the fine print of love

The speed in her response to my slip is brutal, "Except we don't have a dog named Kilo," she states.

No, she's right we don't.  At least we don't have one anymore. And we don't have a dog named Moses either. 

We have Ginger, aka Little Dog. A poorly timed foster dog turned into our forever dog.

And we have Juneau. 

The latter of which was who I was referring to when I accidentally said Kilo's name.  But he's not Kilo.  

For starters, Juneau's brain seems to be attached to his body.  Kilo was like a brakeless tractor-trailer on a greased slip and slide.  

Juneau ignores the boom of fireworks and the crack of gunfire.  Kilo was a hot mess if a plastics water bottle tipped over in the sink.  

The first time Kilo saw open water he swam and swam.  Juneau waded in carefully never letting his feet leave the sand. 

Kilo panicked in the canoe.  Juneau moved between the boats and the shore as if it was nothing.  Kilo was sleek and black dashed with a single brush of white war paint.  

Juneau is fire red with cresting waves of white foam.  Kilo a dirt reservation dog.  Juneau a mountain ranch hand. Kilo's expressions flat. Juneau's cartoonishly dynamic.

But one thing is the same they have the same desire to not be abandoned again.  Both dogs labeled as strays.  Both ending up at BFAS.  Kilo at Dog Town, Juneau (under the name of Groot) the Salt Lake Center. 

And both dogs became mine.

We don't have a dog named Kilo... anymore.  Kilo rests in a grave in the southeast corner of the garden.  Thinking he had been left behind he slipped the gate one morning blending with the dark and headed out to find me on the J Trail. Only, I wasn't there.

We found him down in the road. 

He died with me, lying in the back of my car. 

Juneau is not Kilo but that memory haunts my love for him.  I worry about his drive to be loved. About his neediness and just how far he will he go.  I worry about the road. This worry reminds me to not take the days together for granted. Dogs are born and grow old and die while we watch. Love is the most beautiful of liabilities. 

All dogs create purpose. Moses helped create a family and he grew old within it. Kilo rescued my heart from silence then slipped away. Ginger gentles the ground around us. And Juneau he has reopened the door.

b.u.s.y.

Busy.  That's all I can really say for myself.  A new dog.  Summer schedule at the gym.  A huge reorganizing project on the farm.  The addition of a Tiny House.  Helping BC with his new project Juniper Works. 

A little more time spent with the Nearly-Growns and Little J (can't really call her a baby anymore).  A 15-year-old daughter with a day and a night job... the discovery of Instagram.

Yeah. Busy.

But I miss writing.

I get positive comments on my Instagram. I like Instagram! But yesterday one of the kind commenters didn't know I even had a blog.  It's been that long.

I have seen this same post from many a blogger, it's been too long, I promise to be better, writing about not writing.

The truth is writing is like any other discipline.  It takes time and energy and practice. So yeah, I am out of practice but not out of stories or words.

One of the main storylines in my head and heart right now is Beach's recovery from her back injury.  Having an injured athlete isn't its own chapter, it is its own book.

The R&B Farmstead has stories too. Adventures in skunks mostly.

Then there is Juneau. He has awakened something in my heart I haven't felt for an animal since Kilo.  He is naughty and cuddly. 

He is terrified of men.  He pulls leaves off the sunflowers and puts them in the water bowls that are out in the yard. He is wicked smart- something you could never accuse Kilo of being. 

He likes to reorganize things, not too destructive so far, and really good at catching flies!

And back at the gym, fall schedules are going out which means Meet Season is on the brain.

On Wednesday night I watched the as new compulsory parents received their Meet Season packets and placement letters.

The Optionals BBQ is next.  I will watch the new Level 6's get theirs.  I find that always gives me a lot to say...

As for us, for Beach, it's like the bubble scene in Willy Wonka- we are on the ceiling trying to decide if we are having fun way up here or if we are just totally terrified of the whirling fan ahead of us. Level 10, that's as high as it goes here. Of course, there is a chance with her injury she will stay Level 9.  Levels mean both more and less at the top.

Yeah, it's been a minute but I'm back.

a long weekend

and the dog came back...

At 5:00 AM the sound of scurrying nails on the wood floor is followed by Ginger barking twice- from underneath our bed.

