No, to the dog.
Oh, wait, that’s not a conversation.
I talk more to the dog more than I ever did. I tell him what I’m doing, or where I’m
going. As if he had an opinion. He stares right back at me and says, “Hmm.”
How many people tell their dog “I’ll be back soon” when they
leave? Sometimes in the past I would say
that and sometimes I wouldn’t. Now I
always do. Of course, a while ago there were lots
of times when I’d be going out, but Ken would be staying at home, so I didn’t think Skyler would notice much of a difference. Now I look at
him, expecting him to know exactly what I’m saying. Get it, Skyler? I’m not leaving you. I’ll return.
Don’t worry. He could be thinking, “Go, I don’t care. Just
remember to leave me something. Like peanut butter in a chewie, okay?” Or is he thinking, this is it. It’s final.
She’s going forever. She’ll
forget me.
“How are you doing?” is a question I’m asked a lot since
last October. The answer is almost always “Pretty good, actually,” or “Good,
thanks.” I don’t know how else to
answer. It’s accurate enough, I suppose, except
maybe at certain moments. Moments are hard to
predict. They might happen when I hear a
piece of music, or I want to share something I read or thought or felt, and I
want to share it now, not later. Or I
uncover something, like a card, a picture, a note, and I want to talk to it. Skyler listens. Sort of.
 |
| Skyler, on Raven Ridge, last year |
Imagine yourself deserted for some unknown reason in
Antarctica. There is not a human being
in sight anywhere and you are stunningly and frighteningly alone. From afar you see a large group of what look
like humans, men, mostly, and nicely dressed.
They are standing in conversational clumps, as if at an outdoor cocktail
party. Saved! Saved!
But as your distance closes, you realize with a shock, an intake of breath, they are
penguins, only penguins, and they will not understand you, and they cannot help
you.
 |
| That was then, two years ago or so, Ken and Skyler. |
Well, it’s actually not like that. I’m over-dramatizing. Skyler is more companion than a penguin (a penguin, for goodness' sake!) could
ever be. Skyler just lacks those big
brown sympathetic eyes, the mournful eyes of a Labrador, say. His eyes are light-colored and sharp, and
they sometimes look right past you.
Should I take that personally?
Skyler seems more dependent these days. He was probably destined to be that way. Ever since he was a puppy he’s been easily frightened. Even the photo of him taken with his sister Daisy when they were both barely ten weeks old shows a puppy with a downturned mouth lending him a worried look. He's not frightened by sudden loud noises like fireworks that
used to terrify Harry, our late Westie.
Skyler doesn’t even mind the sound of gunfire (deer season, target
practice–all liable to be heard here) or any other loud noises. He's a sucker for human love. What
scares him is other dogs. When he’s on a
leash and another dog approaches, no matter the size (Skyler is 38 pounds’
worth of dog) you might find him shivering and growling almost
simultaneously. He was always like that.
Oddly, left to his own devices at our local dog kennel he apparently manages to
adapt. Dogs are strange. He may be stranger than most.
 |
| Looking outdoors for what? A squirrel? With those cool-looking eyes. |
It’s hard to take Skyler for walks right now. Everything is so soggy it’s a challenge to
walk on anything but pavement. I took
him for a walk on the old road behind our house a few weeks ago when I thought
it was spring (mud season had begun, so I figured it had to be spring), but
that was followed by our best snow storm yet which was followed by melt and
then snow and so on. Weather, playing
around with the seasons.
Yet the signs of change are all here.
Sugaring has all been done, in my sugar house at least. Here and there maple sugar boils are still underway. (A wooden shack with wood stacked outside
plus steam coming out of the chimney equals an active sugaring operation.) The
first red-winged blackbirds appeared weeks ago, surviving two snow storms, hail
and rain in between. Pairs of ducks have appeared on the pond, visiting in the early
morning and gone by eleven as before. I’ve
seen deer (of course everyone does, but for some reason I seem to always miss
them), turkeys and ravens dot the fields, plus the occasional red fox. There’s a dead porcupine at one corner of the
meadow. I wish I knew what
happened to it. The bird feeder awaits the
first flock of bright golden finches. Last
spring thirty or more were like ornaments on branches of the bush near the
feeder.
 |
| Having a glass with Skyler just a short time ago when the sun was warm, the snow still fresh. |
Skyler spends more time out of doors when it’s warmer. He's such a wimp.
He doesn’t like rain (or water, particularly) but snow is okay, I guess.
It didn’t bother him when it was up to his chest since he’s got long legs
and can easily sprint across great piles of it. He enjoyed sticking his nose down deep into the snow to smell the
mouse tracks down below.
 |
| Nothing to brag about, but I was surprised to see these open up suddenly when the sun came out. |
Not quite so sweet a spring thing: putting the driveway back on the
driveway. A guy who lives several miles
down the road plowed the driveway this season.
He managed to scrape up half the gravel and toss it on the grass along
with the snow. Picking it up has been
the first, and I hope only, miserable chore of the season. I’ve picked up endless numbers of pieces of
stone every day for a couple of days now.
When I close my eyes at night I see pieces of gravel. Gravel.
Grrrravel. Growl.
 |
| Lawn, waiting to be reclaimed from driveway. |
