Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Going To The Dogs

As you might remember, not too long ago I adopted this pretty boy as a companion for Whitey and I after our beloved Little Bear passed.
Whitey was so depressed that he wouldn't go outside. He gained weight. He didn't even bother to bury his bones any more.
Little Bear wasn't there to dig them back up.
It was a favorite game.
His sad eyes told me that I needed to find him a companion.
I, too missed Little Bear's fearless and devoted presence. She calmly stood guard wherever I went, always alert.
One big 'Woof' from her and even bears went running.
I didn't know if I was ready to love another dog.
But we have always been a two dog family. It takes two dogs to keep each other company, patrol the property and provide a presence. Not only that, but they are true companions to Hubby and I.
We knew that we had to adopt a rescue dog.
No question.
So, after applying to two organizations, the Border Collie and the American Eskimo Rescue Organizations, we were sent information on Champ.

So far his reputation for being a 'challenge' has been very accurate.

He is afraid of loud noises. He becomes destructive if he is left out by himself. But it is the strangest kind of destruction. He tears out plants.

He reacts this way to all of his frustrations. He also starts drooling. And has the strangest habit of licking the floor when he is stressed.

So we have been doing some observations.To see what works. Redirecting his attention helps. Repetition. Talking calmly. Showing him that he can lie down and chew a bone and that he doesn't have to react to loud noises. That he can come over and get scratched behind the ears.

We filter any noise with fans.

 We are working on teaching him self-soothing methods of coping.

That everything doesn't have to have his attention.

  
That he doesn't have to worry.

He was teased. With everything. Flashlights, aluminum foil, plastic bags, sticks, water from the hose, the broom. He goes after all of those things like a hound to a fox.

Then after being teased, he was confined because of his destruction. Necessarily.

Teasing>Aggression> Destruction>Confinement>Agression>Destruction

A vicious circle.

But already he is learning. I can now water my plants without him lunging at the hose. I just simply redirect his attention. 'Go get the ball, Champ'. Over and over, 'Go get the ball.' I bought a toy that looks like a soccer ball. I can kick it. Which leaves my hands free. He is so smart. He knows what I am saying. He loves to fetch the ball. He is quite good at it. Right in mid-air.

I don't allow him to bite at the broom. I stop. I say, 'No'. Then I start sweeping and when he lunges at the broom, I tell him to 'Go get the ball'.

Over and over he is learning.

How to be a normal dog.


Today we have had thunder and Hubby has been hammering.

This has been going on for 3 days.

The first two days were very trying for me.

I spent the day trying to figure out how to calm him down. He ripped out large swarthes of grass. He ripped out my ferns in front of the house.

He drooled so much when I brought him inside that I had to confine him to the kitchen and stay with him, following him around with a mop and wet towel.

And handing him his ball.

Over and over. Two days. 12 hour days.

And today?


A breakthrough! The once frantic, drooling, plant ripping hound has turned into a happy, fairly normal dog! Despite the thunder. Despite the hammering in the next room.

It just took a whole lot of patience, a lot of reassurance, observation, and love.

And I'm sure there will be plenty of set backs.


And the example of his little pal, Whitey, who showed him that it is far more fun to calmly chew a bone than run around wasting all of that energy on chasing shadows and sounds.



And yes, you can teach an older dog new tricks.

One day at a time.

Small Town Living/ My Tacoma News Tribune Article

Read my latest installment of 'Life on the Edge', in The Tacoma News Tribune.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Mist

I woke up to a misty morning.
Thunder storms are in the forecast.
It is so still, you can hear a leaf drop.
The birds have stopped their territorial singing.
They are done raising young.
I see the new fledglings
still begging for food.
Following their overworked parents through the trees.
But these are the last of the nestlings.
It's time to fatten up for winter.
Our foothill ecosystem is home to many migrating birds that summer here to raise their young.
Dew drops provide water, they dine on forest berries. Huckleberry, Thimble berry, Salmon berry, Blackberry, Raspberry, Indian Plum, Cherries, wild strawberries. Holly berry, Rowen. Too many to name.
Hazelnuts and cones of all types. Catkins and seeds and roots and mushrooms.

 Every kind of insect you can imagine. I will have to tell you my insect tales some time. I have ceased to be squeamish. But they lure Woodpeckers and Thrashers, Shrikes and nuthatches that climb up and down trees headfirst and will land in your hand if you hold out a treat.
These summer thunderstorms come suddenly and dramatically here in the many small valleys and steep, evergreen hills, washing away this year's fallen needles, and tumbling down gullies and deep roadside ditches, swelling the creeks and rivers.

