dogga must have known. he woke us up well before the sun: it was time for his breakfast, for our coffee, for him to go out and about in the backyard. but it was still dark and the sun still had some coming-up to do.
he must have known, though. somehow, in his dogga-dogga heart, he knew it had snowed. not a lot of snow, really, truly, just a little, a dusting. but snow, nonetheless. and snow is one of his absolute favorite things in the whole wide world. snow is his favorite season. snow is his glory.
so he must have known.
it is a bitterly cold morning as i write this over the weekend. i jump up to go push the heat up over the frost-zone mark. i am a frugal thermostat-monger. more layers, i think, more layers.
last night – after a long day of painting some vintage furniture and walls (yes, also technically vintage) we snuggled under a blanket with our (yeeesh – matching) red-and-black buffalo plaids and some thick socks to watch other people pick out homes on hgtv. dogga – rejecting the bit of heat generated by laying on the area rug in the living room – stayed on the sunroom’s tile floor. he could feel the cold building outside, i guess. temperatures dropping and his spirits soaring.
and he must have known, somehow, about the imminent snow. (which, by the way, turned out to be about 12″ (!!) here on the lakefront.)
because it was supposed to be blizzarding out right now, we are blogging ahead. it is not blizzarding out, however. it is raining and slushing and windy and is completely nasty out, but definitely not blizzarding. now, since you will be reading this on thursday and this is only tuesday, i am wondering will happen between now and then. the weather app says that it will all turn into snow at 3pm. and, as i look out the window right this second, a little snow is mixed in with the rain…so it is starting…maybe.
dogdog loves the snow more than anything. he is definitely voting “yes” for snowstorms and blizzards this winter. on the day i took this photo he walked outside and laid down on the deck, languishing in his bliss. he has been a snow-dog ever since we brought him home as a little puppy.
when we lost babycat to the other dimension i spent hours looking through my photos of him. i hoped i had all of his little quirks captured, all the things that made him the cat he was – on film. but we never really do get it all though. i wasn’t video-ing constantly or taking photos of his every move. and so, many of his funny quirks and the things we adored about him – this cat that saved me – are simply tucked in, in my memory.
and so, i am trying to capture a bit more with dogga. even his sweet pawprint in the snow. he is getting older now – an australian shepherd, he’ll be 11 this year – and he has some older-dog behaviors. like you, we are in love with our dog – just as we were with our cat. and, i suspect, like you, we don’t have any idea how this time has flown by so quickly. they capture our hearts immediately and time just doesn’t stretch out long enough.
the years of covid pandemic isolation/social distancing/loss of jobs/staying at home have given us concentrated time with dogga. and he just wants to be with us. it’s mutual. the look on his face when we leave for the grocery store is heart-breaking and the greeting when we arrive back home is magical and full-body, every part of him wagging – especially the infamous aussie butt-wiggle.
so this pawprint – in the snow and indelibly in our hearts forever and ever – and his tiny old-dog groans and a little slow-down – not to mention that look on his face anytime we leave – are tugging at us. he has been with us every day we have lived together, except for the first two.
it was during those first two that we debated dog-nodog-dog-nodog nonstop after meeting him across the state at a farm on the river road in pepin. driving the budget truck across the country to move d in, we stopped at the sign that said “aussie puppies” just to see. d assured me – though we had talked about a puppy ‘some day’ – that aussies are usually merle or tricolor and not black, which was our intended puppy-color-of-choice. thus we thought were driving up the long drive not likely to fall in instant love. and then, farmer don told us that he only had one puppy left and that he had no takers because he was black. one look, one puppy hug and it was all over. we left a deposit – which we told farmer don he could keep either way – and drove away with a decision to make.
and that’s when the debate started. it didn’t stop until two days later when we drove back up that long drive and this little black puppy came running directly to us, sitting down at the side of littlebabyscion. right then, we knew it was undeniable.
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his amber eyes are mesmerizing. his double coat of hair is as beautiful as it is plentiful. his heart is huge and his sensitivity is tuned in. his quirks are numerous and his dedication is steadfast. he is always present and only rests when he feels like he is finally off-duty at 8:30, his self-chosen bedtime. he’s taught us more than i could possibly write about.
he’s been central since he arrived. in everything. it’s one of those miracles that he’s here – with us. it’s one of those time-warpy things we realize it’s been ten years. already. and so soon.
what our dogga doesn’t realize, maybe, is that he is our whole world just as much as we are his. samesies.
we put out a different water bowl in the kitchen for dogdog and babycat. neither one of them will drink from the bowl. we put their old water bowl in the next room, filled with water, so that they will be able to hydrate, but we were hoping that they would adjust to the new one. neither one of them will drink from the bowl. in the world they inhabit, one that must have low level anxiety frequencies they can feel from the-whole-outside-world, they do not like change. it’s been days and neither one will drink from the bowl.
