What if I had to choose: the horror we feel for the fires

Every time there is a major fire out West, I have visceral reactions to it. It is so hard to see the images of people and animals in such desperate situations. I have read some gut wrenching stories of people faced with leaving their horses to run free, and one woman rode her horse to a shopping area, waiting and hoping to somehow get her and the horse out. The firemen told her she had to go, and they promised they would do what they could for her loyal horse, and they didn't let her down. They told her they would get a Uhaul from down the street, and haul the horse out, and they did. The woman though had to leave the scene without him, they really made her go. Nobody knows where she went so she didn't get to see her horse driven away in the Uhaul.

Just writing that makes me agitated. To have to make these hard choices, stay and die, leave your horse and know he will suffer, and die...just so hard to watch. I get to turn off the images and walk away, they don't. Although i can't stop thinking of the images either.

I saw a pot bellied pig being guided out of a house by police, to a car I suppose. Thank you to all those people. Can you imagine if it were Rosie?

I saw llamas and a pony sitting on Malibu beach, tied to posts, their owners probably had no other choice and hoped the ocean water would at least keep them safe.

Two frightened shepherd dogs, dirty but healthy, looking lost and scared.

I took this photo of Benedetto two nights ago, the sunset was so striking. But when I looked at it again this morning it made me think that anyone that lives through a fire must see a sunset like this in a different way. I would imagine if it effects me to read these stories, the people that live through them are never the same, and visceral reactions must come even when they look at something as beautiful as a sunset.

We can only pray from our little house. They are facing such horrible things all at once, those people and animals.

My blue hangover was worth it

Yesterday, Muddy came bounding into the bedroom at 5 am like always, pushed his wet nose under the blankets and flipped them up sending a shot of cold air on my skin. He does this every morning. But this particular morning was his 9th birthday so I sensed he was a tish happier than normal. Muddy starts everyday with enthusiasm,

"It's a new morning! Isn't it great?!"

Yep, yes, it is, Muddy, especially with your wet nose on me.

The excitement of the day's voting was also part of the energy and I was excited, but anxious. I know many were. In Maine, we overwhelmingly sent a message to the sitting governor, president and current political believers of the administration–NO MORE.

We elected a moderately leaning Democrat woman, and put the house and senate in Democratic hands. We voted against another Trumper business man for governor - and we have suffered through a horrible governor here for years. What I'm proud and relieved to see is there were no tight races, this was a mandate, with most Dems getting over 60% of the vote, and turnout was high.

I have hope. I think what I hope for most is that there will be an effort, somehow, for politicians to come together more in the House. Dump is not going to change, but he at least won't go rolling down a hill without brakes out of control without any speed bumps. He has wasted no time going right back to his onslaught of the media, and lies, pointing fingers, and we're right back into the circus.

One thing I feel needs to happen is to bring more understanding to the city elite and progressive leaning people about their rural neighbors, and that somehow rural people with certain views have to be more clearly heard and understood. I'm not talking about persuading either side to switch views, but I live and work with many people in my rural villages that are good people that voted for the current president. I do not believe everyone of them is a racist. I do however feel after two years, that sexism, and racism has to be acknowledged by everyone. If you can't see it, I believe you need to be educated on it...but I'm sick of rural people being designated as ignorant and uncaring.

To me, many [not all] of the city elite saying these things sound as elitist as the white men of the Senate and former House they love to criticize.

SO I was excited for the voting results. I also realized as I was in my little town hall in my village of 600, how much I love where we are, and how we are truly meant to be here. I feel a real sense of community here. When people went in to vote [it's the old school building that is now the town hall] there were-mainly elder-towns people there volunteering, and then there was a long table of sweets and goodies manned by other towns people. People stood and chatted. I stopped to get my trailer license, and someone said,

"Oh are you the ones who live at 315?"

Two years ago that might have freaked me out. Today, I feel we are becoming part of the community and region, and we are also giving back to it with our work. I walked out of there just feeling so positive how the universe brought us to this exact town, and house and at this time, for a reason. It's all part of our path here.

I also feel the current administration-which is exposing the underbelly of America that has always been there-is also meant to be here, at this specific time, for a reason. I don't like it, and we can change it, but it is teaching us all many different things-be it the fact that whites are born into privilege no matter their income, and that racism is alive and thriving, as is sexism and every other ism.

