Muddy and I walk on

There is no better day than the new day.

I've been wanting, planning, thinking about getting back to my walking regime which I had in Minneapolis, and fell out of it for way too long. Not that I wasn't physically active all these years, but not as aerobically as I need at 58. So Muddy and I began our new venture together-walking.

Not only is it good for my body, this is helping my soul. As I walked the road, people waved, I saw backyard glimpses of houses I'd only seen driving by in car. I noticed how many of those trees we'd been flying by were apples, birthing their fruits in the culverts. I made mental notes to come back. I found hawk feathers and wild turkey ones too. I passed some horses and got to know the road better so maybe I could take Boone that way in time. And we walked down to one of the many bays, and Muddy got to see the next best thing to the ocean.

Last night, Huck came to me. His face was right up close to my vision in the dream, and he simply looked at me, deeply. I felt he was saying,

I'm okay, now you be okay too.

I can't say that was the catalyst that finally made me go for a walk, but I was happy he came to me like that. He is okay. He got to whatever place he is supposed to be.

A friend sent me one of the most beautiful and moving poems I've read in a long time. I am sharing it because it is so appropriate and I hope soothing to any of you who lost a dog, or loved one of any species. I found it evocative and it captured everything about this loss. Thank you for all the messages too. Huck's soul stunned a lot of people, I realize now, even those that had only met him a couple times, or through his eyes in a photograph. While Mud is a completely different dog, I can say this-he tries. He tries to sit still and let me hug him close like Huck did, he tries to not wipe out wine glasses with his tail, he tries to show moderate enthusiasm for Mondays, or any other day of the week but he can't contain his enthusiasm because he is Muddy. He is not Huck and we will not project that on him.

He is beautiful, athletic, goofy, carefree, happy to be alive Monday-Sunday, frisbee addicted...Muddy.

The House Dog's Grave

I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now

Run with you in the evenings along the shore,

Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment,

You see me there.

So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door

Where I used to scratch to go out or in,

And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor

The marks of my drinking-pan.

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do

On the warm stone,

Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the night through

I lie alone.

But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet

Outside your window where firelight so often plays,

And where you sit to read--and I fear often grieving for me--

Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard

To think of you ever dying

A little dog would get tired, living so long.

I hope that when you are lying

Under the ground like me your lives will appear

As good and joyful as mine.

No, dear, that's too much hope: you are not so well cared for

As I have been.

And never have known the passionate undivided

Fidelities that I knew.

Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided. . . .

But to me you were true.

You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.

I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures

To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,

I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

Robinson Jeffers, 1941

Huck's final nap- we let go

Moon River, wider than a mile

I'm crossing you in style some day

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker

Wherever you're going, I'm going your way

Two drifters, off to see the world

There's such a lot of world to see

We're after the same rainbow's end, waiting, round the bend

My Huckleberry Friend, Moon River, and me

Yesterday morning, when he came to me and pressed up to my leg as I sat reading the paper, an unusual tactic for him, and he looked at me with these chocolate brown soul eyes, I knew he was asking for help. The past three days have seen him go from hardly be able to eat, to choking and not being able to swallow. A hard mass that formed in his throat had arrived quickly, and by Saturday morning he could not eat, or drink.

I had just started an ongoing photo essay of him last week in which I was going to photograph him all year, knowing it might be his last. He had lost so much weight and seemed to have more pain in walking. I had a vet called, but they were unable to come, and after a morning of taking some pictures of him, I knew we had to take him in, we should not wait until Monday. We opted to go to a nearby clinic that is open 24 hours a day on the weekend and were treated really nicely. I really liked the vet and plan to go back for other needs.

It is always surreal driving an animal you love to a destiny that is so final. There was a tiny part of me that thought,

Maybe it's an abscess [I knew it wasn't] and we can fix this for him.

At the vet, we learned that the type of cancer it most likely was, due to many of the signs present, was an aggressive type that ate away muscle, hence his dramatic weight loss from 85# to 68#. His tongue had become ulcerated, the mass was blocking his airway causing the coughing and inability to eat. In time, we knew he would suffocate, and in reality, he was starving to death. Even if it had been a blocked saliva gland the vet concluded, the weight loss and other symptoms indicated he had cancer. If he had been young, or not so thin, a test might have been warranted.

