Archives for September 2014

The moment I cracked the front door open, I could feel the energy. A pent up, turbulent sort of air seemingly connected to the disarray of the house in general.  Bedding on the living room floor.   Dog toys and bones scattered everywhere. The smell of dog and all its potential meanings. Remnants of chaos, the flurry of packing and dashing out the door.

We are back home. I step into the house, immediately drawn to the couch.  You are not on the couch, waiting for me.  I catch my breath, trying not to cry. I bend over to unleash the girls.  Even being sick, they clamor through the doorway, sliding across the hardwood floor, grabbing at toys along the way, heading to the back door, eager to get out and check for chippers.  I slowly move through the living rooms’ maze of dog debris, looking back at that couch.  Looking down at where the futon was.  Noticing everywhere that you now…. aren’t.

Is this just a dream? Is this maybe, just maybe, not really happening?

I can’t do this.

I pull my arms around my chest in a big hug, and stand in the doorway to the kitchen. Your water bowl is there across the room.  More bones and toys are scattered across the floor.  It’s time to accept that you are still basically everywhere, yet, you are not in the kitchen, spinning wild circles of excitement at the idea of ‘dinners’, or going for a walk, or going to get that chipper.

Oh hell, I can’t do this. I just can’t.

I open the back door and the girls burst outside. I stand in the kitchen and listen.  Listen for the slightest sound of you.  Nothing.

Angel is poking her head through the dog door, spying at me from outside.  Towards the end, you couldn’t manage getting through that dog door, so I would prop the entire screen door open for us all. And even then, you would lay down on the step before coming into the house, lay down in the back doorway before going outside. I stand in the back doorway, looking down at your food bin.  It’s half full.  Suddenly I am in a frenzy of pulling treat containers and dog necessities and miscellaneous “stuff” off of the shelves in the back doorway.  Dog toys come tumbling down from the upper shelves.  Among them, your very special soft purple toy.  Gasping for a breath, I bend over and pick it up from the floor clutching it hard to hold back the tears.

Remember when I gave you this purple toy? You had been stealing the girls soft toys and eating them.  Bad, bad boy.  Two trips in 4 months to the vet with tummy issues, you were developing a very expensive, bad and dangerous behavior.  So I thought maybe if you had your very own toy, you’d leave theirs alone.  You carried this goofy purple thing everywhere for a few weeks.  Slept with it, sat with it, cared for it, and defended it.  Then one day Angel got ahold of it for few minutes before I caught her in the act.  I gave it back to you and scolded her.  Seconds later, you started that old familiar bad dog look you’d developed when you were about to eat a toy.  You were going to eat that purple toy.  That was it, the purple toy went up on this shelf, never to be seen again.

Funny how you never ripped on live birds. Just soft, plush dog toys.

I set the purple toy on the kitchen counter, prop open the back door and step outside.

The patio is still in one piece. That’s a relief.

Tomorrow will be the next of my series of Happy Hump Hours. Maybe I was wrong to host a “party” so soon?  This will be the first one without you milling about, begging for treats.  How can I party without you, Buddy?  It’s going to rain tomorrow, and be very cold.  I am going to have to clean the house up to entertain inside.  Clean the house?  OMG.  How can I possibly disturb any of this?  How can I take away the bits of you all over this house?

I sink to the ground, crying.

I knew this day would come. I knew this time would come.  Somehow, I was hoping it would never actually get here.  Perhaps….just “skip” us….somehow, just let me take my boy out one more hunting season…..but no.

I sit back on the patio and look out at the yard. Major mowing to do.  Suddenly a blast of white fur blazes past me out into the yard.  A jumping, twisting, wild blaze of white fur.

“Angel!” I cry out, wondering what’s got her so riled up.   She stops, halfway across the yard, and turns around, showing off her prize.

Your purple toy.

With dozens of perfectly good toys scattered throughout the house, she somehow manages to nab your one, very special purple toy. How did she get it down from the kitchen counter?

She refuses to come to me with it. I get up to take it from her.  The chase begins.  This is not like her at all. She runs around, and around me, dancing and taunting me with it, just like you would.

