Be like the flowers, turn your face to the sun.- Kahlil GibranSunflower
Be like the flowers, turn your face to the sun.- Kahlil Gibran Be like the flowers, turn your face to the sun.- Kahlil Gibran
8/2/07 Mid-week bunny fix
Peeper has a new playmate! Not really, but they seem to share a mutual interest in tormenting one another. For the first day or so, little Luka approached Peeper’s cage in the spare bedroom on tippy-toes, scared of the strange creature inside. That changed pretty quickly to a play-bow and little yaps from Luka. Peeper comes right up to the bars of her cage to meet him nose to snout and sometimes boxes him if he yaps at her.
It will be years before Luka meets any of the bunnies any closer than this, but I hope with enough positive reinforcement of any gentle behavior on his part that he will come to ignore the bunnies the way that Buddy did.
Summer shade
If you need a break from puppy antics, be sure to stop by Via Negativa for this month’s Festival of the Trees. There’s nothing more refreshing on a hot August afternoon than the respite found under the canopy of a great tree, like the shade of these weeping hemlocks in the rockery at Deep Cut Gardens.
Dave’s got lovely katydid pics to accompany his post and I can hear their scritching outside the open window now; a sort of late summer lullaby. If only that cricket hidden away somewhere in the house wouldn’t insist on piping up now and again.
Crabby day
We tried out a few new crabbing spots on the Navesink River yesterday, but this one was my favorite because it has such a nice view. We were there at a bad time in terms of the tide, as this little creek leads into a quiet cove. Due to some crabby logic that I don’t understand, a cove like this should be best when the tide is coming in. We spent very little time actually crabbing, more time moving from one bridge to the next. The first new place we tried became crowded with other crabbers early in the day and wasn’t very safe as it’s along a busy road. Then we drove to the other side of the river to this scenic spot, but the tide was going out by then and we only stayed an hour or so.
We caught a few crabs, but nothing to brag over. Well, except for my nephew – he was thrilled with anything that was big enough to keep and show off! His older brother came along with us. He’s going away to forestry school at the University of Montana in a few weeks – he wants to be a smokejumper by next summer. I’m so proud of him for going to school and being a good kid.
Little Luka came along on our crabbing adventure and was pretty cranky after a few hours without a nap. Finally he just crashed on the sidewalk of the bridge while we worked around him. We wore him out good yesterday so that he slept through the night last night – straight through til 5 am – thank heavens!
Say, “Awww…”
I’m Luka. Wouldn’t you be happy to be up with me at 3 in the morning?
Life is good
Yes, it’s soon, but really I’m surprised we lasted the few days we did. I found my husband surfing the SPCA websites this morning and that was that. We hadn’t spoke of it yet, but I guess we were both thinking the same thing: the house is lonely, it’s too quiet when we come in with no one to greet us, the bag of dog food is going to waste in the closet, etc. (insert other lame excuses).
So now there’s this puppy. Crying and mouthing and being utterly adorable. I’m not looking forward to the next few nights; his first away from his parents and littermates. But the house didn’t feel right without a dog. We’re taking the easy way out of our mourning for Buddy, I know. There is no distraction from sadness like a puppy. We do what we have to to heal a broken heart.
I apologize for being away for a few days, but I didn’t have anything to say that wasn’t pathetic. I appreciate your concern and the love you sent our way. Thank you.
Life is good with a lab pup at your heels.
Dear heart
“Warm summer sun, shine kindly here;
Warm western wind, blow softly here;
Green sod above, lie light, lie light–
Good-night, dear heart, good-night, good-night.“
–Robert Richardson (adapted by Mark Twain)
In the words of my vet, after I apologized for making him go over the necropsy results for the second time in as many hours, “It’s hard to lose a dog that’s been with you for so many years.” Yes it is, but would it be any easier if it were two years instead of twelve?
My old man dog Buddy died today. Just like that. He was a little off this morning and wouldn’t settle or eat his treats. He was sleeping alone in the living room when we woke up this morning and was hard to rouse. Nothing unusual, really. We were both concerned enough that my husband stopped home at lunch time to check on him and found him dead. Dead in front of the door so that it couldn’t be opened and my husband had to climb in through the kitchen window to get in the house.
My husband brought him to the vet for a necropsy so that we might understand what happened to him. The vet found that he had hemangiosarcoma; an aggressive cancer of the blood vessels and a tumor on his heart. The tumor had ruptured and caused his heart to stop. The vet said that he felt no pain, just tired and weak, and likely collapsed and just went peacefully to sleep.
