I’m still trying to come up with a way to share without Facebook, and yet not entirely to the whole world.
I have to write. I guess that’s built in and scribbling is necessary for my mental health. The trouble is to write anything presentable.
Half a page of possible explanations for my writer’s block goes here. Spare us.
How about some pictures of the dog?
This baby girl is the bestest lil dog! Usually does what she’s told, causes very little trouble. She never once messed the house or chewed something up
Her biggest flaw is her reactivity. Out here in the sticks it’s rarely an issue. Out here in the sticks, she has no opportunity to get used to people and get over it.
I think she gets that from me, as I’m not exactly comfortable around people, either, and she can tell. I fake it when necessary and act nice, but the dog isn’t into playing normal.
I’ve been advised to “keep that dog in, or somebody’ll shoot it for a wolf.”
Wolves are a thing around here. They attack livestock at all quarters around us. The official statistics are shocking, but I suspect the real ones are more than we hear about, as many wolf/human encounters end quietly with “shovel and shut up”.
Okay. I’ll tell you about the two scariest moments since we came out here!
The first was when we came camping, shortly after we bought the place, to burn brush piles. We were dry camping in the cold, just keeping that big fire going all day. After some many days I hit that point. I’d had it with the cold, the dirt and the heating up of canned soup for dinner. One evening I told Jeff I would stay and watch the fire, and he should drive down and get me a burger. That was before we had the dog.
He jumped in the truck. After he drove away it suddenly got dark and I mean black like a sheet of construction paper. I was shocked at how very alone I felt. “I’m not the kind to be afraid of the dark,” uh-huh. Right. The woods were watching me from every side. The fire wasn’t as much of a comfort as I had thought it would be (from all those Jack London stories). I’ll just say it, I was scared. I basically rotated around with my flashlight until Jeff came back.
What a lovely feeling to see headlights! Then I jumped into the truck, the heater was on, I could finally take off some of my layers of coats, I took off my boots too just for how lovely that felt. And there was a big, hot, juicy burger, with all the stuff, napkins and ketchup for the fries and dressing for the salad. I was restored to hope.
The other scary moment was some time after we moved out here. We were still camping in the little trailer. The Montana had been delivered and was mostly set up but not all the way. We hadn’t moved into it yet. Jeff went back to the rainy side by himself to get one last load of whatever he could salvage, leaving me with the dog.
I decided to move into the Montana while he was gone. There’s more indoor space, so it’s more comfortable to stay inside longer being a nervous female. After he left, I spent the afternoon moving stuff up there.
The sun was setting. On the last trip up to the Montana before going inside for the evening, the dog started to act all nervous and twitchy.
I thought it was just because Daddy was gone.
I wanted her to go potty before we went in so that we could stay in all night. She wouldn’t cooperate. Too distracted and didn’t want to go. I stood in front of the steps up to the Montana door yelling at her to go potty.
The Montana is pretty high when it’s all the way jacked up. Lots of clearance underneath. There are five steps to get up to the door.
Here’s a random picture from the internet showing us how much space there is under there, compared to that person’s legs.
The dog was refusing to go potty, so I gave up and called her.
She wouldn’t come, either.
I tried calling, and then coaxing.
What on earth is wrong with her? She usually comes right away.
She stood a short distance away from me, standing still, refusing to move, and then she started growling, showing her teeth, hackles bristling. She was looking straight at me like that, with her head down.
It was very disconcerting.
My dog has lost her mind? She’s turning against me? She’s going nuts. She has rabies.
Or…
There’s something right behind me.
She’s low enough that she can see it through the space under the Montana.
I tell ya, those were the five longest steps of my life. I climbed up inside, step, step, step, trying to move slowly like I wasn’t in a hurry.
But not too slowly.
When I got up in there I called the dog and she DASHED in after me. I slammed the door and I AM NEVER GOING OUT THERE AGAIN!!!
I never did. At least not until really late the next morning when the sun was high and everything looked less scary.
