Back in early August, I took a trip to Wyoming to pick up a horse trailer that Clark has been tempting me with for quite a while. The bonus, to fill it with hay. Although it has become very stressful for me to take extended periods of time off from work, I finally was able to coordinate a trip with my time off mirroring some time off taken by two of the docs I work with. I was still anxious about leaving my animals behind, horses and cat, but, like Nike says, I had to make up my mind to "Just do it."
Most of the trip was business with much to get done preparing the trailer for the road and taking a morning to load it with hay, but there were a couple of days of relaxation.
On the way up I took a very minor detour to visit Stan for a night and see his house and garden. After a mid-day nap and a walk with the M-dog, we went downtown for First Friday. First Friday is a monthly event highlighting local artists and galleries. While the art was mildly interesting, the local college crowds are much more fun to watch. Fort Collins is an odd, yet engaging mix of old west and new age. I like the town more each time I visit. If only it were west of the Rockies....
At Clark and Mona's house I decided to "save" a bunny baby from those wascally putty tats of Mona's. She saw the kit-tehs chasing it through the yard and managed to catch the little bunny before they did. It was sooooo cute and scared. Clark immediate warned that they usually don't survive captivity but I was sure this one would be different! I found a big box and we put a metal grating over the top. I expected the bunny to die over night, but the next day he/she (how do you tell with a baby bunny?), was alive and well. Couldn't really find any obvious external injuries and I got on the Internet to see what they eat. Seems they like grass so I plucked some from the yard, filled a jar lid with water and corralled the bunny on the kitchen table and there he/she would nibble grass and drink water. Every several hours I would put the bunny on the table, marvel at how adorable it was and offer some food and water. By the end of the second day, little Jr was trying to jump out of the box. I thought this was a good sign. We decided to release our captive over at the hay circle thinking that over there at least the bunny would escape lunch with a kitty.
The next day was spent in town finishing preparations to the horse trailer. What we had hoped would be a short time in town, turned out to be an all day affair. Upon arriving home, the first thing I did was peer into the box to check on bunny and to my horror, what I found was a stiff puff of fur. Clark was right. Sadly, the very next morning was the planned release at the circle. The little thing was still warm and I imagined that I felt a faint heartbeat. I watched for a moment to see any movement indicating breath, I held the soft furry chest to my ear in hopes of hearing a tiny rapid beating but there was neither sign of life. I swaddled the baby bunny in my arms and clothes, somehow hoping that if I could just warm him up, he would come around. I knew better but I couldn't quite let go. **Knowing that I contributed to a little bunny's demise by my good? intentions was really sad for me. I held on until there was no more hint of heat left to be found and carried him at dusk, weeping all the way, to the field on the east side of Sybille Creek Road. I said a Native prayer for my departed friend and finally let go. As I was walking back to the house and I neared the front porch, I could hear another baby screeching as it ran for it's life from the persistent cats. I said aloud, "Wow! Those Native prayers work quickly!" And I had learned my lesson.
The horse trailer, as road worthy as it was going to get at this point, was ready to be loaded with hay. I had forgotten about the humidity in Wyoming. One wouldn't think of it as a humid state, but compared to what I am used to and comfortable with, it was drenching. Your pant legs quit sliding over your legs, and your sweat provides a place for the alfalfa leaves and dust to rest. Enclose yourself in a trailer with no breeze and add some physical exertion and it's not pleasant for long. But thanks to help we got it loaded in minimal time.
Next morning, after goodbyes, it was time to hit the road. Apprehensive at first about hauling this 3,000 lb horse trailer filled with another 5,000 or more lbs of hay with just a hint of trailer brake to stop me, the trailer hauled like a dream, just like Clark promised, and my mighty Cummings diesel helped to hold us back on the downhill side. Even all four of my trailer tires stayed round until I got home, then one deflated within a week.
The trip home was uneventful and pleasant. Well, except for this. This little cloudburst turned into a black downpour that came down so thick and fast and furious that even semis were pulling off onto the shoulder. The wind was howling and whipping thick sheets of rain across the windshield. Wipers were worthless. Even though it was full daylight, you literally could not see the road for an instant at a time. There was an over-sized load on a flat-bed in my rear view mirror and he was riding in the passing lane and holding steady there. I had the slow lane and between the two of us maintaining our lanes and not having to worry about passing vehicles alongside either of us, we made it through without stopping. I played tag with that truck all the way to Evanston, where he exited. After surviving the torrent, I saw a bike headed east bound for it. Man, was he in for a surprise! I fortunately only encountered one more cloudburst in Wendover, Nevada, but it was just a normal summer thunderstorm. Not something out of the "Wyoming Triangle."