I had fretted over him getting older and worried that we might have to put him to sleep one day when he couldn’t walk any longer. I dreaded that, but never expected anything like this. I have to think that a kindness was done for us – a disease we didn’t know about, couldn’t worry over and couldn’t even have done anything about had we known. No guilt, no what-ifs. I’m just so thankful I took the time this morning before leaving to hold his head in my hand and tell him that he was a good boy and that I loved him. A lot of mornings I didn’t take the time for that, but this morning I did.
“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.“
–Crowfoot, Chief of the Blackfeet Nation
Favorite bird poems
“He picks his pond, and the soft thicket of his world.
He bids his lady come, and she does, flirting with her tail.
He begins early, and makes up his song as he goes.
He does not enter a house at night, or when it rains.
He is not afraid of the wind, though he is cautious.
He watches the snake, that stripe of black fire, until it flows away.
He watches the hawk with her sharpest shins, aloft in the high tree.
He keeps his prayer under his tongue.
In his whole life he has never missed the rising of the sun.
He dislikes snow.
But a few raisins give him the greatest delight.
He sits in the forelock of the lilac, or he struts in its shadow.
He is neither the rare plover or the brilliant bunting, but as common as grass.
His black cap gives him a jaunty look, for which we humans have learned to tilt our caps, in envy.
When he is not singing, he is listening.
Neither have I ever seen him with his eyes closed.
Though he may be looking at nothing more than a cloud it brings to mind a several dozen new remarks.
From one branch to another, or across the path, he dazzles with flight.
Since I see him every morning, I have rewarded myself the pleasure of thinking that he knows me.
Yet never once has he answered my nod.
He seems, in fact, to find in me a kind of humor, I am so vast, uncertain and strange.
I am the one who comes and goes, and who knows why.
Will I ever understand him?
Certainly he will never understand me, or the world I come from.
For he will never sing for the kingdom of dollars.
For he will never grow pockets in his gray wings.“
He bids his lady come, and she does, flirting with her tail.
He begins early, and makes up his song as he goes.
He does not enter a house at night, or when it rains.
He is not afraid of the wind, though he is cautious.
He watches the snake, that stripe of black fire, until it flows away.
He watches the hawk with her sharpest shins, aloft in the high tree.
He keeps his prayer under his tongue.
In his whole life he has never missed the rising of the sun.
He dislikes snow.
But a few raisins give him the greatest delight.
He sits in the forelock of the lilac, or he struts in its shadow.
He is neither the rare plover or the brilliant bunting, but as common as grass.
His black cap gives him a jaunty look, for which we humans have learned to tilt our caps, in envy.
When he is not singing, he is listening.
Neither have I ever seen him with his eyes closed.
Though he may be looking at nothing more than a cloud it brings to mind a several dozen new remarks.
From one branch to another, or across the path, he dazzles with flight.
Since I see him every morning, I have rewarded myself the pleasure of thinking that he knows me.
Yet never once has he answered my nod.
He seems, in fact, to find in me a kind of humor, I am so vast, uncertain and strange.
I am the one who comes and goes, and who knows why.
Will I ever understand him?
Certainly he will never understand me, or the world I come from.
For he will never sing for the kingdom of dollars.
For he will never grow pockets in his gray wings.“
-Mary Oliver, “Owls and Other Fantasies“
I have a nice collection of poetry relating to birds that I like to dip into and share now and again. This one from Mary Oliver isn’t a favorite, but instead one I came across this evening and enjoyed. Of course, I’m always looking for more. Maybe you have a favorite that comes to mind? Share it here in comments or on your own blog if you like.
Sabatia difformis
Lance-leaved sabatia; at least I’m calling it that! In comments on Saturday’s post, Patrick reminded me of a helpful website for Pine Barrens plant ID. That, combined with all six of my wildflower guides, helped me decide what this flower is. I think so, anyway.
I’ve said it before, but learning wildflowers really makes me feel for people who are just starting out with birds. You can have all the best reference material at your fingertips, but it’s all a waste if you don’t put it to use. I’m easily confused and overwhelmed with all the possibilities, so the few books I have that say what’s blooming when are the most helpful because they narrow down the choices of what’s possible. Yet, no book can compare, in my opinion, with having an experienced person by your side in the field.
Anyway, glad we figured this one out together!
Just another day in the garden
The milkweed beetles are busy making more…
and the apples are blushing at the sight!
The scarecrow is not very scary and watches it all with his ears in a twist.
Some flowers make me think of lace embroidery…
But the hoops are buried in the cabbage patch!