When I look back at the photos I took yesterday morning, I was looking at a creature I loved who was in pain. But when I look at the photo at the vet clinic I took, after his sleeping meds were given, I see my friend in peace.

There were many beautiful things that happened in the past few days. In Oregon, the labs slept in the living room. Once in Maine, Huck took to sleeping by my side next to the bed. Muddy still slept in the living room. But three days ago, I'd find Muddy sleeping side by side with Huck by our bed. It was so telling, and tender. He was extra diligent to Huck, cleaning up the constant drooling that also started about three days ago-a symptom of the condition. On the morning I took the photos, Muddy waited for me to finish the photos of Huck before barging in on us, his usual norm. He licked Huck's paws for him.

At the vet, we knew what the probable outcome was, but we patiently waited for the vet. I needed to hear her opinions, just so I knew I wasn't over exaggerating what I saw and felt. After all, we have had so many changes, and just lost Raggedy. I also like facts and she was able to explain things about the symptoms that made me know without a doubt what we had to do. We were ready to let go, for him.

He was given a sleeping aid mixture and we were left alone with him to say our final goodbyes. I am usually very stoic with vets, but I have to say, I bawled like a baby on this one. I lay down on the floor with him and told him what a great friend he was, and how we'd miss him so very much-but we were right here and he was going to never feel pain again, or the panic he must have felt not being able to swallow. Martyn is a stoic guy, albeit with a kind heart. He rarely cries. And he does not give kisses to animals. But when he got down on the floor and kissed Huck's forehead and said softly,

"Goodbye Huck,"

I thought I was going to implode with love and sadness.

Back home, we dug a grave near Raggedy. I brought Muddy out to see Huck. In the barnyard, it's important that the animals see their dead mates, even though they never overreact. Of course, I know that Muddy knew Huck was evolving in the last three days. He knew he was wasn't feeling right and was vulnerable. But I wanted to let him see Huck one more time. I put a picture of a young Muddy in Huck's grave.

"It's the end of an era", Martyn said later that night as we unwound on the porch. Just as Raggedy's death snipped more strings from our old farm and life, Huck's death was almost the Gods shaking the house and saying,

You are here now, it is time to reinvent yourselves as you intended when you left. It is time to clear out the past and rejuvenate your new life on your new farm. All is well.

But perhaps one of the sweetest moments of love came later in the evening. I found Martyn at the laptop, and when he saw me, he got a bit shy and stood up suddenly.

"I was looking for a song," he said.

He wanted to hear "Moon River". I had forgotten the connection, but he hadn't. You see, when we got Huck as a pup, we had picked the name Buck. But he just wasn't fitting that name, and finally it was Martyn that picked the name Huckleberry. He was our Huckleberry Friend. Last night, we sat in bed and listened to all the versions we could find of Moon River, and each time our old friend's name was sung, we cried.

He is so missed, and a huge presence is gone, but I felt him all around me. I thought we had longer with him, but the look he gave me, the look he had in these last photos of his final hours-he was ready. It was a gift to be able to do it for him, send him on his way. I believe we will see him again, on a Moon River, I do.

Huck eyes

It's the time of his life where I have many moments, each day now, where I know he is getting old and showing more signs of the inevitable. Each look of his brown eyes with whites showing express so much and I try to listen without turning his thoughts into what I want to hear versus what he is feeling these days. We're never ready to lose our elders, human or creature-they walked before us lighting the path. When Huck leaves it will be with many stories, many only shared with me.

Old man

“Age is a seasoned trickster. To our parents, we will always be children. Within ourselves, the same yearnings of youth; the same aspirations of adolescence, will last a lifetime. Only to the young - blinded by our grey hair and slowing gait - do we appear old and increasingly beyond the pale.”

― Alex Morritt, Impromptu Scribe

The Chocolate Lab named after a pie, Huckleberry, aka Huck, has turned eleven today. We will be doing what we do every day with Huck, looking into his soulful and now cloudy eyes, speaking to him through that silence, saying to each other,

We are here together, all is well, we are safe.

