If you don't like puppies look away

Bear at 8.5 weeks

I am in puppy overload, puppy heaven, puppy piddle, puppy joy....so you might want to take a break from all my social media links if for some reason you are adverse to puppies.

Bear has been here 3.5 full days. He is settling wonderfully and his personality is starting to emerge. He is sleeping most of the night, and understands outside is piddle madness area, and inside is piddle oops area. He is doing really well with pooping outside.

I know you wanted to know that.

Anyway, I am a bit distracted, lots of work ahead with him but right now, it is pure joy to wake up to him, to watch him do so many 'firsts' [stairs, vaccuums, television, music, The Goose and much more].

I have told the barnyard that Bear is needing my energy for a bit longer but they are fine, everyone is wel ad we are in a new year of hope...hope...hope for so much.

For now, just enjoy these photos of Bear.

A kind follower sent bear his first snuggly-a Birdie to watch over him

Bear has a crate den to sleep in

Bear explores

I lucked out on this shot of Bear under a watchful moon

Bear turns 4 weeks old

It's hard not to clutch the screen and smoosh his face. Bear turns 4 weeks old and that's half way to Apifera. I'm grateful the breeder send these update pics to all of us. This week should get fun, as the pups will begin to move around a lot at this stage.

I wake up realizing how life will change for us in-house Apiferians, but in a good way. It's been 10 years since I raised a pup. But I'm up for the newness and wonder of it all, and to socializing him when he is ready. This will be my dog, that is the plan. Although let's not forget I bring cats home from the shelter and they fall in love with Martyn. But I will be the one training him, taking him out, etc.

It is just pure fun to have his photos from these early days in the litter. I love you Bear, we are going to have a lot of fun, and good work with the elders too.

Puppy madness days

Our chocolate lump of love, at  2 days old

I've never bought a pup and been able to see it develop from it's birthday, but that is what the internet provides these days. It's been 10 years since we brought Muddy home when we lived out West. Muddy was five years younger than his brother, Huck, who was of the same sire/dam and we loved him so much I wanted to have another boy. We loved their temperaments and the breeder was highly respected and was very interested in helping us pick the right pup for our needs.

This new chocolate boy turns 11 days old today! I am so excited to meet him. I just know he is going to be a good therapy dog for me and am so excited to work with a pup again.

While I do hope to find another old and [hopefully] blind pug down the road, I was not ready for that. I take on so many old animals and the loss takes its toll, especially in the Inside Animals domain. Hughie was so loved by me, I was so crushed, but so glad I even had 4 years with him. But...I want a pup to raise up.

This little chap will begin his work as soon as it is healthy for him to go out to meet elders. Initially, he can even ride in Opie's Love Mobile!

We have a list of names going as we sit by the fire. Of course I'll have to meet him, but we have some we think might work. I love that he was the first one out of the litter, that to me was a clear sign he wanted to show me he was ready for action, as I was so worried there wouldn't be a chocolate in the litter.

The breeder takes great care in her line and does not over breed, and she believes in the classic lab. Six more weeks and he will be brought to Apifera.

So thrilled, so excited, so grateful.

That's our boy, age 3 days [on his back, sleeps like Muddy!]

The magical pup

I want to tell you a story.It has some magic in it.

When Hughie died this year, it was heartbreaking, but I had the honor of living with him for four years after taking him on when he was nine. I knew our time would be short like that-like it is with many of the animals I’ve taken on over the past 15 years- and he left a huge hole. We lost Huck at age 12 a couple years ago, leaving Muddy, Huck’s younger brother with us. Muddy turns 10 tomorrow. Any death in the pack brings a shift, and it also opened me up to what was next. This time, I did not set out to find another old pug. I knew in time, maybe, one would come along. But I was hurt, and I realized…I didn’t want that at this time anyway. I also wanted a legacy for after Mud dies, and he is aging now. I realized what I wanted was a pup, a chocolate lab male pup, to train and become another regular traveling ambassador of love to elder visits.

Well, I started looking for a pup a couple months ago. Many were out of my price range but I keep looking and finally found someone I liked and felt good about. And pups were due in the fall. So I put a deposit down and had first pick of a chocolate male. Now if you know genetics of labs, basically one parent has to have the chocolate gene, and 25% of the litter could be chocolate. Once I got attached to the idea of walking my little chocolate love ambassador around the elder home, I realized how disappointed I’d be if there were no chocolate males in the litter, and I’d have to wait. I was already attached to the thought of those pups in the mother’s belly, and we knew there were six. The breeder was supportive and told me…she thought it would work out. The due date came and went and we were on pins and needles. Finally, seven days past due time, I got an email, with the photo you see below. The first pup out, a chocolate male…this image was on his birthday, I swooned. I have never bought a pup and seen them at birth like this. It was both exciting but also made me want to rush out and get him. Well, the breeder wrote me again later the next day to say he had been the only chocolate male.

