LoveUbecause … my duck found a home

LoveUbecause … my duck found a home

Purchasing art. Art and stories. Sometimes the creation is the story, sometimes the purchase is the story …

I have often said that though it may be several years in coming, there is always an owner, or buyer to match with a particular piece of art or photography.

There is that moment when all comes together in  artistic happen stance -  which sometimes is admittedly a little more confused and disorderly than necessary - when that image, those strokes, that composition, for whatever reason, circumstance or appeal, finds its rightful home and owner.

I went to a fund-raiser this past weekend for a large organization that promotes the preservation of wetlands and migratory water fowl – ducks in particular -  throughout North America. I was invited to attend  as a “guest artist”, as I provided an artistic  donation  to be included in the live auction.

I have to confess  that I  had  trouble deciding what to donate.  My style of painting is expressionistic and sometimes borders on the abstract. I was concerned that  anything I brought would not fit in with the theme as “I have never painted a duck in my life”.  As I explained to the audience prior to the bidding, this presented me with a quandary. What should I contribute?

Fortunately, though a “duck-less” painter, I am also a photographer – or as I prefer, “ an artist with a camera”. I am familiar with the functions of most of the buttons and switches on my Nikon, but  in my estimation,  I am a little lean on the technical side.  I often have to stop and think about an f-stop of 22 in comparison to one of 8. Will it let in a large, or small amount of light? Oh those dang technicalities!

Fortunately, in spite of any technical shortcomings, I am told, I have a “good eye” for composition and the “interesting angle”.  This is presumably true, as my photographs

 and photo illustrations  have been displayed in art galleries, sold through stock photo agencies, used in magazines and promotional materials and  on a vast variety of web sites . So, by donating a nicely framed  photograph, I wasn’t providing anything short on quality, in comparison to a “duck-less” painting. Moreover, I had just the photograph  in mind!

I spent quite some time finding the photograph in question. You see, just as the artistic attic of my mind tends, at times, to be somewhat cluttered with unsorted thoughts, so always is the hard drive on my computer, with disorganized photo files.

I had a clear vision of the image I was seeking and easily managed to find a low resolution, unprintable version. Unfortunately, I couldn’t  remember what year, or where exactly, I captured “the shot.” and this particular version of the photograph was missing the original digital time-stamp.  Finding the high resolution, printable version proved an unenviable, eye straining, patience testing task.

Imagine typing “*.jpg” into the search engine on your computer  and almost 30,000  images appear! Very slowly, little icons dotted the screen, begging to be examined for one particular duck – and that was on only one hard drive!  There were also the  DVDs, the 500 gigabyte  external hard drive - thankfully not quite full -  and let’s not forget the older collection of CDs - all image laden!

 As this is not the first time I have found myself in this predicament - helplessly trying to track down one particular image amongst thousands – the requisite  unpleasant oaths were muttered. Restless sighs of frustration were loudly “sighed”. It was  all enough for my wife to suggest I “stop that”,  as she passed by my office door.

Of course, the thought to “one day” organize all these photographs into a logically indexed,  collection crossed my mind. Imagine at a moments notice being able to  select a long ago, captured scene from my own Google-like, organized, electronic, image albums!  Well guess what, “that ain’t never going to happen, Stanley, ’cause I’m too busy trying to find lost pictures!” – and don’t ask me who Stanley is, though I am sure I have a picture of him on my hard drive, somewhere!

As I said, sometimes my thoughts get a little cluttered – point proven! Now I shall quit ranting! Back to my ducky story …

“And so it was”, as they say in those epic tales, as the search achingly slowly became, the elusive duck  was eventually found – just as I thought -  in a directory with a whole lot of photographs of butterflies! Well, I guess they all do have wings.  All so very logical – Google-like, sort of - not!

I  always liked this photo. It is a fleeting moment unexpectedly captured in an unusual circumstance, but like many of my photographs, it was not taken with a particular use in mind – it never had a “home”.

I recall that I once spent endless hours squatting on the muddy shore of a lake in Florida. There I was, the duck Paparazzi, unsuccessfully attempting to keep my feet and bottom dry and go home with the ducky “money shot”. Ironically, it was on a photography outing to a butterfly sanctuary in British Columbia that I inadvertently turned, noticed this bird sitting at the edge of a pond, hungrily, eyeing the large,  gold fish passing through the water beneath. As is my nature, I spontaneously, without concern for  F-8, 11 or 22, snapped the shot.  Voilà!  “Thinking About Lunch” came into being. Florida? Forget about it!