When I almost reach her, she kicks into hyper speed and tears away, running a big circle around me, just like you would.

As she makes the sharp curve of the circle, she digs in and gives a little grunt, then stops cold and looks at me, like “is that all you got?

Just like you would.

Angel has completely distracted me. I am huffing and puffing, determined to catch her.  But oh my, she sure has suddenly become quite the contender, this little girl.  She maintains her distance, drops her front end down, shakes that toy a good few times, then springs up, and runs past me into the house.

There is no getting that purple toy away from her. She has claimed it, thoroughly demonstrated she is worthy of it, and has become a “different” dog with it.   She is behaving like you.  Where is this coming from???

I am stupefied.

I am exhausted.

And….hey…..that was pretty amazing, and fun, too. I plop down on the swing. Sunny Girl rushes over to me and paws my leg.  I smile, “Yes, girl, mama loves you too!” Angel is now in the house, peering out at me through the dog door, still with your purple toy in her mouth.

What does it all mean? Maybe nothing, maybe something.  Is this your doing, boy?  The passing of the baton, so to speak?

 

The power of purple.

 

 

Buddy Boy McBrady

Gone Forever Bird Hunting as of Monday, Sept 1^st 2014 at 3:30

“Find us some good fields up there, boy, and I will see you again soon.”

 

You can read all about my boy… there are lots of stories under “Buddy – A Series of Adventures” in my blog category, “Words From The Wild”. Please feel free to share with others who may find meaning and value in our journey together.

 

 

It’s time to go home; time to leave the peaceful serenity of the lake. The time has come, to take care of business back home.  I am reluctant to go.  I sit in the gazebo where you spent your final hours.  I will never forget this space.  I am reluctant to leave the vivid essence of you here.  But I have to.  Really, I have to.

Your sisters have both become quite sick. It has been very challenging, to continue to go without normal sleep for so many nights.  First with you these last few weeks, and now with them.  They have not eaten for days, have had bleeding runny bowel movements, barfing, and now they too, have met the vet I brought you to on Labor Day.  We don’t know what’s wrong.  He has given them both antibiotics and Loperamide, hoping their symptoms are simply from getting into some bad drinking water, something called Bacterial Overgrowth Gastroenteritis.  God I hope that’s all it is.  Please let that be all it is. I can’t lose anyone else. I boil hamburger and rice for them.  They refuse to eat it.

We are all alone up here. We have to head back.

I pace around the gazebo, putting things away in their places. I pace around the cabin, doing the same.  Tears come hot, hard, and often.  Everything I touch holds a memory of you.  Straightening things up doesn’t mean I am getting rid of you, and yet it feels like it.  I load up our gear and situate the girls into the truck, then make a final swing through the Toy Hauler, locking things up.  My bike and the Red Flyer Wagon are still out.  I move them into the storage building.  Somehow, I can’t let go of that borrowed wagon just yet.  No, I can’t let go just yet.

I climb into the driver seat and start the engine. “D” for drive.  Come on, now, let’s get on the road.  Drive.

Drive.

Drive….

Drive?

Or just sit here and weep for a while. That works too.  I think about Cindy and Clark.  They opened up their beautiful  lake place to share with us, and spent their much needed vacation here with us during this difficult time.  What kind, amazing people they are.  They were right there through everything, helping me care for you.  What would we have done without them?  What in the world would I have done when the truck broke down and Clark helped me to get it to the mechanics in Walker?  What would we have done without Cindy?  I am overwhelmed with gratitude.  There is always some light.

Heavy sigh. I wipe my tears, shift to “D”, pull out of the driveway and onto the road—destination home.

The drive out seems so desolate. We pass the foot path you and I walked up looking for grouse.  My eyes well up with tears.  Do you remember that day, limping up that path in your Thunder Shirt and home-made boot?  A true hunter to the end– you were so determined to point something for me.  That same day, you spied a chipper on the woodpile and closed in on it with the girls, terrorizing the hell out of it.  It was a good day.

We stop in Walker at the vet office. The girls instantly become anxious.  They know where we are, and they know they don’t want to go in there again.  No worries.   I walk up to the desk alone.