I looked around in the dust, expecting bear tracks, but I didn’t see any.
I did notice some big dog tracks, and thought, “Isn’t it funny how Poppy’s footprints spread out and look bigger in this loose dust?”
Later on I saw more of those big tracks on the path to the outhouse, and thought, “Well, there you go, I guess that really is how large her tracks are.”
Living proof of how stupid it is to cruise through life on autopilot, making assumptions instead of asking pertinent questions, like, “But ARE those Poppy’s tracks?”
The next evening, around dusk, I heard a classic sound I’ve never heard in real life before, only in the movies: arc– arc– arc– arOOOO.
That’s when two and two went together.
THERE WERE WOLVES IN MY YARD
Like her, except bigger and badder.
We don’t have to worry about her having to go out in the middle of the night. Her bladder is cast iron. She’s comfortable all night until ten in the morning and even then, doesn’t run to pee the first second she’s let out. She takes time to check the perimeter first.
She doesn’t bark. It’s true, a German Shepherd that almost never barks! Certainly I trained it into her. If she does that big loud bark indoors, I’d say NO angrily, and walk away and ignore her. But if she alerts another way, like quietly saying “brrrUFF”, I would run over and put my arm around her, and we would look out the window together.
But there are lots of dogs that such training would be whistling into the wind.
She’s a working dog, and her job is to keep that stick from escaping. She zooms like an arrow after it, stops with a skid or a tumble like a train wreck, but comes up with the stick in her teeth. It’s just as exciting even if it’s Mommy’s pathetic little throws. Every throw is the focus of her life, even the ones that land on the ground behind her.
She’s learned not to expect anyone to stop working to throw the stick. She’ll follow alongside me as I walk, nudging the stick into my hand, and I take it and toss it without even looking. Over and over and over…
She comes inside with her tongue hanging down, drinks a quart of water and then sleeps for hours.
She fits nicely on my lap. I wanted a lap dog and now I have one!
If Daddy forgets to bring the dog outside with him, this is what it looks like until he comes back.
We are a good home for a dog. That means we’re a good home for us.
How long it takes me to really believe! Jeff has proved to me how many times that he is different and I don’t have to worry. Even when bad things happen to us, it turns out to be GOOD because it proves to me like nothing else could what a sterling character he is!
But I was still scared to get another puppy, after what baby dogs suffered at that other place long ago.
Now the puppy has grown up and we’re a pack.
Okay, I remembered another scary thing. It was one night when I decided I wanted the mail. Jeff didn’t feel like going down there. I didn’t feel like waiting for morning. It’ll be a fun adventure! Going for a walk by the light of the silvery moon. Why not? Only half a mile down the hill in the snow.
I can’t say I enjoyed it. I was partly showing off how brave I am, which is a dumb reason to do things.
That dog started acting all dodgy again. I didn’t see or hear anything, but she slunk along looking nervously in all directions and wishing she was back at home until it got to me and I did, too.
At least I got the mail.
And two awesome pictures of the light of the silvery moon. Here is the same spot looking in two directions. One looking at the moon as it came over the hill, then I turned around and there’s what it was shining at.
The phone camera did a great job absorbing the light and making things more visible. To my eyes it was darker than this.
The crowning achievement of good girlness was just yesterday. I went outside to clean the ice chest because some meat had thawed a bit and bled all over the bottom. The big roast I was going to cook had so much blood in the bag that I opened it and let the blood run out on the ice for the dog to lick. She was happy to lick up fresh beef blood!
I put the roast on a paper plate on top of the other ice chest, rolled up the bloody bag in another bag and went inside to throw it away, and get some more paper towels and the spray.
Inside, I realized what I had done. I just served the dog a roast, basically. I left it on the ice chest at the height of her nose.
I hurried back out, prepared to take it away from her and wash it. I mean, it’s going to boil for hours, it’ll be FINE.
But she hadn’t touched it!
GOOD GIRL!