Huck came to Apifera as a pup a year after I said goodbye to my original road warrior, Louie Louie, the fox terrier who was my companion in singleness for 14 years. Louie was able to get me to Martyn, and then the farm, and after six months here, I helped him on his way, his life was so full that he went out in my arms with a smile on his terrier lips. So I waited to fill that spot for some time, and we still had the aging One Eyed Pug that became the Old One Eyed Pug I.

I never would have picked a Lab, but since so many animals were my decision, I let my new husband's opinion matter in the decision. I was after all a unit now, with an opinion, but he too had an opinion. Louie was a very alpha dog, as many terriers are, and he was definitely my dog and came with all his and mine insecurities and unbalanced behavior wrapped together. He somewhat unsettled Martyn I think, I can't blame him, the dog used to pee while he ate his food as a warning to anyone to stay away. It worked every time. By the time Martyn met Louie, the latter had calmed some but was almost all blind and he had anxiety attacks if he didn't know where I was. So I asked Martyn what kind of dog he envisioned.

"A lab," he said.

"A lab?!" I retorted, having come from a long line of terrier ownership, with Standard Poodles tossed into the mix.

I paused..."It has to be a male, and chocolate."

I had always loved Chocolate Labs, so the idea was born and I found a good breeder within a couple of hours and we brought him to Apifera. Five years later, we brought home another pup, from the same parents-a totally different dog than Huck but a joy-you know him as Muddy.

From the onset, Huck was a worrier, but very polite no matter what his feelings about anything. When Martyn sits in his rocking chair at night, Huck waits until we tell him it is okay to go to the couch. If we are in our bedroom, he doesn't come in without an invite-while Muddy bounds in every morning to let us know IT IS MORNING!

Huck used to do 'The Scooby Dance", twirling around and around in tight circles. We could tell when one was coming on, he'd sit and get this very goofy expression on his face-his lower lip slightly limp and drooping. Then we'd say, really slowly,

"Oh, Huckleberry, are you wanting to do the Scooby Dance?" and around and around he'd go.

He quit doing the dance a few years ago, as he is very gimpy in his front shoulder. But every now and then, maybe once a year, he does it and we all just get so happy.

Huck has slowed even more this past year and I think his eyesight has definitely failed a bit, especially at night which is pretty normal. His grey has increased even more, his lumps and warts lay on his aging frame with his hips sinking and his back swaying. He was never the athlete Mud is, but he was and is the soul man of the house, the one who comes to me trembling when I cry, or raise my voice at something. He needs more encouragement to do certain things to feel safe-like going to the couch if we are still by the fire.

When he was a pup, the place was in its wild days, raccoons visiting day and night on the porch, and we taught Huck to alert us of any raccoons. He did and then some, bounding out on the porch just so far to ward them off. As he has gotten older, I don't let him do that anymore. And we often turn the light out on the porch as we sit by the fire so he can't see raccoons. He usually is soundly sleeping and just isn't as alert as in his youth. But every now and then, he hears one, his fur on his back stands up, and he barks at the window, then turns to look at me,

The raccoon is here! I'm telling you, do you see him, shall I go out? he tells us with pride. We praise him for his good work, and he returns to lay down on one of his many cushions spread throughout the house, falling almost immediately back into slumber, his legs and paws often twitching as he is most likely chasing that coon in his dream, or doing the Scooby Dance.

Blind pug pie prep

For the record, the Walnut Pie I made yesterday had some of the best crust ever. It should be an exceptional year for my pie!

Hughie fits right in. I prepped the many pie crusts yesterday and he and Huck were right there at my feet. Hughie took it upon himself to snorkle up any dropped flower and Huck was more about bits of scrap butter flying around.

I can't tell you much I love having an old pug around again, and Hughie is his own man. He has fit in so smoothly, such a courageous guy being totally blind and all. he's been through so many changes this year, I'm just so proud of the little tater tot. He really is good with the layout of the house, can do the stairs slowly on his own and has a routing now.