Now I am quite certain that the gold fish, actually closer in colour to the ”l’orange” in duck, was never actually devoured. But  I must confess, I am hoping  that the fowl in question was indeed a duck! Hopefully the “duck people” were not just humouring me, as I expounded upon my avian tale. Wouldn’t that be a lark … duck … whatever.  

In retrospect, as  an artist with little talent for ornithological identification, I could have,  though well intentioned , presented  a photograph of the very rare, short-tailed, Peruvian, green-winged pheasant  - should there be such a thing. Let’s hope not – that would be embarrassing! And Lord knows, such things just don’t happened to me! 

I know the sum of my duck knowledge may not extend much past the  delicious, crispy skinned, breast that I used to thoroughly enjoy at a restaurant, of the same name, “The Duck”. But I am indeed pleased,  that  “my duck”, or perhaps obscure duck-like creature featured in “Thinking About Lunch”, did indeed find a good home!

Wayward, disorganized  and difficult to find as it was in the electronic habitat of my computer’s hard drive, the hunt for the duck - the only kind of hunting I do - was , I think, well worthwhile.

I was happy to have contributed to the preservation of our environment and fair feathered friends. But just as important, the first print of “Thinking About Lunch” found a home and owner   and what the heck , it makes for a good duck story!

“A” the “O” in LVE!

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Posted in About Love and Life, Animals, Art, Country Living
Tags: Animals, Art, birds, duck, fish, fun, life, love, photography, photos, wildlife

LoveUbecause … you are my refuge, my moment

LoveUbecause … you are my refuge, my moment

 My caveat – I am not a wildlife expert – so don’t take this as any kind of sound advice. It is a bit confusing – there are a lot of instructions, “ifs” and “buts” –  but my understanding is that it is not advisable and very hard, though in extreme circumstances not impossible, to win, or try to win a fight with a bear. Most of all, everyone seems to agree – if you come upon a bear, unless it is in a cage at the zoo – wait a minute, there are exceptions – remember that silly lady who jumped into the polar bear enclosure at the Berlin zoo not so long ago - Don’t run! Best, in the right circumstances, to climb a tree – remembering that dangling legs can be a tempting appetizer, so you had best find one at least with 12 to 30 feet of climbing height - unless it is what kind of bear? That is where I become confused again! Less optimally, in some situations drop to the ground, lay still, play dead hope he goes away! I shudder at the thought, but he may nose you around a little, take a nibble. Wait it out, things will get better - let’s not antagonize him, or things may get a whole lot worse! But if they do anyway, this might be the time to get up and fight? Gosh I have trouble following recipes, never mind all these instructions - I’ll let you read the article, or Google it yourself, I am just a writer.

In any event, the last year or so has not been kind to many of us, as we have watched “the bear” frighten our hard earned retirement plans, RRSP and 401K investments into virtual oblivion. There are about as many “ifs”, “buts” and “in these circumstances” attached to what we should do in this bear market as there are to advice about meeting a real bear in the wild, with even the conventional wisdom of “wait it out, don’t run” being questioned by some financial experts. Time will tell, but as in the wild, I have decided to “wait it out”. However stressful that can be, hopefully patience shall eventually win out over flight! 

Financial crash, stress and depleted savings, or not, there is a notable time in the spring when other more important special things fall into place and a motorcycle ride from the barn where I board my horses, back to my home, several miles away, just hits a sweet spot – makes me forget all about that other stuff. 

Owning a side-car equipped, motorcycle allows me to negotiate gravelled, potholed roads that most bikers won’t dare to contemplate. 

These minor arterial thoroughfares that provide the life’s blood of supply and transportation to and from myriad rural destinations – the dusty back roads where the crunch of the gravel making way for the rolling tires becomes music to the ears, the feel of the cool air, warmed just slightly to a few degrees above zero by the sinking evening sun, feels fresh on my face and my senses heighten slightly, as I scan the fields and shoulders of the road for deer migrating from their day habitat to that of the evening. It all brings me to a special space - my own special space, where little other than the immediate is contemplated, worried about or missed. It is a refuge - my refuge, my moment. 

I am not quite sure why it struck me so consequential the other day, as I consider myself fortunate – riding my bike is really just one of a few “special places” I am lucky to be able to go and “get a way from it all”. 