But I felt hope again last night. And I do have a tish of a blue hangover, after a bit too much wine runneth over. But one has to let off steam.

And besides, it was Muddy's birthday.

We lose an elder...the beautiful Assumpta

I had to go work on a downed wire in the field this morning. It was only 70 but ninety percent humidity so I was focused on getting done as soon as possible. I had let the sheep and Birdie out of their paddock where they stay at night, and fed the equines. It was all routine. I wasn't paying too much attention to anyone, and then I realized,

There is a sheep missing...Assumpta...

I figured she was hanging low back at the barn due to the high humidity. In the past year, I've noted she is laying down longer, and more. Sometimes she doesn't get up to eat her hay as quickly as she used too. I knew her life was probably more like months versus years. Sheep are very good at carrying on until one day, they don't. It would be a deadly thing for a sheep in a flock to act sick. They are programmed to stay alive, and stay with the flock for security from predators.

I headed back to the barn to check on her, Martyn was close behind working on other projects. And then I saw her lifeless body in the distance. I knew she was gone. I cried out to her, and ran, but she was dead. By her appearance, we think she died early evening. There was no sign of distress from her body, and there were no marks on the ground indicating she had been pawing the dirt. I like to think she went to the back corner to be on her own, to sleep after the sun went down, the ground was probably cooler in that area. Maybe she just dozed off, and never woke up.

Just last night when I brought the girls up from the field, they were panting. Sheep can't sweat, so pant. Assumpta was there and I scratched her chin and told her to hang in there, the weather was supposed to be cooler in a day. I'm so glad I had that brief interaction with her. Assumpta was not one of the more personable sheep, she was like a stern but fair matriarch that didn't need a lot of hands on attention. She was a Blue Leicester cross and had the most beautiful wool. I have yarn from last season, and still have to skirt her fleece from this year. I will have to do something really special with it.

I let the sheep wander over before we dug the grave. They of course already knew she was dead, as did Birdie. As Martyn dug the hole, I picked her a bouquet, and White Dog examined the dirt and hole. We laid her body in the grave, covered her eyes, and buried her with earth. And White Dog sat with me the entire time. Martyn placed one large rock on top, and White Dog marked it as we were leaving.

Don't worry, I'll keep my eye on the grave, was his intention.

I was sad, but also relieved for her. I knew this winter would be hard on her, and she picked a good time to die. She won't have to deal with biting flies and heat, and we could bury her quickly so she could be on her way. I always feel the burial is an important part of the spirit's journey, it is the final goodbye of those of us left behind, and until we let go, they can't totally be free for the intensity of their next journey. That is what I believe.

I went back to the house to cool off, and came back out about an hour later. White Dog was in the shaded barn, and I sat with him, we did our eye to eye conversation without words, and I took the photo of him you see below. I started to leave, but he put a paw up to hold me in my position. I took this to be a simple statement from him,

It's all okay, she's gone now, it's all okay.

And of course, it is.

Thank you for your beautiful wool, Assumpta, I am honored we could care for you in your final years.

And on this day....a pug was born

Today is The Old One Eyed Blind Pug's 12th birthday. I had to wait until he was almost nine to have him in my life, but it was worth the wait. Besides, I had another Old One Eyed Pug I was caring for then. To be able to have had two of these creatures in my daily life is such a gift.

The two pugs are very different from one another. Billy, the first pug, was born to a farm family in Minnesota. He was much needier than Hughie is. Hughie was in a home of a couple and my recollection is they fought quite a bit and Hughie often ended up alone, contained in a room. In some ways, I think this made him even braver than he might have been. At some point, Hughie was run over by accident by a delivery truck, and that is how he lost his one eye, and became blind. Or he was somewhat blind from birth due to a congestive disease that was not cared for properly, so he went blind soon after losing the eye. A kind woman took Hughie on because the couple was not caring for him properly. But she herself was not in good condition and was very limited in bending over and such-and with a small blind dog, you do a lot of bending over to help them. She didn't want to, but she decided she had to rehome him to the right person.