**exactly what the title of this blog refers to.

Feathers of a Bird

Yesterday as I was working in the office, I heard a loud thump against the kitchen window. As Bubba and I peered out the screen of the sliding glass door we discovered the small, yellow and gray victim on the deck. He was lying on his back with his neck twisted around so that his head was underneath one shoulder facing his tail. Not a pretty sight. His eyes were open and his mouth was agape. He was breathing rapidly and blinking so I knew he was still alive though I suspected that his neck was broken. Bubba suspected that he might actually be able to catch this one if given the chance. He was hunkered down on his haunches doing the cat twitter and twitch. I moved Bubba aside with my foot and went out to assess the victim.
As I picked up the bird he moved his head back to its anatomic position revealing that at least, his neck wasn't broken. I carried him to a shaded spot on the deck and found something shallow and flat to set him in. He didn't try to struggle or fly but made an attempt to grasp my fingers with his toes. It seemed his legs were okay too yet when I set him down he didn't want to use his left leg equally. I filled up jar lid with water and set it in front of him. I straightened the long feathers of his right wing and lay them along his side parallel to the left wing. I couldn't tell if it was broken but he didn't seem any more distressed when I smoothed it. The whole time he sat hunched there, facing me, blinking and holding his beak wide open. I let a couple of drops of water roll off my finger and into his beak. He had a tiny feather stuck to the corner of his right eye. I gently pulled it away. He had another matted to the tip of his beak, I removed it also. I tried to comfort him a bit (he never seemed less than terrified or stunned), and realized there was nothing more I could do so I went back to work. About 45 minutes later he had gone. I assume he flew off because there was no sign of him or a struggle.

How Zen am I?

I spotted a wasp in the front window as I was checking to see if the mail came yet. No, he wasn't on the outside, he was on the inside. It must be the heat, but he didn't fly off even though I was very close before I noticed him. Too close. I am terrified of flying stinging objects. I'm not allergic, the sting just hurts.
I have no problem catching spiders and releasing them outside. I do stay away from black widows though. They have never bitten me that I am aware of. But, bees and wasps are different. They're fast and I've seen them come after me with intent. I once had a bee chase me down the shore at a lake. I remember one of my cousins (perhaps) from Ohio having to be whisked off to the hospital because he had stepped in a nest or hive of some sort, hornets maybe, that was on the ground! When out riding horses as a teen, I had a bee fly down the front of my shirt and sting me twice. Maybe it was two bees, all I know is that I had two welts that burned for hours. To this day my instinct is to grasp the front of my shirt collar and pull it tightly closed whenever I see or hear flying stinging objects.
So, how Zen have I become that today, after spotting this wasp lazily strolling along the window, I found a wide mouthed jar in the kitchen, a stiff piece of paper from the junk mail pile, gently trapped him against the window, slid the paper over the opening and carried him outside to be released?
photo credit

Coincidence?

