsy not to pitch in and help, it was a treat to have someone else do the cooking and clean-up. We seldom eat out, which means I make most of the meals we eat. I am happy to do this, but it is nice to eat food that somebody else has prepared.
Somehow, it always tastes better.
Sunday with the Birds
Yesterday, Clif and I had the most delightful Sunday we’ve had in a very long time. Our friends Beth and John came over for brunch, and they brought their little dog Bernie with them. Clif made waffles, cooked fresh at the dining room table and then passed around on a plate. I had made a blueberry sauce and an apple sauce to go with the waffles, and there was, of course, real maple syrup. We also had homefries and scrambled eggs with smoked cheddar—from Pineland Farms.
Good as the brunch was—Clif’s waffles are pretty darned tasty—the best part came afterwards, when we had coffee, tea, and Beth’s delectable blueberry cake on the patio. The day was sunny and warm but not too hot. There were a few bugs but not enough to be a problem.
For several hours, we sat with the sun warm on our faces. We drank coffee and tea and ate cake. We talked about retirement—Beth is retired and John and Clif will be retiring soon—politics, and how hopeful we are that the millennial generation will continue with the course they have started. Although there are always exceptions, by and large this generation is tolerant, liberal, and concerned about the environment. Many of them have eschewed the excessive consumerism that has characterized this country and are living a modest but comfortable and creative lifestyle. They are gardening in the cities and the suburbs. They are riding their bikes. They are building tiny houses. Kudos, kudos to them.
We are surrounded by trees—I don’t call our home the little house in the big woods for nothing—and this is perfect for the birds, who have secure places to perch as they fly back and forth to the bird feeders. The birds must have been particularly hungry yesterday afternoon because as we sat at the patio, we were treated to the visual delight of fluttering birds as they came to the feeders. We had the usual suspects: chickadees, nuthatches, tufted titmice, woodpeckers, and gold finches.
We also had a pair of cardinals—the first ever who have decided to take up residence in the woods by our house. It’s such a thrill to have them nearby.
“I wish I had brought my camera,” Beth said.
“Next time,” I said, taking picture after picture with my little Cannon, which is a wonder with food and flowers but not so much with birds. Still, I got a few decent shots.
At around 4:00, Beth said, “We need to leave.”
“Yes, we do,” John replied.
But we sat at the table for another half hour. They didn’t want to go, and we didn’t want them to leave. Finally, of course, they left, and we will see them again the end of May, at John’s retirement party.
What a Sunday! As we Mainers put it, it was the finest kind of afternoon filled with food, friends, birds, and dogs. Who could ask for anything more?
The Lovely Month of May: C’est le Mois de Marie
This morning, I flipped my various calendars, and now it is the lovely month of May. Today, a French-Canadian friend wrote on Facebook, “C’est le mois de Marie…C’est le mois le plus beau.” The lyrics are from a French song: “It is the month of Mary…It is the most beautiful month.” Indeed it is, even with blackflies to plague us. (Luckily, they haven’t arrived in central Maine yet.)
For native Mainers, it goes like this: March is the cruelest month, April is a month of hope, and May is a month of such dazzling beauty that it almost makes you drunk just looking at all the flowers and budding trees and rich green grass. C’est le mois le plus beau.
It is also a month of much work for this home gardener. I am happy to report that at the little house in the big woods, the lawns are nearly raked, and that chore will be finished today. Then it will be on to the flower beds—removing the leaves, adding compost, organic fertilizer, and wood ash. With so many coniferous trees surrounding the house, the beds always need something to reduce the acidity in the soil.
Although my creaky knees complain at the end of the day, I so enjoy working in my yard. As I’ve noted before, it is amazing to me how yard work always trumps such inside chores as dusting and vacuuming. I even find it pleasurable to hang laundry on the line. In short, I love being outside, especially after a long, hard winter of being mostly inside. By March—and here we return to that charmless month in Maine—being inside so much comes to feel a little confining, to say the least.
The dog is now in his glory. I let him out mid-morning, and he spends most of his day by the gate that leads to and from the backyard. From this spot, he can survey the comings and goings on Narrows Pond Road. Nothing escapes Liam’s notice: walkers, bikers, other dogs, and they all get what they deserve—much barking and racing back and forth.