At the time, I had been pugless for about three years. Being pugless after you have been pugged is a sad state. Pugs really get into your heart. I wasn't exactly looking for another pug, but I always said if an elder or needy pug came along, I'd take him. So I was minding my own business, and a friend emailed me about this pug that was on Old Dog Haven, a wonderful place out west that helps rehome elder dogs out of shelters. When I saw his face, and that he was blind, with one eye...well, it was like my old pug was hitting me over the head,

Pick up the phone now!

And I did. I talked to the woman that needed to rehome him, and there had been a person interested, but as I talked to her, she changed her mind and knew she wanted me to have him. I'm so grateful for that. Another of my friends, who I lovingly called my Goat Hauler, as she had driven several goats to me from Seattle area to Apifera, a 12 hour round trip- she met me halfway in Tacoma, and the pug known as Hughie entered my life.

He was so well behaved, so brave and unafraid of his new home. He immediately adapted to navigating the rooms and areas he could not see. He never whined, and you could also tell that if you raised your voice, he cowered a bit. Like I said we had heard he'd come from a fighting home, so it took him awhile to understand when we yelled at the TV, it was not about him. We yell at the TV a lot these days, so we also balance it with lots of soothing talk. When we came across the country from Oregon to Maine, Hughie rode with Huck and Mud in the backseat, and each night we slept in a different barn stall, with the dogs, the barn animals remained in the large trailer. Hughie was just a little champ, content to sleep in his bed that he knew so well, even if it was in a barn that he could not see. He enjoyed french fries on the trip, and now in Maine he gets a banana each morning which he relishes, reminding me to relish my banana too.

Hughie is completely blind but he lives a wonderful little enchanted life. He is carried out to the garden in the morning, does his business and comes in and eats. Then he naps in one of his many day beds. At night he is lifted onto the couch to watch tv with us, and that is after he helps Martyn chop any vegetables for dinner. He has a sweet little call of 'Woo-woo" he does when he excited or happy. He is no pushover.

I would tell anyone who finds a blind dog that needs a home-don't turn away. They do not need your pity, they need you to see them as a possible wonderful addition to your family. They are resilient and have other senses that help them navigate. I have so many blind animals, and not one of them is a burden, each of them brings me joy and also reminds me that physical challenges in man or beast do not close the door to being a contributing member of a household.

I love you Hughie. I am so glad I am not pugless. I am so glad you are here with us.

The eyes of White Dog...no words needed

Guarding for dinosaurs and wild bear

White Dog waiting to be set free in the lower pastures, which are not ready for animals yet since they are wet, and some are being reseeded and limed. He's perfectly happy though, as long as he has a job, which he always does-right now it is guarding the paddocks from wild bear and dinosaurs.

When I'm with an animal, I check my intentions

Muddy is going on nine later in the year. He is still very athletic and most, including vets, think he looks much younger. But I've noticed in the past six months or so he is getting the old dog look. Sometimes I think I see Huck when I look over at him. They were five years apart in age but out of the same parents. I did that on purpose, knowing someday Huck would leave us, and Muddy could carry on, in his own way of course. The two dogs were very different. Where Muddy could run all day, especially with his frisbee, Huck became a lay-around-and-just-be-me-lab, pretty much when Muddy showed up as a pup. He played, but it was as if he thought,

OK, good, they have reinforcements, I can relax a bit now.

I spent all day and everyday with the Huck, and when Mud came along, Huck sort of became more of my at-your-side-guy. When we moved to Maine, Huck was still healthy, although gimpy, but by the next spring his behavior and changed a bit. I saw deep thoughts in those brown eyes, and he began sleeping away from Mud, by my side at the bed. When I found the large mass on his neck, which came on quickly, I knew something was wrong. It was a wasting cancer, and we helped him on his way. He was 12. It was a horrible goodbye for me and Martyn. "End of an era," as Martyn said.

Muddy is a talker. He talks in a series of lip movements, lip curling, and yawning words. We walk together and he loves that. He seems so very happy when he sees me put on-not my Muck boots-but my hiking shoes.

That is the thing about dogs, they just want to partake in simple, but important, rituals with their owners, like a morning walk to sit by the cove a spell. They could care less about my aging face, but are completely tuned into my intent of the moment. They pick up on that, which is probably the best training lesson I can remind myself of with any animal-check your intentions with an animal, because they sense it.