I was already awake ready to launch the second pillow at the cat creeping through our room. I only had to free the pillow from beneath BC's head first. 

I am a light sleeper.  The faintest noise stirs me wide awake.  

The night often finds me hurling pillows at tip toeing cats, pulling back blinds to peer at empty street lights, tracking shadows across the ceiling, listening into the dark at far away voices, dancing in my mind to the night calls of trains. 

But Ginger barking at night is incredible rare so instantly I woke BC.  He mumbled, "Bear is in the house again."  Took up a pair of underpants off the floor and headed out of the room.  

His footsteps were joined by the sound of Beach but only BC's voice carried enough to really make out the words.  "I know I am getting him."

Then I knew the issue.  Bear, our new neighbor's giant husky had once again gotten into our house and tried to get in bed with Beach.

Beach has been a pretty good sport about these sudden, surprise "sleepovers" with the neighbor's giant dog.  Ginger Dog, not so much.

Ginger, smarter than she is brave, abandoned Beach for the shelter of our room before sounding the alarm.

This, in one form or another, has been going on for weeks. Yesterday, my fb friends got a snapshot of it.  So far, that we know of, Bear has killed 2 of our hens and gave our rooster an attitude adjustment via what I would call extreme grooming.  That one was more of a favor than an incident.  That rooster is a dick.  Less so now.

Bear tried for my rabbit but good thing for Bear's sake, my rabbit is too fast.   

BC stumbled back in 20 minutes later.  "Misty, were is Ginger's leash?"  Translated as: things are not going well. 

I told him and 20 more minutes passed before BC was heard on the stairs returning to bed.  He fell back to sleep but my cause was hopeless.  

I got up and made coffee.  I found my gray dress coat on the table.  This image appeared to me: BC in his black underwear wearing a ladies wool dress coat chasing the neighbor's dog up and down 10th West at 5 AM.  Stranger things have happened around here.  

I spent the morning editing photos from our Sunday day trip.  Around 8 AM BC left for work.  I wandered into the kitchen for the last of the coffee pot only to see outside the kitchen's glass doors our neighbor hanging over the fence trying desperately, but quietly, to talk Bear into leaving our yard- again.  

No doubt his house sitter passed on my words from yesterday's encounter... including the heavy tone of the "cop knock" on the front door and the dead chicken I gave her.

I stuck my head out.  "Yeah, so that's your dog and I think that is your squirrel now too...."

We had a nice long talk about dogs like Bear and what they need.  While Bear loudly ate a squirrel between us. Turns out Bear's visits to our side of the fence line up with our neighbor breaking his leg ending their long daily runs together.

Solution: I offer that if he pays my kid she will walk his dog for him.  It feels a little like blackmail but I can live with that.  And if it end the chicken killing, my hens can too. 

    

at the edge of afternoon

 Baby J has rituals on the farm.  She pulls out the play dough, asks to make pancakes and pizza, gets eggs, washes the eggs, hand feeds Ginger pieces of dog food, asks for Popsicles, looks for the cats, asks to go to the park, plays with the playmobile, finds and feeds the rabbit, and when all that is done she watches "Max".  

At the store she tells me she is too big to ride in the cart and always seems surprised when I agree.  She asks to see Colby at his work.  Tells me her dad is at work and her mom, Sage, & Jake are at home sleeping.  I tell her, her dad is a plumber.  She tells me he's not a plumber, he's a boy! 

She knows the streets and her way home.  She knows where Pops and Nana (her other grandparents) live.  She knows the way down; the freeway exits to take to get to my house.  She spots airplanes in the sky.  It always surprises me how much she can see.  

She says she will got to her Dan-astics again when she is big like Beach. 

And speaking of Beach, when anything goes wrong, according to Baby J, it's Beach's fault.

By far her favorite ritual on the farm is to go out to the greenhouse to feed the fish and turtles in the big old dairy vat pond.

Grandma, I want to feed the fish.  

I want to see the turtles. 

Grandma, them [sic] hungry.

Yes, they are hungry and I think Jessie is sleepy?

I'm not tired, grandma.  

Grandma, can we go the park?

the little egg collector

Utah State Fair with all the kids