I took Mick for a walk today. Sometimes rank has it's privileges. I figure maybe I could keep up with the senior dog. So my dreams aren't exactly reality.
It is a new concept for a city girl to go for a walk and not have a block to walk around. I used to pick my walks by which gardens I like to walk by. Today I wasn't sure we had a destination at all. We aimed for the mail box at the end of the lane, and then for the bridge down the road and then we walked the perimeter of a 3 acre corn field.
It is an odd feeling to just let your dog run loose. Even though Mick had a field collar on and responds to tone, it was still an act of faith for me. All 11+ years I've owned Mick my goal has been to keep him safe, and safely contained. Heck, I'm not even sure I'm safe out wandering the countryside, much less him. This is sort of pathetic for someone who owns hunting dogs.
My kids would say I'm a perpetual worrier. Sometimes I can't argue it. The whole gamut of 'what if's' went through my head. What if he takes off and doesn't come back. What if he falls into the river, cause I'm pretty sure I'm not venturing in after him. What if I fall and can't get up? What if a car comes down the road. I didn't need to worry about that one.
So we went and we came back safely. Even sat on our little bench. It was a window well frame at my Mom's house years ago. We laughed at the insanity of dragging it along on our move. But, it's strategically placed by a nice view of the river. It's the beginning of a little garden area to pause by on the way up the lane.
So, Mick's tired from his adventure, and I'm happy. We tested some boundaries and found some bliss.
Houses and dogs. They are on my mind. Little, big, foster, forever. Little homes are a lot like little dogs. They just don't know their size. Big homes don't necessarily hold more love than little homes. It's not the size of the house that matters, it's the size of the love within.
We're celebrating because our foster dog Jessie found her forever home. She has a canine playmate and two little girls, plus she'll get to hunt. Layla's nose is out of joint because her playmate is gone. Mick's nose is out of joint because Layla's playmate is gone. No more peaceful naps for this old boy.
If I'm counting right, Jessie is foster #14 for us. I think we are getting the hang of this stuff. Thankfully, we've had more fosters than houses. Good thing because moving is such a bitch.
Such a privilege to be the half-way house for these doggies. Such a blessing to have that extra love to share with them, and the people who adopt them. Of all of them, Pete's family and Sophie's Mom could win awards for updates and photo's. It doesn't mean the others aren't well loved, I just don't hear about it.
There was a time in my life where home had no dogs. Thank God I woke up out of that dream. Home isn't home without them now. Forever homes, foster dogs, forever dogs. It's all about the love.
If there is one thing I have learned with pointers is never underestimate the power of the nose. Never. And there are very few times I will say "never" in association with a dog of mine.
The nose rules. It's king. It's precise and finely honed. Here is a good example.
Mick and Layla are ruthlessly pursuing a smell. Ruthlessly. Behind the lawn mower. Or maybe between the logs stacked by the lawn mower. Something is there. They reach, stretch, nose, poke, dig, press, prod. It's there they tell me.
So to end their agony. We move the lawn mower. Nothing. Move the logs. Nothing. Remove the bag off the mower. Nothing. Reno says it's gone guys, give it up. They look at us aghast! What??? Give up the hunt?? So we turn the mower over....nothing. They insist that all three brain cells in each head are firing in perfect harmony.
So Reno starts the mower. More to chase the dogs off than anything. A couple clean revolutions and there it is. A tell tale thunk. A spray of blood shoots over Reno's leg and the mouse fly's out the side. I can only imagine the mouse hanging on for dear life. First the threat of the nose and the battle of the blade. Sad as it is for the mouse, it proved once again, that yes, the nose knows.
It doesn't take much to amuse the Pointers. They were born to hunt and hunt they will. Birds, rodents, toads, bee's. The thrill of the chase is all that matters. Jessie is hunting for a forever home, Mick was toad hunting, and Layla was bee hunting. Two out of three were successful. Several of them were mouse hunting, but the only mouse found was a little skeleton of one Reno found in the garage. He showed me how cute it was....ewwwwww.
I spend the weekend digging. Digging through boxes. Unpacking takes a long time. Digging in the garden. Digging up ornamental grasses. Uggghhhh....that takes a whole lot of elbow grease. Frankly, my elbows are exhausted.
I did finally plant as well. My Mom's hostas, and my iris. Phfeww, those poor plants have been in plastic buckets since last April. What a relief to have them in the ground. In the course of digging I found a bunch of bulbs in the mist of the grasses. Score!!! Freebee's. Gardeners love freebee's. It was my lucky day.
I rather dig the beauty of it. We have a link in that garden. Mom's house, my house and gifts from the previous owner of this house. You don't have to hunt much to find the grace here. It's planted everywhere.