I won’t go so far as to call it a ritual, or habit, but it would be fair to say that it would not be uncommon to find me strolling the back few acres of our property on many a Sunday evening - especially from early spring to late fall, often with a crystal glass in hand, filled with some kind of “spirits of fortitude” poured over the requisite seven or eight cubes of ice. This too is a wonderful space – a relaxing space - a spacious cedar grove in particular, where the trees seem to reach almost endlessly to the sky, trilliums rise and form a mottled, cream coloured, blanket in the spring, leaves crunch crisply beneath every step in the fall. A cacophony of excited squawking often fills the air as hundreds of crows, disturbed by only what is known to them as disturbing, take flight, swooping above and between the trees in a sudden frenzy and where, in the serenity of the sudden silence that follows, I often lament that the day is coming to a close.

But as the road commands my attention with its twists and turns, the crows with their din, so does the excitement of a gallop about the fields on my equine friend. A different place of refuge where the activity, the rhythm of the stride and gallop, the snort of his breath, the beating of my heart, the speed that tears my eyes from the the sting of the cool wind, collectively peak to exhilaration. Attention focused on balance - what lies ahead, what lies beside . Nimbly “listening” to my legs, he moves slightly right, or left, as we avoid small stones pushed to the surface of the path by the past winter’s frost. I momentarily live the fantasy of the race – he, remembering fondly, when with the blossoming of the wild apple trees, the race track beckoned and the real races were run, won and lost. 

These are simple moments – complex in their simplicity. Sought out moments, that nonetheless evolve naturally. They are relaxing moments, exciting moments ,when “it” is not about the stress of life, the next job, the decks that should be painted, bills that should be paid. 

And so it was, the other evening I rode my bike home, I hit the “sweet spot”, put any thought of “the bear” in the woods out of my mind, and whatever that is inside us, or around us, that speaks to us with common sense, revelation and comfort said, “you’re happy”. And I couldn’t help but smile and know that it didn’t matter how much money I had in the bank, or my RRSP, whether it was going to be a good week or a challenging week, what may be demanded of me kindly, or unkindly – I had “the moment”, my moment - my place of refuge and “yes”, I was happy.

 

“A” the “O” in LVE!

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Posted in About Love and Life, Country Living, Motorcycles, Pets, Sports, horses
Tags: animal, bears, bull, Country Living, equine, finance, fun, horses, life, love, money, relaxation, retirement, stock market, stress, wild

LoveUbecause … you are my motorbike!

LoveUbecause …  you are my motorbike!

Call me a narcissist, or perhaps delusional. Put it down to being born at home. Gracing this world’s stage, not to be greeted by a crowd of cheering medical staff, or blinding, bright hospital lights left me a little wanting.

I prefer to think it stems from being cast in the role of an “auxiliary angel” in the school nativity play. Some kid called Ronald got to portray Joseph, the “headliner”. I didn’t get to say anything – just look awe struck when Jesus, played by a plastic doll, arrived – even he got more applause than me! There were no spotlights aimed in my direction, no curtain calls, or kudos for looking just plain angelic!

Consequently, I admit, spending much of my life looking for just that – a comfortable place in the glow of the spotlight, with a few cheers thrown in for good measure! What can I say – I shall just have to admit to being, at times, a bit of an insecure fellow.

Childhood shyness and innate nervousness didn’t really help. Neither did an upbringing, where acting up in school, bringing attention to myself in anything but a scholarly, or “within the confines of the rules” sort of way, was frowned upon. This hopeful extrovert,  wanna-be-class-clown, would have to wait.

Timing, as they say, is everything.  At age five, I watched Jimmy Stewart, fuddle and muddle to stardom as trombonist, Glen Miller in The Glen Miller Story. Miller struggled hard to create an original, big band sound, valiantly trying to make ends meet - winning the girl - almost losing the girl - winning the girl - so romantic. Well, perhaps not the part where he dies in a plane crash!

Nonetheless, for a time, destiny smiled and Miller’s band was wildly popular. In my child’s mind, what better way to blast myself into the hearts and minds of the public than to play the trombone?

Forward several years. After a good music test, some insufferable whining and a familial appreciation of the note, as my mother is one mean accordion player, it was agreed. At age eleven, I could have that shiny, brass horn! Blast I did – though elementary school, high school, university and beyond. I played lots of good notes and my share of bad. At one time, some agreed I was relatively accomplished. Whatever the review, timing had the ultimate say. Newsflash! The mass popularity of big bands faded, pretty much, thirty years ago! Duh! Go find something else to do, “Glen”!