“what now?”
in the past months and in what now feels like a broken world, we can face forward. we can set intentions and take one baby step at a time, all in unequivocal love of all humankind. we can be light for each other and we can hold fear tenderly. we can look newness of change eye to eye as we learn, challenge the status quo, embrace compassion and principle and stride confidently into a new time.
we can sit by the new bowl, encourage our dog and cat to drink from it, recognize their fear of the unknown, of change, and just love them.
i woke in the middle of the night to discover i was spooning the cat. he jumps up on the bed and, pretty much like a sack of concrete, settles in for a long night’s nap, mostly because, well, clearly, the other 23 hours he slept in the day were not ample enough sleep. he snugs in and prevents movement of most sorts: there will be no blanket adjustments, no leg adjustments, little rolling over. my hot flashes necessitate much wrestling to find cooler air as he has permanently planted his sweet large body and is down for the count. and so, you must adjust. granted, his sleep-apnea-style-snoring would be cause for plucking-and-moving (to another room) but we love him and suffer his sleeping-sovereignty; the benefits outweigh the costs.
sally told me that there is a machine that duplicates the frequency of a cat’s purring vibration. i did not know that cat purring is healing and restorative – to broken or fractured bones, tendons, joints, muscles, infections. we would rent out babycat but i am trying to figure out how to make him lay on my broken-and-in-the-ridiculously-slow-process-of-healing wrists. once again, the benefits outweigh the costs.
i hadn’t ever had a cat before b-cat, but now it’s been almost eleven years. he is in some ways more of a dog than a cat, having tolerated a parent who knows dogs and was too busy at the time to read ‘kittens for idiots’ all the way through. so he sits when asked and speaks when asked and does dog-like things. however, he rides the fence and takes advantage of cat-like things at will, like claws. and he is fickle as fickle can be. jen explained that cats will patiently ‘allow’ you to stroke them and pet them and fondle them, all seemingly appreciated, until the doll flips and it suddenly reaches out with both front paws and pulls your hand up to its razor teeth. ahh, but those moments preceding the bite…the benefits outweigh the costs.
in this time of other-worldliness and alternate-reality these creatures of ours – dogdog and babycat – are companions unlike any other. they will not argue politics or policy. they don’t strategize or scheme. they are not semantics-nuts or particularly immersed in propaganda-hunts. they will not roll their eyes at our rants nor will they feed them or egg us on. instead, they comfort when they suspect we need it. they are quiet when there’s been too much noise. they are entertaining when we need funny. they are warm in the cold pandemic plane.
and they curl up with us in solidarity. benefits always outweighing the costs.
there is little as comfortingly sweet as watching your dog sleep. dogdog is whirling motion so when he sleeps in your presence it is a magical time of trust and deep respite. the vision of him asleep on the bed or in the middle of the living room rug is a picture of all-is-right-in-the-world; he has no other cares except he is with his people and he can rest.
some of the times i remember most about when My Girl and My Boy were young are the times they fell asleep with me holding them, in my arms, on my lap. the moment you feel their little-child-body relax and fall into you. exquisite.
it’s that moment you sigh and lay your head back to nap with someone you love. the moment you close your eyes on the beach towel in the sun, warm sand beneath you. the moment you drift off in the grass watching the clouds. oh yes, the moment your face plants against the window at the rest area during your long journey and a couple hours pass by. the moment, hiking in high mountains, you lean against a tree and your eyes close to the sound of the wind in the aspens.
rest. a time of no real conscious worry. a time of innate trusting that all-will-be-well. a time of repose, of tranquility, of solace.
i have found, sometimes, if i want to go to sleep and cannot, that if i watch dogga or babycat sleep it will slow my overthinking-breathing. it will settle my heart and mind a bit. it will remind me that my own whirling motion – physical, intellectual, emotional – needs time to rest, to curl up on the living room rug and close my eyes.
jen pulled the sliding glass door open for the fourth time (within a short visit of potlucking time around the kitchen island) and we all laughed. sweet henry and chester wanted out. wanted in. wanted out. wanted in. this is a familiar tune. dogdog finds it irresistible to demand to go out and then not want to miss anything and want back in. on repeat.
andrea and scott have two golden retrievers. impeccably trained, they wait for a sign or a word to do most anything. they are not the in-and-out-ers that dogga and henry and chester are. i remember them as calm and happy and i vowed that one day i would have a dog as well-behaved. this is not that day.
