Guess who still has her choke chain
Something deep and dark has found me. The trigger came yesterday morning when I remembered Lady the Wonder Dog (above). The locale in that photo, though probably irrelevant, is Camden, Maine in ’78 or ’79. A few years later my wife went on sabbatical, and we were set to go to Europe for six long weeks—or was it more? The only problem was the dog.
My wife had planned her musical pilgrimage for years. We’d be going to London, Amsterdam, Cologne, Munich, Salzburg, Vienna, Florence, and Paris. All on the cheap, of course, the only way for us to manage it. (I’m talking scary cheap!) We even moved out of our house and stored our belongings in my grandmother’s garage to save the rent money for the trip. We had another place lined up to move to when we got back, an old colonial manor house on the bay, but we couldn’t find anyone to take Lady in while we were gone. That left boarding, but no one was prepared to keep a dog that long.
Finally, as we were getting desperate, we learned about someone who had a farm and boarded horses. As it turned out, he was open to long-term boarding for Lady and wouldn’t charge too much. We made arrangements. As awful as it sounds, we had to drop her off by chaining her to a gate without ever meeting this person and simply trust that everything would be all right. I can’t believe I did this, but I did.
The trip was long and strenuous and probably incredible. I thought about Lady and our new home every day.
I remember so clearly driving back out to the farm to pick her up when we returned. Again I’d only spoken to the man by phone; he couldn’t be there for some reason, just the same as when we’d left her. He told me where to go inside a certain barn, and there she’d be. I forgave that, anxious as I was to get her back, but what we learned was horrible. It looked as if she’d spent the whole time we were gone inside the dark and empty barn we found her in. Lady took a long, long time to recognize me. I was shocked. She was like a different animal. Had she even seen the sun? It was obvious that no one had spent time with her or taken her for walks. That was heartbreaking, but at least we were all together again.
It’s a good thing I never met the man who did that or I might have killed him. Perhaps I’ve done so in my sleep.
[continue reading…]
Tags:
Lady the Wonder Dog,
Taos,
writing life
It’s all here
You can do a lot of damage with an outfit like that. Just look at the fuzzy little bastard. It’s all a ruse, too. This thing is like Godzilla. You just think I take his picture because because he’s gorgeous.
If you look at this picture long enough, unexpected things will happen in your body. It just did with me. There’s an opening here, beware!
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Tags:
destroyer of worlds,
lazuli bunting,
wut
May 20, 2014 12:09 AM
by JHF
in
Spirit
{ }
All of a sudden we have these now. I’ve seen three at once.
These birds are incredible. That they exist just slaps me silly. That I can look out my window at the feeder and there they are—in between the evil squirrel raids—is something special. I am one lucky goddamn sonofabitch.
But just think how hard that lazuli bunting had to work to get to where he is today. I’m sure he’d tell us if he could. You know, the things he had to do before he left the nest. The tests he had to pass to fly. The worthiness he had to prove to earn that blue. This barely takes us up to hawk and cat school, and I hear that’s really tough because the courses and exams are simultaneous.
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Tags:
healing,
lazuli bunting,
sacred
May 15, 2014 11:48 PM
by JHF
in
Writing
{ }
Chunking rocks at raccoons
Sure, I’ll just gather up all the blog posts I published over the last four years of my mother’s life when she was batshit crazy and mean as hell and make a book out of them. Except that I was out of my mind then, too, which is kind of the point, so I’ve had to do a lot of editing. Funny how having someone trying to kill you affects real-time storytelling. The HELEN CHRONICLES: When Your Mother Falls Apart is almost ready, however. I just have to add some notes and check that no one will be arrested. I wouldn’t care too much if they were, but once you let your conscience in the door, you’re screwed.
Tags:
book news,
Helen Chronicles,
writing life
Taos Mountain left, San Miguel on right (officially “Old Mike” but that’s just silly)
“But it’s May,” she wailed, as the snow came down last night. “May twelfth!”
She had me there. The price for breathing some of the cleanest air in North America (when it isn’t dusty and the forest doesn’t burn) is having “spring” become a dirty word, as in, “The sheep got through the winter fine and then the spring just killed them.”
I’m glad this thing’s on auto-pilot now. Otherwise, I’d be responsible.
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Tags:
Old Mike,
spring,
Taos Mountain
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