He and Huck have almost become elder buddies, as Huck is a year or two older and getting very grandpa like. In the morning, I let Hughie out on his won, and Huck comes up and sits by my side while I eat my yogurt and banana and then he gets to lick the bowl. It is written that this is the way and has been the way for years.So then Hughie is let in but I've been letting him in before i eat breakfast, so now Hughie and Huck are at my side, and Hughie tries to outsmart Huck for the best seating arrangement. It's very funny. But Huck still gets the bowl, and Hughie gets the spoon. Mud goes to sleep on the couch.

Today I will be dashing about, okay dashing like a donkey-methodically- getting fabric hangings and signs up, the porta potty will arrive and the Puppet is waiting at the gate for it.

Much to do. Pie baking begins tomorrow.

Pino Pie Day is a fundraiser that helps maintain The Misfits. Donate or buy at gift levels if you are able. Thank you to the people who subscribe to this blog or have given kindly when emergency needs arise. And thank you for buying art and books so I can make a living and do what I do.

Easter walk on Muddy Hill

We took Huck and Mud up to their favorite romp on Muddy Hill. We wanted to see how the grass was doing since the flock is destined to eat their next. Such a juggling match when you cross pasture-but in a way it is part of farming I really like, once I learned to go with the flow and not fret about the natural pace of Mother Earth's rhythms. And of course that rhythm can change each year depending on weather conditions which makes cross fencing and multiple barns a must for convenience and animal care.

Huck was very happy to be allowed to run free on the hills. He is so old and gimpy now and can overdo it so easily with his front shoulder. But to see him out there again, he looked so happy. Broke my heart-in a joyous way. And that is what Easter is to me-joyous celebration of life. I was not raised in any church, but always loved the Easter celebration. Bunnies aren't bad either, but Easter feels like an opportunity for expansion. So I guess it was appropriate that Huck got to expand today. Looking down at the flock, and Aldo the Elder, I felt blessed, with Martyn, my charges and this land. It is not perfect which is a wonderful fitting since we are so flawed too. We were pleased to see how the grazing of the sheep was helping the small stream that runs through the property-at some point it might not, but for now, it is helping eradicate certain weeds and blackberry.

I like looking at my flock. I was thinking what a simple pleasure this is and how farming has many of these internal moments of peace-despite the hard work. I would assume that a farmer with a large operation has these moments too, but they are hard to explain to another.

This morning, I smelled a scent that comes at Spring. The sheep manure begins to dry and it mixes with the new grass scent, and it is almost a salty smell. While some might wonder how manure's waft can be pleasing, certain kinds of it, in the right conditions and amounts float me to a wonderful place of contentment. Come to think of it, it's not floating, it's a solid feeling of standing on the earth and reaping it all in while I do chores.

May your day be one of renewal!

The chocolate elder ages

Huck turned ten.

It is like living with any elder, you see the changes in their appearance in spurts, but you quickly change your thoughts to something more comfortable. Aging is like that–even with all its benefits and wisdoms it also comes with bouts of realities that hit you hard-like the fact that your dog is entering his final years.

Ten is such a solid number and makes you look back at the past. I remember driving up to get him, with the then Two Eyed Pug in the truck {those two eyes would become one soon after due a complete misunderstanding between pug and pup}.We had lost my old friend Louie Louie the terrier who was my one and only sidekick for fourteen years and came to Oregon with me, got me hooked up with Martyn and then the farm, and then he went on to the next realm without me. It's how it works, dogs help you out their entire lives without complaint and then they get to go a big amazing walk-about. I liken it to a parent getting their kids out of college and saying, "OKAY, I've done my best for you, now flourish on your own while I go out and explore." The dog is the parent to many.

Huck is a Buddha. He always has been. This is a dog that from day one asked if it was okay to enter the room. In fact he rarely enters our bedroom or bath-unlike Muddy who barges in every morning with complete joy,

"It's a new day!!!!!!!!" Yes, Mud, it's another new day, let me sleep until seven.

Why would you want to sleep until seven, he thinks.

Huck is the one on the outside of the door way, sitting quietly, waiting, really wishing he had the guts to bash through the door like Mud, but, he never does.

He has become more arthritic this year, and while his chin has been grey for awhile, little white flecks are appearing over those deep brown eyes-those eyes-the ones that suck you in at any time, anywhere and say,

"Is everything okay? Are we okay?"

