“She Squirmed across the sheet, struggled in the darkness, driven by instinct, the last puppy born edged closer to my armpit.  Marveled by her strength, beauty and perfectly formed miniature canine features, I savored this moment.  The puppy nudged in my armpit, it tickled, eventually I picked her up and I plugged her onto a nipple on Theia’s belly.  I liked this little one, seconds old and we already had a soul touching moment.  I pushed the encounter out of my mind.  Sleep over came us all, canines and human.  In the stillness and silence of that early spring morning in May, a new journey began to unfold…”That was how Willow and I first met.              Willow had her 13th birthday yesterday, May 30^th.  We had a quiet little milestone day.  The morning started early with the puppy needing to go out at quarter to five - still a bit dark.  Willow crashed down the stairs for her breakfast, and then we did our little stroll around the backside of the house to get the zoomies out of the Pearl, usually only semi effective.  Then it was back to bed for a digestive nap, movie, snuggle and raw beef bones all around - happy dogs.  Up again for the day at 8:15 AM at which time we went for a thirty minute walk down the Juggernaught trail and ended up sitting in the field.  Bugs chased us home.  Once home the dogs napped while I puttered, then we all went to the dump and visited some friends.

Nash

It was an utterly unproductive day – the cows refused to express their milk…

At first thought, then reality sunk in:

  We just kept walking, going further and further into the woods. Willow was maneuvering well on the even terrain created by the layers of crust-covered snow. There were no expectations set for the day, so I decided to hike to the top of Mount Satutakee The temperature was perfectly cool, wind blowing gently and I was dressed for the cold in a down jacket, wind pants, hat and gloves.

On September 7th, Willow was diagnosed with lymphoma.  It took a month to decide a course of treatment.  The cost involved was projected to be in the thousands and on my meager massage income this was a monumental steep hill to climb.  Through the generosity of friends, family, donations, yard sales, and the canine cancer awareness organization was able to make it Through.  Many hours were spent on the computer search canine cancer organization who help pay for treatment costs for some cases and individuals.  I applied to several and got half a dozen responses, and one approval. 

Our walks have become short and few, still we manage at least two in one day.   Willow and Nash on the bed in a heap grooming one another.  Nash grooms Willow’s back with methodical lics. He holds her in his paws as he does so.  Willow licks one of my hands while I massage her neck and ears with my other hand. Every so often Willow will fastidiously clean the sleep from Nash’s eye and Nash will lick my bare feet.  The room is bright with light which reflections off the snow outside.  The pine and maple branches sway in the wind.  Chickadees, nuthatches, tufted titmice and squirrels feast at feeders swaying in the wind.  We are content in this wallow as we feel the weight and warmth of one another.  I suppress thoughts of spring to remain in this warmth of tangled bodies.    I am in no hurry; it is still winter, still time to hibernate. I look forward to this time of the year, winter.

           After long days of summer and hot sun the long periods of darkness and short days are welcome.   Usually around late fall I look forward to this   where the dogs and I fall into a different kind of routine. We go into hibernation mode.    We move with the light of day.  The snow is too deep in the woods for hiking.     

  The sun rose behind a barren thicket of woods to present this newday with it a brilliant orange blaze.  A glow that mingled with subtle gray hews in the predawn.  Morning temperatures lingered at 12 degrees while a wind chill made the air even more bitingly bitter.            I stepped outside to start my aged car and left the dogs in the cottage.  OnceSuccessful with starting a nearly frozen automobile engine, I let my friends out for a brief walk to allow time for the car to warm.    Instantly, I knew this morning’s walk would be short as wind blast through my thin wool hat.  Willow and Nash did not appear bothered by the morning chill nippiness.  They ran about as usual and explored stonewalls, tree stumps, and twigs. They burrowed through the mounded humps of powdered snow, snorting and sniffing as they excavated.   I marveled at their canine mental toughness and ability to make the best of every situation.  They were just so pleased to be outside, walking with me, a mutual feeling.              We hadn’t gotten very far when Willow began to limp, holdup her paw and act bothered. I stopped my brisk pace to watch as she tried to ignore the discomfort.  Willow took notice as I stared and gambled over with a gimp, her tender paw in the air.  She came right up and leaned into my legs, lifted the irritated paw and gently asked for help with her soulful brown eyes, she simply radiated with love. I was touched by this simple plea for help.  Moments like this make me truly realize how important I am to my canine friends and how important they are to me. The nonverbal communication and understanding that transpired during that instant was extraordinarily heat felt. It seemed to miraculously tighten threads of a weave that twine our lives and species together. In my mind there isn’t anything that measures up.  I embraced this moment to carry with me throughout my days.              I leaned over; gently grasped Willow’s paw and looked at her whitishpink pads. I brushed off the snow.  The frozen ground and frosty cold snow had piercedthe tough calluses on her pad and made the walk uncomfortable.  She too had finally been affected by the cold.  After I gave her little paw a rub we turned for home. As we headed for the warmth of the old cottage Nash began to have trouble with the bitter cold on his feet.             Twelve degrees on this morning was just a bit too cold as we had justgotten out of bed where we were covered with a cozy flannel down comforter.  The leapfrom the warmth of two canines and human under quilted covers, snug and warm, tothe frigid morning air did not give our bodies a chance to adapt.              I am certain we will brave the cold to walk later in this day. Perhaps by then our paws will have adapted.   

            I am so happy.  We are so happy.  I could lean on the arm rest inside my car, stick my head out the window, stretch my neck, crane to sniff the air and let the wind part my hair in funny ways. 

    Dog owners are continually reminded to pick up after their dogs.  The handy “for your convenience” poop bag station strategically placed at the beginning of a trail, in the park, at the beach, or the sign to indicate no dog poop area. Dog show competitors are reminded by the hosting club with announcements; “Please pick up after your dog, we’d like to be welcome here again”.  Entry forms for these shows explain rules threatening eviction if caught not picking up after your dog.   Evidentially dog owners may be expected to pick up after their dogs in wilderness areas too.       

Now that the leaves have fallen and the chill settles in, at least today, Nash and Willow both have a spring in their step.  Season changes bring on an element of excitement in the dogs.  Nash is obsessed with digging holes as large as burrows to capture the chipmunks. I have markers around the property to warn of unsuspecting divots in the ground.  What's the use to fill them in, he just digs the hole again.  Besides, I like to watch his fevered focus as he winds down into the earth.   I too get sucked into his mindset and get lost in the moment. I wonder what does he smell, what must it be like to grab a hunk of earth between the jaws and gnarl it loose.   Exaggerated scent of the earth lodged in nostrils, teeth and throat must be uncomfortable, exciting, and powerful.  Nash snorts, hacks, spits and coughs to clear his air passages and dives back into the hole.  Dig, dig, dig. . .   grab, yank, gnarl, hack, spit, snort, sniff . . .  dig, dig, dig.  dirt flees to safety out between his legs to land loose and fluffy.  Dirt once compounded and packed is now free to breath and watch the sky.  My yellow dog becomes half chocolate and half yellow.  I cherish these little moments, how ever destructive they may be, they are only fleeting and lend to such pleasure and happiness.