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| Breadloaf campus, on Middlebury Gap, Route 125 |
To get right down to it, ever since “It’s
Over” (previous entry), things have been pretty crazy around here. At the same time it has been probably
the most beautiful time of year. (Did I say that about June?). Colors especially intense, days of sun blindingly bright and sparkling light––too much to take in at one time.
Let me explain.
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| Skyler, at about 12 weeks |
Our new puppy came from a shelter. Unusual,
as he’s a pure bred Brittany.
There was an elderly couple in the Stowe area that bred Brittanys and
had decided to quit the breeding business. Somehow or other there was an accidental mating. Skyler, and four siblings, three females, two males, were the
result. The couple gave the entire litter to the North Country Animal League. The Huston family first saw the
puppies at a dog-centered event at the Shelburne Museum and were smitten. They decided they wanted a puppy. A few days later I drove up to the
Stowe animal shelter with Lesley to pick up Daisy. I was fatefully smitten, too. Adoption forms were handy and so I filled one out, just in
case. When I told Ken about the
puppies he was ready to get one at that very moment. The decision was made. A week later we picked up the pup
that we named Skyler.
Skyler has kept us busy. A puppy, if you've ever had one, is like a human toddler in ability and knowledge. And charm.
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| A committed lap sleeper. |
But first, the week from hell.
All this happened at once: Ken had a test that revealed a
tumor, we adopted a puppy, surgery took place (in Burlington, some 40 minutes
away), Ken developed an infection, there was a trip to our local ER (Middlebury), the puppy got
sick, an emergency trip to the vet (Vergennes), Ken's infection got worse, another trip to our major
ER (Burlington) where surgery had taken place, the puppy got sicker, threw up all night
long (I was laundering towels at 3 in the morning), a trip to an emergency ($$$) veterinary service (Burlington, again), Ken in the hospital
(the people hospital, Burlington again), me with no sleep. Things began to
improve when both Ken and puppy were home from their various hospitals. (Puppy improved more rapidly, both physically
and mentally.) The good news:
Ken's surgery successful, infection a thing of the past, and our puppy is wild
and happy and sweet, just like a puppy should be.
Skyler is keeping us on our toes. (Or did I say that already?)
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| Skyler (right) and sister Daisy, in a rare moment of quiet |
Tussling with his slightly larger sister at the Hustons next door is one easy way to use up some of his energy (Daisy's too), as long as one can
stand the play growling and general tearing around. But then Brittanys like activity, and having Skyler will
keep encouraging us in the same direction. The scoop on Brittanys is as follows:
“The breed was originally bred as a hunting dog and noted for being
easy to train and sweet-natured. The breed is generally more sensitive to
correction than other hunting breeds, and harsh corrections are often
unnecessary. Brittanys are all around sound dogs, as they are excellent family
pets as well as working dogs in the field. Brittanys are eager to please,
friendly, and sometimes sensitive dogs. They generally learn quickly and are
loyal and attached to their owners. They are great with kids. Brittanys are
energetic dogs, and need at least an hour of vigorous exercise every day. The
dogs are active and require frequent exercise and room to run, and a fenced
yard is essential. At least one long walk is required daily to satisfy the
needs of most Brittanys, and many Brittanys will need more than this. The
Brittany makes an ideal companion for an active owner.”
We have been doing a fair amount of walking, all things considered. One nearby pleasant walking site is the Dead Creek area. It reminds me a lot of Concord, Massachusetts' Great Meadows, next to the Concord River. Only much bigger.
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| One of several ponds in the Dead Creek WIldlife Management Area |
At nearby Dead
Creek Wildlife Management Area, primarily a waterfowl refuge, the annual Dead
Creek Day had retrieval demonstrations, among other activities relating to
wildlife. Dead Creek is a
lazy collection of waters, including partially manmade impoundments, all draining
into Otter Creek and ultimately Lake Champlain. With Skyler accompanying us, we
could barely walk ten yards without our puppy being swarmed by admirers. (How can anyone not stop to pet a
puppy!) Skyler watched the
demonstrations of water and field retrievals and search and rescue dog
performances intently, without, I suspect, learning a thing. He also met, less happily, a pair of
bear hounds. (Yes, trained to run
down and, I imagine, tree, bears.
Not something I would especially care to see.)
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| All eyes are on the retriever currently in the field |
Plying the Robert
Frost interpretive trail on Middlebury Gap and a trek down the old Vergennes
Waterworks (known to those from Bristol as the Bristol Waterworks) trail with Andy and Davey McGavern (Davey handling Daisy for this vigorous puppy workout) were more
leisurely, for the adults, anyway. The days were
clear and the trees bright with reds and oranges.
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| A forest trail |
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| At the near horizon the trees on the hill have gone completely orange (Robert Frost Interpretative Trail) |
Scattered along the Robert Frost trail are some of his poems, sometimes fitting the site, other times not.
IN HARDWOOD GROVES
The same leaves over and over again!
They fall from giving shade
above,
To make one texture of faded
brown
And fit the earth like a leather
glove.
Before the leaves can mount again
To fill the trees with another
shade
They must go down past things
coming up
They must go down into the dark
decayed.
They must be pierced by flowers and put
Beneath the feet of dancing
flowers.
However it is in some other world
I know this is the way in ours.
And maybe here a birch could prompt amusing thoughts like this:
A YOUNG BIRCH
The birch begins to crack its
outer sheath
Of baby green and show the white
beneath,
As whosoever likes the young and
slight
May well have noticed. Soon entirely white
To double day and cut in half the
dark
It will stand forth, entirely
white in bark,
And nothing but the top a leafy
green –
The only native tree that dares
to lean,
Relying on its beauty to the air.
(Less brave perhaps than trusting
are the fair.)
And someone reminiscent will
recall
How once in cutting brush along
the wall
He spared it from the number of
the slain,
At first to be no bigger than a
cane,
And then no bigger than a fishing
pole,
But now at last so obvious a bole
The most efficient help you ever
hired
Would know that it was there to
be admired,
And zeal would not be thanked
that cut it down
When you were reading books or
out of town.
It was a thing of beauty and was sent
To live its life out as an ornament.
There are
numerous other poems scattered here and there, but this one seems to fit the season best:
NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down today.
Nothing gold can stay.