I moved on. I wrote songs, recorded some tunes – ok, that country record was stretching it a bit. Finally that wanna-be-class-clown was released as I earned a living acting for a time portraying a demented scientist in a rather silly play. For years I also played doctors, lawyers, soldiers, policemen and a host of other characters, flashing by in the background as an extra in television shows, movies and commercials. Oh, the glamour of Hollywood North! Begrudgingly, I admit it went nowhere! Forever waiting for the “Über-audition”, the “big break” – sadly, there were no Tony, or Grammy nominations in the cards – Oscar, well that’s just the name of one of my cats - though Catherine O’Hara did once tell me she really liked the sweater I was wearing. What more could a fellow ask for?

Finally - the art! Discovering a flair for the application of paint to canvas, I found several reputable galleries willing to display and sell my work over the past sixteen years. The possibility in centuries forth, of discovering an “Olscher”, dusty and long forgotten, somewhere in an attic in a number of different countries, is actually there – the value of which - to be determined!  What more can a fellow intent on gaining a certain measure of notability hope for?  I even “Google” well!

Now it may be naïve to think that one can ever top the applause that a plastic Jesus gets in a school play, but I am definitely happy being an artist! Especially with some reassurance that once I take my easel and tumble off this mortal coil, hopefully into the froth of painterly heaven, at least I will be able to say I once had some practice at being an angel – albeit, not well lit!

But here’s the kicker! Ironically, recognition, or perhaps call it “fleeting, mobile, anonymous celebrity”, has shown itself in an unexpected and oddly satisfying way. 

Several summers ago I walked into a local motorcycle shop. There sat a gleaming, classically designed, sidecar equipped motorbike. Was I nostalgically jarred by memories of such machines in old films I habitually watched as a child with my grandparents on Sunday afternoons? Was it the spectacle of similar vehicles that trundled by as an addendum to the London to Brighton, antique, automobile race my father once took me too?  I don’t know, but I had to have it!

With promises of summer, afternoon jaunts through the lush, green, countryside and romantic weekends spent winding down the road from one B and B to the next, my wife was an easy sell.

As a neophyte rider, I took a safety course and a little nervously, the possession of our bike. Prepared for the reaction? Not! A vehicular oddity, for sure!

People stopped, stared, pointed and waved. I was flagged down, thinking something wrong, only to be questioned whether I was driving a BMW - an antique? No – it’s a Russian Ural of the 2003 vintage, actually!

Once, a van pulled up beside us on the wrong side of the highway and just stayed there! Were they trying to pass and just ran out of steam? No, the passenger was taking a picture. My goodness, Paparazzi – at last!

It is like being the only float in the parade. My wife has perfected her queenly wave and I, the expected manly nod, for occasions unsafe to remove my hands from the grips to return a salute from another passing biker. Little children, smile and jump up and down in delight. Grown men, in pickup trucks, break into broad grins as we pass. School bus loads of kids jovially jostle at the windows to get their glimpse and

give us a thumbs up.  I have been followed by mothers, with youngsters, who want to see the bike up close when I stop. “Just like in that Dalmatians movie!” they exclaim. Donut shop and mall parking lots are a haven for the curious and old men wishing to recount and briefly relive there memories of driving similar machines in younger days. A conversation piece?  An understatement!

This three wheeled chariot can be driven, using a little common sense, year round. We don’t expect to win any races, but flipped into two wheel drive we have negotiated back roads that have turned into streams, mud and snow.  Nothing like the 85 km ride we took one New Years Day! Talk about curious onlookers!

Admittedly there have been a few ups and downs with some rather quirky, old style technology, but our dealership has given us good service when required. It would be hard to outweigh the sheer pleasure of driving this machine.

Waving, cheering, we don’t even have to try! There is nothing better than finding pleasure in the unexpected and apparently bringing joy by being the unexpected. And strangely in our anonymity, what better way to spend a Sunday afternoon. What better way to enjoy life!

Enjoying the ride …

“A” the “O” in LVE!