“do you have… “

“Oh! You are here!”  the receptionist says with relief.  She jumps up, runs into another room, then returns with a white metal box, 4 inches by 4 inches by 5inches, carefully handing it to me.

Eight days without you. But at least I have you now.

I clutch the small white box to my bosom and go back to the truck. It all comes down to this.  Your silky soft body, your countless sweet expressions, your athleticism, your natural ability and hunting instincts, your wildly enthusiastic nature and willingness to please, it all comes down to a box of ashes.  Once again the tears fall hard and heavy until I cannot breathe. Until I am out of air and gasping for a breath.

There is complete stillness in the truck. The girls are both intently looking at me.  They begin to gurgle “pre-barks” of concern, adding in half a tail wags.  I wipe my face and blow my nose, and give Angel a pat on the head.  I am not feeling quite so alone.  I need to take care of your sisters. And now you are still with me, big dog, and we are all heading home.   I place the box between me and Angel on the front seat.  Sunny Girl lies down in the back seat and will soon be fast asleep.  Hopefully we will not have to make any messy stops on the way home.

We drive straight through the string of tourist towns all the way to the last 30 or so minutes of the trip. I hesitate as I take the exit at 25.  It looks much different in the daylight.  It looks much different when it’s not raining.  I slow down.  There is no one behind us.  I slow to a crawl, searching the far side of the road for a sign.  Just a sign.  Oh…there it is.  I’m sure of it.  I pull off to the side of the road, flashers on, park, and get out.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I run across the road.  I’ve found the spot, the exact spot where we stopped on the way up north that Thursday before Labor Day.  Nothing else has been here since that day.  The small bits of garbage and sticks are all still right there.  There are my muddy sliding footprints on the hillside.  I kneel down and touch the ground where we had been.

It was raining pretty hard, but you so politely let me know you needed to “go”, so we stopped. What a horrible experience it was, there on the side of the road.  The rain pelting down, and you were barely able to limp out of the back seat of the truck to get out and go.  It took all the energy you had, and then you lost your footing, and rolled down the ditch.  Oh my God I felt so helpless!  You lay at the bottom of the ditch in the weeds and grass. The girls were contemplating jumping out to explore.  I was yelling at them to stay the hell in the truck as I rushed down the hill to your side.  They stayed.  You were exhausted, and just laid there in the wet ditch.  The look of humiliation on your face was heartbreaking. We were both soaking wet.  I tried to lift you up.  I wasn’t strong enough.  And all the while, a steady stream of cars whizzed by at 55+mph, spraying water on the side of the road.  Not one vehicle even slowed down.  I’m surprised an area resident didn’t call 911 hearing my mighty, desperate scream “GOD PLEASE HELP ME!” as I tried one more time to pick your tired body up out of the ditch.  And then, somehow I gained the strength to get you up that hill, and back into the truck, where you collapsed until we reached Leech Lake.

Sorrow fills my heart, and I sit crying in the ditch, remembering it all. “I am so sorry boy, so sorry that you went through that. I am so sorry I wasn’t stronger…smarter.  I should have done something differently.  Oh, my boy, I miss you so!”  I am pulling tufts of weeds out of the ground as I sit sobbing, barely aware of the passing cars.  Suddenly I notice a metallic flicker in the grass down to the left of where our struggles took place.  I get up and walk towards it.  It is my silver, battery operated lantern light.  I pick it up in disbelief and turn to look up the hill.  There is our traveling water dish, water bottle, and one of my red ratchet straps.  These things must of all fell out of the truck as I wrestled the elements to get you back in.  A gentle breeze blows my hair across my face, then, all is still.

“Thank you, Buddy. Thank you for bringing me back here.  Good boy.  Let’s go home now.”

And we are on the road again, with you, in one white box.

 

Buddy Boy McBrady

Gone Forever Bird Hunting as of Monday, Sept 1^st 2014 at 3:30

“Find us some good fields up there, boy, and I will see you again soon.”

 

You can read all about my boy… there are lots of stories under “Buddy – A Series of Adventures” in my blog category, “Words From The Wild”.  Please feel free to share with others who may find meaning and value in our journey together.