6.28.13 Fall Over Friday- Dogs and Rains and Other Neighbors Wandring Along....

On Fall Over Friday, the house awaits and the dusty car awaits and the garden awaits and the languorous lawn awaits, as the  restoration of one self takes precedence.  At least until the growing pup makes it known that getting out and moving will actually be key to the survival of all.

Oh, there is running round the yard, a large enough enterprise, and throwing balls through the house as the 30 pound 3 month old gallops delightedly after a series of squeaking, bouncing objects, obediently responding to ‘give it’ into your palm, in between land shark lunges at your arms…then your sharp ‘NO’ to bring him back to the reality of pup-dom and learning and all.

So then there is the trip to the river, this time with both the 15 ½ year old, for her solitary snuffling venture, as the pup remains carefully tied to the steering wheel, so that all windows can remain open. Then the two wrangling along, tangling along together; then the pup and I alone, covering some good muscle stretching ground.

                                     

The pup and I then drive  over to the Dog Park in Northampton, walk the pathway down down to the stream, 

where a gajillion dogs and humans are clustered in doggie heaven, dogs of all sizes leaping and scrambling up muddied banks and jumping into the stream and swimming or watching 

and chasing balls as their people dream the dream

 of the happy, filthy, satisfied, exhausted canine.

Later this afternoon, it being an indulgent day for humans and four footeds alike, we again visit the river, the skies darkened, for a quick venture before I escape to a movie. As we walk all together, the sky sprinkles.

A woman is waiting in her car, just arrived, as we clamber into the car, saying to me, “Oh, you just missed the downpour”. Huh? Downpour? 

Her dreads have glistening beads that shine despite the darkened skies, her smile broad as she watches young and old be lifted into the car. 

Then she is sitting, her crisp white peasant blouse covering her long, braceleted arms, as she gazes at the trees and the Arroyo and the darkening skies.

I look up with her, realizing the river has never more beautiful than this moment. Is this love, as when we love a person and each moment they have never been more beautiful?

 I smile back, wish her a great evening, then quick back to the house to unload canines as the skies begin to open.

I settle them with lovely things, they play a bit as I change sheets, then  off I go, raincoat on, as the road begins to swim.

to sleep the sleep of the tired out dog.

At the lights, the road has become a lake, drivers flummoxed, even here in New England. Huge sprays shoot up alongside each vehicle, effectively obscuring the view. I was brought up to go anywhere anytime, no common sense, no sense ever of danger, so while cars pull over to the side with their common sense, I drive along slowly so as not to hydroplane, cars along the sides like Noah and the sea; I laugh.

Reaching the Movies, the parking lot is a deeper lake now. I park, pulling my raincoat, tight, unable to resist taking a few shots with my Gwen-proof phone, admiring the soil migrating from the gardens.

As I slop along in 3" water between the parked cars, as lightning and thunder begin, rather close by, as I am making my way across the huge lake of a parking lot...thinking it would be a good idea to get out of this ...lake. 

 Safely inside the building, I see all the wise people who did not venture out, but instead are waiting. They look me up and down, soaked to the BONE, dripping my own small lake, and laugh with me, as I toddle off to Target to grab some cheap jeans and a top before the movie starts, my solitary venture out of hermitdom not to be threatened by a little rain. 

Changed, I have my time of laughing hysterically and as-loud-as-I-wish at Sandra Bullock. I am sitting there, remembering when my firstborn was 4 and had a terrible broken leg, was in traction and pain, and what a blessing it was that we had never had TV. Why, he would watch 3 am exercise shows for hours with fascination, as I am here, now, completely delighted to find myself in a huge dark room with strangers, watching some silly funny thing to shake up the peaceful restorative life I now lead.

Back home, I feed all, then grab the itchy young one for one more jaunt, just to keep both of us sane.  To-be-large-dogs need frequent, small walks that build muscle but protect vulnerable joints.

 Off to Mt. Holyoke College pond for a run around we go, front loading walks on weekends. The pond is serene, the turtles sunning themselves now that the moody summer rain has passed on by, the frogs on Lily Pads, the Eel Fish Ladder heading up the dam at the far end. Here by the pond are young and old, strolling, sitting as the earth moves slowly toward night,  Catbirds calling protectively from the brush as their small ones linger beneath. 

We pass by reams of Ooohhhing and AAAAhhhing young women, all hungry for a cuddle with a land shark pup. 

We have a conversation with a  woman from Ohio with a streaming white braid down her long, tall frame.  Soft spoken, she approaches us eagerly to enjoy the pup. She  has two Shepherds far away home, and laughs at this baby's  big teeth and enormous paws, as she describes her time at the college for these two weeks. Enormous he will be, she declares, smoothing this long haired-Shepherd fuzz round his bright brown eyes , his halo round his head,  the down that flows down his young back, with obvious pleasure. 

We watch the pond, and I tell her the story of the Gander, out beyond, because, you see, 

he has gone from his work this spring of protecting that small female Mallard and her many many offspring, to today hanging happily with two Canadians, while four adolescent Mallards follow him politely in a line akin to "Make Way for Ducklings", obviously imprinted on him as Daddy, the Mom I imagine flown now. 

As dusk approaches, we round the bend of the pond, hop in the car, and head home, 

only to be caught up short by the evening’s light show, 

revealing itself as we round the corner.

I leap out of the car, transfixed.

 The sun’s glow shifts and shifts once more,

 the streaming light changing and changing again 

as I look up into the skies. 

 As I watch, one small dark spot on the horizon is moving toward me, becoming larger, until I see the telltale wing movement, different than the local Eagles or Peregrine Falcons, the powerful loping wings, the long elegant legs, the curved blue neck… as a neighbor Great Blue Heron seamlessly passes by at the end of their day.

At home, all felines and canines satiated, 

the house still awaits, 

the garden awaits, 

the lawn still awaits, 

but the restoration has settled us all.

I stand in the kitchen, in my now quiet life, 

husband in Napoli but soon to be home again home again,

 children all together having a huge friends from all places gathering in CT tonight, 

and begin tidying up, 

turning to gaze out the low windows 

upon the conservation field next door.

And far in the field, but still visible, stands an enormous deer, at first at the edge of the young Aspen, but then making their way into the field.

 I take out the binoculars and sneak into the dining room, edging up to the window, and peering out, focusing the lenses  until before me stands a three point Buck. Magnificent. Their antlers glistening in the evening light, soft and fuzz covered.

He turns, noticing with ease the smallest movement I have made, looks at me for a moment, then returns to his evening meal and  his sunset ways, as I turn and leave him be.