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Posted in About Love and Life, Art, Country Living, Motorcycles, Music, Sports
Tags: Art, bikers, celebrity, childhood, dreams, fame, film, life, love, motorbikes, motorcycles, movies, Music, transportation

Loveubecause … a True Tale of Survival

 Guess I am fondly thinking about the summer ahead - thought I would share this with you …

Loveubecause … a True Tale of Survival

Survival – it is not always reserved for the biggest, the strongest, the boldest or most testosterone engorged. Just ask a dinosaur – oops, I almost forgot they disappeared from the earth a few million years back. The dragonfly, celebrated in native Indian and Japanese mythology, looked down upon and unjustifiably feared in some others, well that’s another matter!

No over abundance of testosterone here - I am secure in my manliness, so at the risk of the Arnold Schwarzenegger’s of the world dubbing me a “girlie man”, I shall admit I shed a tear or two the day we packed up and migrated from a bedroom community just north of the big smoke of Hog Town to the ethereal wilds of the countryside, north east of Peterborough.

Though filled with anticipation of new experiences and a more sedate lifestyle, leaving behind fifteen years of memories, the family home of once, newly minted children, many solid, long developed friendships and a wonderfully inclusive sense of community wasn’t emotionally easy.

Happily, any doubts were soon put to rest by the sheer beauty of our new found environment – a midnight blue sky, free from light pollution, bejeweled with a milky way of stars twinkling like diamonds was enough to leave me awestruck with wonder. We were greeted with crisp, fresh winter mornings. Evergreen trees, bedecked and weighted in newly fallen snow were transformed into a forest of mystic, bearded wizards with pointed hats, clad in virginal, sparkling white. Spring came and with it species of miniature, “dandilionesque”, yellow forest flowers I had never encountered before. Thousands of trilliums blanketing the forest floor with a multitude of subtle hues, ranging from startling, bright white to a dark, purpley crimson, were nothing short of stunning. A haphazard garden of early summer, wild, field daisies, all turning their bright yellow centered faces towards my back windows, apparently in expectation of some kind of performance, took my breath away.

Though I anticipated hordes of black flies and mosquitoes to dampen my enthusiasm in summer, few arrived, or made their miserable presence known. Instead, dense swarms of dragonflies and damselflies filled the air, gobbling up a multitude of unwanted pests. With the talent to hover like a Harrier jet, fly backwards and forwards, these keen-eyed insects have a voracious appetite and often each eat upwards of 600 mosquitoes a day. Dating back over 300 million years, 100 million before the dinosaurs, these marvels of nature are the first documented flying insects found in fossil form. Some giant species once had wingspans of 70 cm!

Named for their strong jaws and “teeth” (no, they don’t sting) used to gobble up their prey, dragonflies and their cousins, the damselfly, belong to the order of insects called “Odonata – a word from the Greek, “odon“ meaning tooth. And so it was that our small 17 acres of wooded, natural wonder was christened Odonata Woods, by my wife, “A”.

Yearly harbingers of lazy, warm summer days, these insects, barely modified since ancient times, could probably teach mankind a thing or two about longevity, survival and nature based technology. They are unavoidable reminders of nature’s genius, with immature nymphs possessing gill-like organs that allow them to live for months and sometimes years under water. Thousands of mature adults darken the sky during the mating season, often emerging in coordinated waves on the same day. They aggressively compete for mates, dive bombing through the air like Spitfires re-enacting the Battle of Britain.

Whether we are waiting for our winter tree wizards to conjure up spring, trilliums to celebrate its coming, or pungent, earthy smelling, dried, fall leaves to herald their passing, our multi-coloured, red, blue, green, black and orange Odonata friends are never far from our minds.

But getting back to survival - remember the big “blackout” a few years back? When power went out on the Eastern Seaboard and just about the entire north eastern half of North America a few summers back, we were quickly reminded how fragile we are. With no electricity, the ability to travel, communicate, pump fresh water and preserve food all quickly eroded.  I thought about the elderly, cooped up in apartments in the city, baking like gingerbread men in the heat. I quickly made a calculation of how long the supplies we had on hand might last and where I might get more when they ran out. I am sure the “lawn obsessed” in the suburbs were fixated on the potential of their lush, green, vegetative carpets wilting to more summer appropriate, dormant, natural, brown mats. I was more concerned for my horses and my farm neighbour’s animals and related businesses.  The potential for riots, looting and other disturbance in the big cities was a definite concern and no remote possibility. Our dragonflies?  It was one time I knew we didn’t have to give them a second thought! A true tale of survivors indeed!

“A” the “O” in LVE!

