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’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

LoveUbecause … you’re from a picture in a magazine!

Dreams - I remember exactly when I decided I wanted an Irish wolfhound. I came across a photo in a magazine, in my pre-teens, which depicted a tweed-jacketed man, strolling down a country lane. Surrounded by a canopy of leaves, emblazoned with autumn colour, smoke swirled gently from his pipe and a gray, Irish wolfhound placidly, and with elegance only reserved for such a beast, ambled leisurely at his side.

Maybe he was writer, an artist, or a well-to-do country gentleman?  I just knew I wanted to be like him and most of all longed for that majestic dog. Far from the tumultuous news headlines that I avidly consumed daily, as a self-assessed “news junkie” – long before CNN and anyone ever realized there was such a thing – the curiosity I had for the war that dragged on in Vietnam, the rekindling of the conflict in Ireland and the upset of the social order and norm in North America in the late 1960’s, was only surpassed by perhaps the want to really hear none of it. Not really  odd to be appealing to a child, was that notion of being relaxed and separated from the turmoil of the world, secure to meander the course of life’s winding road with the dream of the companionship of a loyal and noble, canine friend at his side.

And so it was that life’s road was traveled. The pipe, long since abandoned, came easily. In a throw back to decades past, it became briefly popular with young men at university who thought that sucking on a sculpted piece of briar made them appear intellectual. The tweed jacket – perhaps remembered by my collegiate, poker playing friends who dubbed me “Mr. Tweed “ for the brown, Italian, sports coat, bequeathed to me by an uncle and which, they thought, seemed to gain me favour with Lady Luck, when the pot got large in the final hand of the night.

I became an artist and a writer.  After thirty years, Lady Luck really struck, as I found myself living in the country with my family, two loyal dogs and my own winding road. I had, on occasion, made mention of the giant wolfhound that I had dreamt of being blessed with, but had never really thought would have. Yet I was wrong, as shortly before my 50th birthday I arrived home to discover my two, beaming, teenaged children, excitedly trying to contain a bouncing, brindle gray, wolfhound puppy. 

With the noble name of Harcourt, affectionately known as Harley, the ten week old, 35lb puppy has transformed into an impressive example of his kin. He has as many gaits as my horses, with a variety of walks, trots, canters and gallops and spurts of seemingly boundless energy that just as quickly develop into a satisfied slumber - often poised, bear rug-like, with front paws spread out and chin, fully resting, out-stretched on the cool tile floor.

Now at about 35 inches at the withers and 175lb, Harley all but dwarfs me (the man in the picture was taller!). On a walk about he is known to many by name and usually commands an audience of the curious and doting admirers - some who occasionally have a tear in their eye, as they have been fortunate enough to have had the companionship of an Irish wolfhound in the past and are reminded of their greatly missed canine friend.

Originally bred for hunting wolves and warfare, at one time, wolfhounds were only allowed to be owned by kings and poets. One such nobleman had an “entourage” of some 300 hounds – enough to discourage any enemy! Though they command a presence like no other, they are remarkable for their good nature, gentleness and patience. Their loyalty, athletic ability and even impressive victories in grueling, Arctic sled dog races have been documented.

But it is Harley’s ability to instinctively surprise that impresses me most. Walking a trail after a heavy, summer downpour a few months back, he stopped and quizzically, cocked his head, gently nuzzling at the ground as if to summon me. I bent down to find a large dragonfly trapped in the long grass. I first thought

it was dead, but after parting the grass it crawled onto my finger. Harley stood by my side, looking on at first with concern, as the creature furiously beat its wings, redistributing the rain drops that had prevented flight, then in an instance, departed in a magical moment that seemed to satisfy Harley as he then trotted off in search of the next curiosity.

The coincidence?  Our country refuge – named by us – “Odonata Woods”, as Odonata is from the Greek for dragonfly and the plethora of dragonflies that dot our sky each summer, controlling the less wanted insect pests and gracing our garden flowers and grasses with their delicate, variety and colour.  They are indeed magical and mystical creatures, as is their new self-appointed guardian, Harley, all only once dreamt about from a picture in a magazine.

… sending a little love to creatures GREAT and small,

“A” the “O” in LVE!

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Posted in Dogs, Pets, Uncategorized
Tags: country, Dogs, dreams, Irish, Irish Wolfhound, life, living, love, Pets, wishes