The arrival of White Dog-it's still magic

The first photo ever taken of him, on his arrival, his collar still embedded

Four years ago, a most wonderful introduction was made. White Dog mysteriously appeared in our fields. I can not imagine life without him, our bond and relationship has thickened and what makes the continuing story of White Dog even juicer is...he really was meant to be in Maine. He is so in his element here, adoring the cold and snow. I still have not let go of my book idea about him, it has changed multitude of times. But for now, I am reposting what I wrote days after he arrived at the old Apifera. It still makes my skin tingle.

{Originally written on Benedetto's arrival, 2013}

We all want magic.

The world is so chaotic, with the masses iphoning, apping and texting as they rush by one another not making eye contact. So much vitriol fills the airways outside Apifera.

We want happy endings...because there are so many sad endings, or unfair ones.

Sometimes, we want magic, real magic. The kind of magic that sets the hairs on your neck straight up and makes your heart pump faster.

And that is one of the gifts White Dog has brought us...that feeling that magic does exist here. And it can be shared and multiplied through story and images. One could summarize the entire episode of White Dog appearing in our fields in a factual way–he strayed here because in tact male dogs often stray. He smelled something in the air and went a wandering, randomly stopping here and somehow got into the fields.

But the more I suggested that in the past couple days, my readers wanted more-they wanted the magical answer. That he came here for me, he was meant to come here for reasons we might not grasp, or I might not grasp yet. I am leaning in that direction.

After all, this is not the first time an animal has appeared in a magical fashion. There was Lloyd Baines for one, a rooster hiding in the bramble in the middle of nowhere, who refused to get in my car so I could take him home to safety.

"Look, you won't last out here much longer. Apifera is one mile up the road, take a left through the fields and head down 3000 feet."

Two weeks later, there he was in the barnyard.

I can't make this stuff up.

So when a white dog shows up, the same rare breed as my own, out of nowhere-after eleven years of not one dog penetrating our fences-I took note. My initial reaction was a tingling sensation coupled with glee. I was floating through air when I met him.

Some people mentioned that he was a gift from our recently departed, Floyd. I must admit, I did consider this. After any death here, there always seems to be something that hits me over the head with,

"We're sending you this universal gift, take note."

The day after White Dog appeared, I had a phone meeting with an editor I worked with a few years back on a manuscript, and I had hired him again to review some book ideas I was percolating since he is so knowledgeable about the market and industry. He gave me lots of good things to think about, and steered me clear of a few things too. And he gave me a couple ideas that were just spot on and so clear-ideas that helped me visualize right there as he was speaking what my next projects could be, and will be, if I choose to say 'yes' in my heart to them. And as I was thinking that, there was White Dog outside my studio window, looking in at me.

Many out there seem to believe White Dog is here to stay. I am still not sure. He might be passing through. While he seems very happy here-and clearly likes the flock and the set up, and me, I might add-I am trying to not get attached...yet. But I'm failing. This morning when I went to feed, the name, "Benedetto" came into my head. I looked it up later and it means "blessed". I told Martyn and he warned me it is too soon to get attached, and it is. But that name just came to me, so I have it tucked away for a few days. I

want him to stay.

I have done all I can do in the form of ads, calling vets and other online resources to alert that he is here and no one has come forth. I've analyzed it all to death. He arrived very, very thin, a collar was embedded into his neck and some nubs of hay twine were on the collar, like maybe he'd been tied up. His toenails were very long. He clearly knew what sheep were. The fact is, in my mind, he was either placed here by someone that has come to know my farm and blog and felt he'd be safe here, or...

...he was pulled here by invisible hands and energies rooted deep in the pumpkin patch. The most stoic way to look at it would be that he showed up because he smelled Marcella-although she's not in heat–perhaps she perfumes herself each day.

We all want it to be magic. We all need it to be magic. So let's stick with that.