Liam is a Sheltie, a herding dog, and I expect he is guarding the yard. It is a job he takes seriously, and like most herding dogs, he is very intense about it. I hesitate to ascribe feelings to another creature—human or not—but if I had to guess, then I would say that Liam gets a lot of satisfaction from his job of guarding the yard. When Liam is inside, it is clear that he wants to be outside, ready to race and bark at a moment’s notice.
So at the little house in the big woods, both the dog and the human are happy. We each have our work to do, and while we take our jobs seriously, they give us great pleasure, too. (Alas, this is not true for all people with their jobs, but this will be a topic for another time.)
C’est le mois de Marie. For those who live in the northern New England, rejoice!
Joy Joy Happy Happy
Finally, finally, spring seems to be coming to Maine. Yesterday, when the dog and I went for a walk, I needed neither hat nor gloves. The sun was warm upon my face, and I know it was probably just my imagination, but it seemed as though I could feel my body absorbing vitamin D.
As we went up the Narrows Pond Road, I saw a sight that few would consider beautiful but was oh so heartening to me—water running in the ditch.
When I looked down the road, I could see how much the snow has melted and pulled back.
A little while later, we met Megan the dog and her person, both back from winter in a warmer place. Liam has known Megan since he was a puppy, and I remember how she used to nuzzle his little back.
We continued on our walk, and on the way home, I saw budding trees against a deep blue sky.
More running water where the stream has finally broken through the snow.
And back to our very own little house in the big woods where we can actually see bare driveway.
Yes, there is still a lot of snow in our yard, but joy joy happy happy. Spring is coming!
Virunga
Yesterday, our friend Alice came over to watch the movie Virunga with Clif and me. (Alice’s husband, Joel, has been gripped by March madness—college basketball—and Alice was eager for a diversion.) Virunga is a compelling documentary about Virunga National Park, located in eastern Congo and home not only to endangered mountain gorillas but also to many other animals such as elephants and lions. Virunga National Park is a lush and beautiful place guarded—and I mean this literally—by a group of dedicated rangers who must carry automatic weapons and grenade launchers and who are sometimes killed protecting the park.
Virunga National Park, also a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is under constant threat from poachers as well as an oil and gas company called Soco International, whose headquarters are in London. It seems that along with an astonishing biodiversity, Virunga also has oil, and Soco, to put it mildly, is extremely interested in the oil. With its vast resources, Soco bribes its way into the poor community around the park, making the job of protecting Virunga even more difficult.
As if poachers and a greedy oil company aren’t enough, there is a third force to bring misery to Virunga and the people in the surrounding area. That is, the rebel force M23, who is fighting against the Congolese government. As Emmanuel de Merode, the park’s director, calmly observed, Virunga was between a hammer and an anvil, caught in the middle of the battle between the government and the rebels.
The film focuses on four people: André Bauma, who cares for orphaned gorillas; Rodrigue Mugaruka Katembo, head park ranger; Emmanuel de Merode, whom I mentioned above; and Mélanie Gouby, a very brave and plucky French investigative journalist. The film takes you undercover with Melanie Gouby and Rodrigue Katembo and then throws you in the middle of the war as the rebels and government do battle, right in the park itself.
I can’t put it any better than Ronnie Scheib of Variety when he writes that Virunga is an “extraordinary documentary” with “enough action, pathos, suspense, venal villains, stalwart heroes and endangered gorillas for a dozen fiction films.”
After we watched the film, Clif said, “Virunga sure puts snow and cold weather in perspective.”
Both Alice and I wholeheartedly agreed with him.
Do see this movie if you get a chance.
An Anniversary Trip to Portland, Where We Walked on the Beach and Ate Mussels
On Thursday, Clif and I will celebrate our thirty-eighth wedding anniversary. Yikes! We certainly have been married for a lot of years. To celebrate, on Monday Shannon and Mike invited us over to their home for a dinner of mussels, crusty bread, and salad.