but dogdog is, yes, dogdog-ish. his sweet face watches our every move, trying to anticipate to which room we might be moving, trying to assess why we are feeling what he knows we are feeling. he doesn’t like conflict; he doesn’t like the sound of metal touching metal. it took him a while to warm up to the ukulele (which he now loves and wishes he could play) and the piano draws him into the studio. he won’t touch food on the counter or the table or really anywhere unless given permission, but his direct eye contact begs for a bite every breakfast. he destroyed very few things as a puppy (well, the kitchen cabinet door and the table legs count) but de-heads every toy he is given and un-stuffings them. he bows to all things babycat, yet loves to drag him around and taunts him until babycat asserts his ruling paw. his aussie-ness makes him intuitively try to keep track of all people and animals in the house, a tiresome and difficult chore when one is peculiarly averse to going upstairs or downstairs. he is quirky.
on island he was quiet. here at home he is a barker. i guess he knew the littlehouse wasn’t his. he loves errands both places. he ecstatically runs miles in circles in the backyard and certain names will make his eyes wide and his australian-shepherd-jumping-bean-dog-heart jump with glee. he clocks out of all responsibility late at night, content to quietly languish in whatever room we are in, happy to have pets and go sleepynightnight. sweet, sweet dogdog emerges from constant-motion dog.
i don’t remember the story we were talking about around jen and brad’s island. i’m sure it was one of tripper’s many idiosyncratic tales. we rolled our eyes and laughed. and brad said, “you should be proud that you raised an independent dog!”
babycat’s work ethic is clear. he is not dedicated to screen time, nor is he dedicated to long portions of work-related tasks. he prefers to nap. anywhere. anytime. his eyes squeezed shut, he pretends to be unaware of the things going on around him. because he is “big-boned”, a-lot-of-cat, scooting him out of the way is like gently easing a massive concrete block a little to the left or a little to the right; there is no give. yet we work around him, we absolutely accommodate him. if he is sleeping on the bed, taking up perpendicular space, we will squish to the side, choosing to list starboard or port, whichever direction he is not. he rules supreme.
i wake in the middle of the night, d jostling me, a clear sign to turn over and stop snoring. only i am not snoring. from the foot of the bed or perhaps under the bed, where jostling is impossible, it is babycat who snores loudly. his contented breaths both amuse us and keep us awake. a gentle poke-at-the-cat yields a temporary lull, but his sweet hulking body settles back into sleep and snoring commences. the white noise of our overnight, he rules supreme.
dogdog wants to get a drink of water from their mutual bowl. but babycat stands over it. dogga reaches his paw out to try and drag the cat from the bowl, but babycat is firmly planted and dogga is unsuccessful. so, even though he whines with frustration and looks at us with a “do something!” plea, dogdog, at least twice the size of this supersized cat, waits. because babycat rules supreme.
and yet, even with the snoring and the bed-hogging and the torture-of-the-dog and the clear reign-of-the-house, we cannot imagine life without the babycat. his presence and the fact that he-saved-me-i-didn’t-save-him rules supreme.
at the end of the day, when we sit listening to the quiet, waves lapping at the shore, a silent moon pulling our attention outside, dogdog lays, finally resting, his eyes tightly closed. there is something about the trusting nature of a beloved pet sleeping that tugs at your heart. i wonder what are the thoughts he thinks; what are the dreams he dreams?
as we weave through complicated days, dogga weaves with us. he is always aware, always watching. our sweet aussie, he is a mess of empathic energy, his eye contact unnerving. his little heart beats fast and he watches, watches. he has comforted us with his gentle knowing more times than we can count. he doesn’t say much, but then, he doesn’t have to.
and then, at some point, he drops to the floor. for him, everything is right in the world. his people are close by, his babycat lies next to him or across the room. all is well. and he sleeps.
sometimes i wish it was all that simple. it’s people who complicate matters.
i’m not sure why babycat thought we expected him to go sit in the square. but he did. jen had told us about this experiment….put blue tape on the floor and see what your cat does. laughing, we tried it. and b-cat cooperated. it wasn’t minutes after the tape was on the floor that he entered the kitchen, looked at it and went directly to it. he sat his sweet hulking body down inside that tape-box and eventually he laid down inside it (although he was definitely coloring outside the lines, so to speak.) it was astounding to watch. this is a cat, after all. and yes, he has really loved the dogbed in the sunroom and the crest box in the sitting room, but a box made of painter’s tape? we just didn’t expect him to conform so readily.
most of the time, b-cat lives his life outside the box. he acts more like a dog than a cat; i had never had a cat before him so i taught him all sorts of dog-tricks. babycat doesn’t really know the difference, although were he to look it all up, he would see ‘follows the sun around the house’ was in the rule book for cats, not dogs. but this one evening, with no prompt from us, he decided to stay inside the box. he sat, he laid down, he purred in his sleep. he was content. inside the box wasn’t too bad, i guess. later on, though, when the tape was off the floor, he didn’t seem to notice it was gone. he never looked for it. he didn’t seem to pine for its presence in his life. he just went about his not-normal-cat behavior. outside the box.
i guess there is something to be said both about living in the box and living outside the box. both have merit. one encourages you to be the cat you are defined to be. the other allows you to be the dog no one expects you to be.
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