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Posted in Country Living, Uncategorized
Tags: blog, country, dragonflies, dragonfly, dreams, family, hopes, insects, life, living, love, odonata, story, survival, survivors, wishes

LoveUbecause … you’ve been dog gone away!

Anyone who knows me, knows that animals play a big role in my life - cats, dogs, horses in particular. If you have been following the blog, you may have had a chance to read LoveUbecause … you’re from a picture in a magazine! and “met” Harley, my only once dreamt about Irish Wolfhound - BTW Happy Belated Birthday, Harl! (he turned 2, just yesterday).

So not to feel left out and over shadowed by his giant friend, I thought I would post a piece I wrote a couple of years ago about Bentley, our Australian Shepherd (with a mention of “the Spin”, their other “beaglish” friend). 

“Hello – You’ve Been Dog-Gone Away! ” was first published in “Dogs In Canada” in 2006 and subsequently in the United States by the “Aussie Times” 2007. I hope you enjoy my musings! 

Hello – You’ve Been Dog-Gone Away!

It strikes me just about every time I drive up my laneway.  There are just some things that I probably never would have had the privilege to enjoy, had I remained living within the confines of the city. In these troubled times when one of the few constants seems to be bad news in the newspaper, it is truly comforting to know that come rain, or shine, sleet or snow, when I arrive home I will be greeted with unwavering, unbridled joy - and no, I don’t mean by my wife and kids – though bless them, I know they love me – they are only human.

Given that I have never owned say, a pet llama, I guess I can’t undeniably say there is no other creature that

 exhibits quite the same enthusiasm. But I do have eight cats and three horses and even knowing they all have a great affinity for me, there are times when their egos definitely get in the way. On a bad day, with a quick turn and a flick of a tail, my arrival can definitely be dismissed by one and all as purely coincidental to their presence. But to see so much energy bottled up so tight, trying its best to escape with undulating glee from such a small being, just can’t be taken for granted. Imagine a furry, calico body bouncing with delight, a wet tongue flicking across your face and a rubbery, black, snorting nose bopping you on the chin and I think you get the picture – my dog, Bentley, gets very excited when I get home!

Found as a squirming ball of fur at a horse auction, we wondered for some time if his squished little visage would amount to anything but a rounded fluff ball adorned with a wet, black nose. Genetics soon kicked in and we have discussed on several occasions whether Bentley is perhaps, in a round about way, actually related to Pinocchio! He definitely sports a snout not to be scoffed at.

An Australian Shepherd - a breed which strangely enough doesn’t even originate in Australia  - “the Bent”, as he is known, has never even seen a sheep. But that doesn’t stop him trying to herd just about anything in sight either - just ask those eight cats who have been systematically encouraged into one corner of our outdoor deck on a summer’s day. Curling his body towards me, with a nubby excuse for a tail furiously wagging, he tries to instinctively push me this way, or that.  I have never quite figured out why he picks one direction or the other, sometimes changing his mind in “mid-herd” and I am not sure that he has either – it is just something he feels compelled to do!

We have all heard the clichés – “a dog is a man’s best friend – but this goes way beyond. Unconditional love just doesn’t readily describe it. Perhaps a little over the top, this perpetual happiness at seeing me should not be confused with not knowing any better. Though other reoccurring visitors sometimes get similar treatment, even if they haven’t crossed our threshold for several months, others, the fellow from the courier company in particular, are definitely “persona non grata”. A canine of discerning taste – that’s the Bent.

Always shadowed at “hello time” by his stalwart, elderly, pal Spinner,  who’s own display of affection has been somewhat tempered by age and the fact that wedging his pudgy “Beaglish” frame between me and bouncing Bentley, is all but impossible,  the Bent just wouldn’t do well anywhere else. This boisterous enthusiasm would just be a little too much for a dog bottled up in the confines of a city home.

Barring that on a rare occasion, he is busy sitting at the base of a tree barking at a raccoon that has sought temporary refuge from this self-appointed shepherd, as they certainly don’t like to be herded, I can pretty much guarantee that whether I have been gone an hour, a day or a month, the Bent will be ready to rush, vibrating from the forest, porch or front door and let me know that in these troubled times it is just plain good to be home. What more can a fellow ask for?

Sharing the love from a well licked dog owner …

“A” the “O” in LVE!

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Posted in Country Living, Dogs, Pets, Uncategorized
Tags: Country Living, Dogs, life, lifestyles, love, Pets