A trip to Portland usually means a trip to Trader Joe’s, where I stock up on such things as cruelty-free laundry detergent, shampoo, and toothpaste. Because it was a Monday afternoon, the store was fairly quiet, which meant we finished our shopping sooner than we had anticipated. We had over an hour before we were supposed to be at Mike and Shannon’s. Although I knew we could stop by anytime, I also know how inconvenient it can be for guests—even family—to arrive early and interrupt the hustle and flow of getting ready.
“Why not go to Crescent Beach for a walk?” Clif suggested.
Why not, indeed? The day was reasonably warm, the sun was shining—at least some of the time—and wonder of wonders, it wasn’t snowing. For me, unless the weather is terrible, a walk on the beach is always a good thing.
“Great idea!” I said.
Crescent Beach is one of my favorite beaches. It isn’t grand and doesn’t have the broad sweep of, say, Popham. But except for one Inn, tucked discreetly away from the beach, it is undeveloped. No condos crowd the sand. No board walk. No hot dog stands. No honky-tonk. Instead, there are rocks, sky, sand, flats, and water. Just the way I like a beach to be.
On Crescent Beach Clif and Liam ranged ahead, while I walked by the water’s edge and looked for pretty shells, rocks, and sea glass. Especially on an anniversary walk, I like to bring home something from the sea.
After our walk, we headed to Mike and Shannon’s, where we had delectable mussels, crusty bread, and an herb salad. I ate too much but it was so good.
In honor of our anniversary, Shannon and Mike made a donation to Good Shepherd Food Bank, which does so much to help alleviate food insecurity in Maine.
Earlier in this piece, I mentioned how that on an anniversary walk, I like to bring home something from the sea. On yesterday’s walk, I was lucky enough to find a sand dollar and a piece of sea glass.
A lovely reminder of a lovely day.
Coyote Tail
Last Friday, the dog and I walked to the Narrows on a windy afternoon. I heard a flag pole rattling, which reminded me of the Police’s “King of Pain.” There were lots of people ice fishing on the Narrows, and trucks were parked along the causeway. The dog and I had to brush against the trucks as we passed. Otherwise, we would have been in the middle of the road. Because I had to walk so close, I couldn’t help noticing that in one truck, a full coyote’s tail hung from the rear view mirror.
As a lover of all creatures canid, it pained me to see that tail, to think of how that beautiful animal was no longer running through the forest, possibly in the woods behind my house. Naturally, this is all speculation. Who knows where that coyote was killed?
But why kill a coyote? Why kill a bear for that matter? Or any other animal that you are not going to eat? On the way back home, I reflected on hobbits, who never hunted for sport. If only humans would follow their example.
I thought with sorrow about the coyote tail for the rest of the day, and I have come to the conclusion that the older I get, the softer I have become. Why this should be, I don’t know. It seems to me that age should harden us to the cruel ways of the world, but somehow, at least with me, it hasn’t.
When I was eight, my family moved to North Vassalboro, a small rural town outside of Waterville. Our house was on the edge of the town and the countryside. Many people had gardens, and some had cows as well. Back then, animals were killed regularly and without much thought. If a raccoon came into the barn, my father shot it. If our neighbors had too many kittens, they were shot. We had chickens, and I saw my father kill them. While I didn’t necessary like all this killing, it seemed to me a fact of life.
Even though I still live in a rural town, I have moved away from this killing, both directly and indirectly. Our diet is mostly plant based. We occasionally eat chicken—every other week or so—and once in a while we eat fish. But mostly it’s vegetables, with some dairy and eggs.
I suppose the urge to hunt, to be a predator, is a part of our ancient heritage. It still runs strong in some people. But where does it end? Raccoons, kittens, chickens, coyotes, other people, the land, the water, the planet. Does killing ripple ever outward?
Restraint is a word most of us don’t like. It implies a Puritanical, joyless approach to the world. But with so many of us on this planet, if ever there were a need for restraint, it is now.
Until the ice goes out on the Narrows and the fishing stops, I think I’ll walk the other way, to where the trees will soon be tapped for maple syrup. That way, there will be no brooding all day about an animal that once ran in the woods and whose tail is now used for decoration.
Notes From the Hinterland 