We always stand out on the deck after a storm and listen to the sound of the creek down below, new voices added to it's song.

 Lightning can be within reach and frequently, during the early evening we are provided a view of the mountain storms, playing out like some mystical war of the Gods, Mt. Rainier silhouetted against the sharp spears of jagged light.
Mist has a life of it's own and I watch it glide over the hills until it finds a place to settle, where it will then rise in columns, warmed by the Earth, and gradually float away to start the cycle all over again.
But soon the summer sun wins the match, and the mist must float away, taking away my melancholy mood for a time.
Warming my frame of mind and giving me renewed hope that sunshine will still be waiting there behind whatever clouds roll our way.
No matter how strong the storms around us.
Or how blinding the mist.
Until I can put on my Rose Colored Glasses once more.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Summer Morning


My strawberries are finally ripe after our very cool spring.
To celebrate, I decided to bake some Strawberry Scones. (See recipe under 'baking')

No matter that I am all by myself for the next few days while my Ramblin' Man is away at a charity golf tournament representing the company he works for.
The charity is for Women's Shelters.
Love that.

So while he is gone, why not bake something just for myself?


Mmmmm! Hot out of the oven. I replaced half the white flour with wheat this time. They were still light and fluffy. I have only a small amount of strawberries, and these scones are the perfect treat for a few special berries.

I will save out two for myself and freeze the rest for Ramblin' Man.


I am enjoying these warm summer mornings.

I have some time to browse through some favorite books.


And find some precious keepsakes from another long ago summer morning.


 Pressed while in the very place depicted, on a stroll with a precious sister- in- law who lives so far, but always close to our hearts.

A book of poetry by Robert Frost.

I bought it there, in a tiny shop hidden away.

A precious memento of our time together.

The best kind of souvenir.


Another vintage favorite - illustrated by Kate Greenaway.


Blue Violets - Faithfulness


The very definition of these guys.
Every morning we take our long walk up the winding driveway to get the newspaper.

With plenty of play time on the way.


Who can say No to such happy faces?


We can see the horses that live next door when we get to the end. You can still see storm debris piled high in the center of their pasture. We will be cleaning up from that ice storm for several years yet.
But for now it is mostly hidden among the lush summer landscape.

On the way I sample some native Red Huckleberries. Very tart! You will always find these growing in decaying tree stumps. They thrive in the acidity. These are very long-lived plants. Some have been here since we first came, over 30 years ago. They are lovely as can be with their tiny bright green leaves and red berries. Of course, the birds love them.

I stop on the way back to water my wildflower gardens.

Sweet William, Bird's Foot Trefoil, Buttercup, and Tansy not yet blooming.
Sweet William - Gallantry
I will leave you with one of my favorite poems.

Flower-Gathering
by Robert Frost
I left you in the morning,
And in the morning glow,
You walked a way beside me
To make me sad to go.
Do you know me in the gloaming,
Gaunt and dusty gray with roaming?
Are you dumb because you know me not,
or dumb because you know?
All for me? And not a question
For the faded flowers gay
That could take me from beside you
For the ages of a day?
They are yours, and be the measure
of their worth for you to treasure,
The measure of the little while
That I've been long away.

Monday, July 9, 2012

A Quiet Time


It's been a quiet time for me this week. I've been spending time in nature, taking woodland walks, tending to my roses.

Nature is so peaceful.

Just what I have needed.


The sun has been shining, finally. The woodlands filter the light, leaving pretty patterns to follow.

There is always beautiful birdsong and delicate wildflowers to soothe the weary soul.



I follow the woodland path in the filtered sunlight searching for delicate blooms.


I am rewarded with the discovery of some ethereal blossoms.


Tiny flowers against impossibly green leaves. As delicate as a fairy's wing.


The forest is a lovely place to clear your mind and ground your spirit. Connecting with nature seems to put life in perspective.



You can leave behind the cares of the world and simply exist, surrounded by the beauty of the forest.


Exquisite creation, unhampered by the hand of man. A fragile blossom that will soon turn into a nourishing Thimble Berry, so named for it's hollow core when plucked.


An ancient Cedar gives shelter to a woodland wildflower.


And it's own progeny, bravely reaching towards the light to begin it's own journey in the forest. Someday home to birds and woodland creatures not yet born.

The circle of life.


My woodland walk brings me back around to home once more.

With a deeper understanding of the rhythms of life.



And a feeling of peace deep within my heart.


That life goes on and so do we.

Protected and nurtured by those before us, so we can do the same.

Full circle.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...