Huck now has grandpa privileges. He gets to sleep on our couch and watch television with us while Muddy sleeps on the other couch. Don't feel badly for Mud, that is the couch I paid-well, more than I can imagine paying for any piece of furniture ever again, but I was single and plusher then without a hay bill and elders stcked up in huts outside. I have such a different relationship with Huck than I do with Mud. Both are solid and good. But Huck is more my right hand guy in the studio. He worries for me. He speaks with his lips and contorts them in different ways when he is trying to communicate with me. Between his lips, eyes, and tail, we communicate just fine.

So I'm raising a glass to a chocolate lab tonight. He has brought me his velvet ears every day to touch, and a nose that never ceases to make me sigh. He is Huckleberry Pie.

Raise a toast to a fine dog!

Perhaps the most gentle and sensitive soul on Apifera is Huck who turns 9 years old today. I can hardly believe it sometimes, how fast the time has gone. I'm sure you all know that feeling with your children, parents, pet, or selves.

Huck, aka "Grandpa", is slowing down and getting arthritic, but still loves to go for walks and pass gas on the couch-but only while he is surrounded by me and Martyn. He diligently licks and cleans the cats if they allow it, knows where every cat poo is in the front yard, and to this day, he has a phobia about walking by certain pieces of furniture. He never enters our bedroom unless asked. If I scream at my computer, he rushes to my side shaking.

I never had a Lab before Huck-I was a terrier person- and it was Martyn who asked if we could have a Lab after Louie Louie died.

"A Lab!?" I shrieked in jest.
"Only if it is chocolate," I ended.

Huck is one of those dogs that will leave a pretty big paw print of the heart. I hope we have many more years with this giant chocolate soul.

So raise a toast to a fine dog! Huckleberry Pie!

Beauties in the garden

The Euphorbia are exceptional this year - I suppose I might say that each year. As a former Minnesotan, I still am in awe like a Dorothy landing in OZ at the many plants we can grow here. Each spring these yellow giants emerge and you forget how big they get, how they watch you with their multiple eyes, sway in wind and create theatrical backdrops for the living.

And Huck continues on at age 8.5 to make me melt. His soft buttery ears and soulful gaze - always soaked in to my heart first, and then I feel I must capture it on film. I hope he never leaves, but he will, so each moment like this is relished. Miss Peach has added weight since I rescued her a year ago and she continues to be a one person cat. She tolerates the other cats, and seems to be warming up to BW, who constantly sticks his neck out to befriend her. In time, she has begun to allow him to sit with me while she is on my lap.

Birthday of Huck love

I've gathered some of my favorite photos of Huck for his birthday. These are the expressions and stances I will always remember of him - and hope we have many more years ahead to experience this gentle soul.

It is the day of his birth. Eight years ago before this day he did not walk the Earth, nor did I know he would come to us. Each day he respects me with his eyes - eyes that tell more than any long memoir could about him. He is kind and hesitates at doors to be asked in. He sits to my right but if my feet fidget, he moves ever so slightly to the left - just for me.

On a daily basis he greets trees with nose and then bodily function. He asks little of me -

"What will she do with me today? A car ride to town and into the feed store? I wait. I shall watch her all day and wait to hear her voice."

"Go!" she just said to me.

And I run out the door and my ears flap out loud in freedom, but I can always sense she is nearby waiting for me to return to her side.

Happy Birthday, my dear Huckleberry Pie, the most luscious chocolate eared loyal companion in the world.

How to get happy Apifera style

Get a sock, preferably one you have found lying around in someone's shoe or closet that has been worn, preferably worn a lot, perhaps in wet Wellies while mucking stalls so that there is a fair amount of manure smell soaking into the somewhat damp sock.

The sock preparation of this is very important. For one's senses, especially taste and smell, are key factors in obtaining certain free forms of happiness.

First, lie around awhile with the sock firmly in your mouth. Chew it, suck it, toss it up and catch it, chew, and suck again as many times as you feel like. Whatever you do, DO NOT LET ANYONE TAKE THE SOCK AT THIS POINT - you must get the sock to maintain an overall slime quality.

Once you have achieved this state of wet slime all over the sock, run up to the nearest person you can find, and shove the wet sock into their clothes or hands. Taunt them. They want that sock badly, but you have it.