Mona created a colorful necklace for me which incorporated several healing stones and beads meant to offer me creativity and among other things, solace and the ability to deal with the grief of the recent passing of Rowdy. It arrived on Friday the twenty third of May, the day after Rowdy's ashes were delivered to my doorstep, and after shedding more than a few tears, I promptly put the necklace on and there it has remained.
In dealing with his departure, I feel that I have been doing quite well. I expected much worse. The first week was as expected, very painful and I was unable to discuss his absence without tearing up. By the second week, I was no longer prone to crying jags and was able to accept condolences from the few people that shared the saga that was Rowdy without having a melt down. Whenever visual memories tried to bully their way into that high def big screen that is my minds eye, I was able to block them with an almost tangible click of my brain.
Bubba keeps me company and if I am not mistaken, spends a great deal more time on my lap now then he used to. I am still getting used to a new pre-work routine which doesn't involve potty time, cookies, kisses and doggie doors, but returning home to a half empty house is getting easier.
Wednesday (June 4) as I was changing after a case that afternoon, I went to pull my mask off of my neck (don't ask me why we don't untie them, we just pull until the paper strings break), I inadvertently caught my necklace and pulled it to, breaking it on one side of the clasp. Fortunately it is so well constructed that I lost none of the beads. Unfortunately I need to replace the clam shell clasp in order to repair it, but it seems like that will be easy enough.
As I checked phone messages remotely, my step mom had called to offer her condolences after just receiving my letter about Rowdy. (She is one of the few people I know who doesn't have an email address and doesn't want one). She sounded choked up on the phone and suddenly I found myself tearing up and wanting to cry. I was still in the locker room and didn't want to break down there so I pulled myself together and went on to my next work location.
When I got home it was too late to return her call, and I soon forgot about it. I fixed something to eat and settled in the recliner watching television with Bubba nestled on my lap. Some time later, from seemingly nowhere, I felt the overwhelming loneliness coming on and this time I let go. I am unaware of what triggered this. Normally there is an immediate visual memory or sound or smell or though process which precedes the ache of his loss but this time it just seemed to start all on it's own.
As Bubba sat at my feet staring at me with what appeared to me as wide eyed concern, I reached for my neck and that was when I remembered that the necklace had broken earlier and was no longer on my neck but rather on the kitchen table. As I sat there sobbing, I wondered, is the necklace really that powerful, or is it coincidence?
photo credit

I'm not sure where the dog went..... but I'd better start hunting.

Early this morning I awoke to Bubba pawing at something in the closet. He had a great interest in my empty assorted soft sided luggage. After calling him several times and being ignored, I promptly went back to sleep.
Upon awakening, Bubba was there in his usual spot spooning against my chest. Having not forgotten his nocturnal activities, I carefully surveyed the floor as I swung out of bed. There it was, a very little mouse. Not the standard grayish brown variety but a cute almost calico with neat little ears and a short tail. At least he didn't put it in the bed.
I felt bad that he had killed it. Hope he didn't do so for
my sake!

Thursday night when I got home after working, and then visiting my friend and her 1 day old baby at the hospital, I found an expected package on my doorstep. There, in a 6 1\2" x 8" box sat the ashes of my beloved Rowdy. I didn't expect it so soon.
I had been contemplating how I would react when this day came. Unexpectedly, I felt relieved. I felt like he was home, more figuratively than literally I think. I picked up the box and was surprised that it was so light. The shipping label said 3 lbs. Really? All that is left of my 40 lb dog is three lbs.? I have lifted the ashes of my step dad and I know that 3 lbs is probably accurate given the relativity, but still I was surprised.
I carried the box in a one-armed embrace and took it inside. I seemed a little dazed as I walked around the house embracing this box, unwilling it seemed, to open it just yet. Finally, with trepidation, I carefully sliced the seams and removed the cedar box within. Atop the cellophane wrapped package was an "in remembrance...." card from the crematory. I sat in the recliner, box beside me, and after a short while, I removed the cellophane.
As I grew sleepy and prepared for bed, I carried the cool cedar box with me. Back in the day, Rowdy would follow me everywhere, from room to room, bathroom included, anytime I moved. Before I finally got into to bed, I placed him on the shelf above the spot next to my bed where he lay asleep only four nights prior. It was oddly comforting to know that he was home. Something tangible to hold on to even though his spirit was now not with his bodily remains, but somewhere in the universe, never gone but merely changed into another form of energy, one I could still perhaps communicate with, yet in a different realm. I as I lay awaiting sleep, I felt that Rowdy was at last, at peace.

Rowdy 1993- 2008

Yesterday I said my final farewell to Rowdy. He had a long adventurous life, and we traveled a lot of miles together. There a lot of stories to be told revolving around my closest companion and, if those of you who may read this blog will bear with me, I will be doing some sappy dog blogging for the next several posts.
It seems to ease the pain, writing about Rowdy. He was a larger than life dog , very intelligent with a strong personality. It will be very hard to fill the vacuum created by the loss of such a presence. Bubba and I will soldier on without him but not without his memory.