Now, wag your butt around and feel your backbone move, and move back and forth. Feel it. Move it. DO NOT STAND STILL!

Now, when you have done this for some time, give your beloved sock to that other person who you originally were taunting it with. Let them see you are a lover, a giver, not a warrior. You would give up your most beloved of all possessions - your wet slimy sock. For while chewing,sucking and throwing a sock in the air make you happy, it is the sharing of that sock without being asked that brings you true happiness.

Loyally waiting for the Dirt Farmer

As his young brother Muddy plays in the background, Huck takes on the stoic duty of waiting for the sound of tires on the long gravel drive. It is a lucky man that can come home to such loyalty.

Huck of my eye

The soul that shimmers in his eye, the dappled grey his chin now carries, the velvet fabric crafted into ears - never fail to make me swoon. Huck is at one second a goofball, happy, and then he turns back into his soul man stance.

Old soul in the garden

You know how it can be. You're minding your own business, deep in thought, and you catch a glimpse of a creature you love. A skewed eye, a velvet ear you must touch not once, but over and over, a greying chin that reminds you the years are shortened now for you both - and you must somehow document it, capturing that essence in a two dimensional form so you reach for it again and again and again.

I'll never stop swooning over him - the ever soulful, never pompous, always forgiving, Huckleberry Pie.

Huckleberry Pie eye

Huckleberry Pie, aka Huck, turns seven today.

The greying on the chin has started, the stiff muscles after long runs are showing, the length of naps has increased, but one thing will never change - the look, the eye, the glance. The soul.

I do believe all creatures - and that includes animals, humans, trees, carrots and rocks - have soul. I was once told by an old boyfriend years and years ago - he was raised in a fundamental religion [um, you might understand why that didn't work out] - that animals didn't have souls. This one brief statement put me on a journey to discover concrete answers about the soul. I always thought anything natural had a soul, but had never really researched or pondered facts to back it up. It actually was a blessing because it allowed me to explore a lot of different philosophies and come to an understanding of what my beliefs were spiritually. And for myself, soul became more of a verb, an essence that we all have, that can shine even when we are damaged or hiding.

Soul is bodyless, in my opinion, but it can take up residence in eyes and hearts, or the wind or rain. Carrots have soul, yet we eat them - I truly believe vegetables and grains and grass have souls - As Joseph Campbell said, "Vegetarians have never heard a carrot cry." I have many vegan friends and acquaintances and I never, ever suggested they think differently, in fact, I never bring the topic up because many don't seem to be able to discuss it with a meat eater without going viral. Oddly, many seem to promote vegetarianism on to to me, and one person - a stranger - even suggested I was a hypocrite for saving animals but then eating meat. I disagree, but I really don't owe anyone an explanation. I spent seven years as vegetarian. I spent a lot of time figuring out what I believed. I'm at peace with my place in the food chain and the realm I am in now, the Earth.

What dos this have to do with Huck? His soul is carried in his eyes. He doesn't will it each morning to share his soul, it is just there. I never tire of feeling it, seeing it in his eyes.

A garden and tails fourth

Freedom is a precious thing. We'll be here enjoying our farm and each other, free to love, share thoughts and opinions, gaze at the gardens and eat food from our land.

Huck, Muddy and BW were gracious enough to assist in this little photo session for your enjoyment - The One Eyed Pug was napping inside, as were Big Tony and Itty Bitty Etta. BW never turns down an opportunity to pose though.

Nose of the beloved

I drown in the beauty of his brown nose, a deep brown it is, often with dew like gloss on the top.

The look

"Shall I move now? Is this what I should be doing for you? I will do what you encourage me to do, just let me know, I will move my eyes a centimeter if necessary. I love you. What else can I do for you? I feel safe. But is it time to go to that other room? Food. I smell food in your pocket. Oh, sorry, my eyebrow moved."

Dog...and goat...days of summer

What thoughts are in that beautiful brown head, now enhanced with one white whisker,surely brought on by his duties as older brother. And the old goat sits in a forever home, perhaps thinking of summers long ago under spent under a tree in what must seem like a far off land.

Double the chocolate