You know I have a close relationship with optimism, magic and the power of imagination. But I just sense this little guy made a point to me. He is ready for duty.

I am very excited to work with a pup again, it has been a long time. I love my elders. I also have buried a lot of them since 2004.

My last conversation with the old pug...he spoke clearly

Hughie came into my life when he was going on nine. He was totally blind and one eyed. I knew his time with us would be shorter than getting a pup...but every day of his 4.5 years with us was a blessing.

I woke yesterday with a lot on the agenda, but I really didn't think it would be the last day of Hughie's life. I had to be in town early to take Martyn's truck in-he needed all new brakes which had rusted in the Maine ocean air since he doesn't drive it much in winter-so I spent three hours at the library proofing the upcoming White Dog book.

When I got home, I decided to try to get an X-ray for Hughie and was able to get an afternoon appointment. I've been back and forth for a week to the vet because of Hughie's health. Last Wednesday he showed early symptoms of spinal issues and pain-something common in pugs and something he has suffered from twice since we got him at age 9. He is now 13.5. I did not want to be without meds so got him into the vet right away. We put him on pain meds and anti inflammatories immediately and also gave him a shot for immediate relief. I saw some improvement and was hopeful...briefly.

The last time he had this, he bounced back in a couple days. This time his symptoms kept evolving, and it became clear it was more neurological. And he had this strange thing going on in his throat. So on Monday I went in to get more drugs, without Hughie, and ran into my vet and we chatted. We decided to keep him on the meds longer, and do an X-ray when I could get him in to see if we could figure out what this lung/thing was. And that's why I went in yesterday afternoon, to get the X-ray.

But when I carried Hughie to the car, I told him no matter what happened at the vet, it was going to be okay.

I was willing to see an xray, but my heart and instinct told me...he might not come home with me.

When I got to the vet, and he walked in to do the X-ray, I kind of broke down. I told him I wasn't sure if keeping him alive now was the right thing, even for another week of meds. He got down on the floor with Hughie in front of me and assessed him again, he was clearly in pain and showing neurological signs. An MRI would mean a 4 hour trip and having him put to sleep, and there was no point in an MRI if I wasn't willing to do surgery, and I was not. I was very clear on that in my heart. He is old, and the surgery is not a sure bet that what is causing the spinal issue can be fixed. He had hard enough time with dental surgery recovery. The vet agreed with this assessment.

As we talked...I just knew it was time. I had asked the skies to help me be clear when I went in, and they were. So...the vet went to get the medicines to put him down, and I held Hughie as he sat on the table.

And that is when we had our last conversation.

Hughie usually kissed me "goodnight", because I would carry him up on the couch each night to watch TV and at bedtime I'd hold his smoosh face and he'd kiss me, then I'd carry him to his crate. But I wouldn't say he was a smoochy kind of dog. So that is why this last conversation was poignant.

As I waited for the vet, I talked to Hughie and told him what a wonderful journey we had together here, and now he was the one that had to journey on without me, but I told him to look for Huck. He kissed me. Then I told him I was sorry, and he kissed me. I told him I could not see him be in pain anymore, and I felt I had to help him on this journey. And he just kissed and kissed me, slowly, very gently. It was not like him to do this much, but I truly believe he was thanking me, and telling me,

It is OKAY. I am okay. Please don't feel badly, thank you for doing this.

I suppose someone will tell me it was salt in my tears he liked. But Hughie never kissed me when I had salty lips from ketchup or even chicken.

I brought Hughie home to bury him, but was so tired emotionally I wrapped him in a blanket and lay him on the couch. That night, I told Martyn I wanted to watch television with him one last time. This is not like me, I am pretty resilient about death, and find the burial procedure helpful, and beautiful really-the full circle of a life in my hands as I cover it in beautiful Mother Earth. I think I knew his time was coming all week and had some conversations already with Martyn and the vet, and Hughie, but I had not quite accepted it was here, on that given day...I just wanted one more night to have my left hand on his little pug bowling ball head, rubbing his soft ears. His body was still pretty warm.

Martyn was up before dawn and dug me a hole in my hollyhock bed. I buried him without fanfare after morning chores-morning chores that were full of living and breathing charges. AS usual, I told everyone as I did chores that Hughie was gone. I spent time with Marcella. And when I was out with the equines, Pino stood five feet from me, away from the herd, just staring at me. I was too tired to sit with him. But I know he was acknowledging my sadness, that is Pino.

And so, once again, I am pugless for the second time. But Hughie is okay.

Last Christmas

What if I had to choose: the horror we feel for the fires

Every time there is a major fire out West, I have visceral reactions to it. It is so hard to see the images of people and animals in such desperate situations. I have read some gut wrenching stories of people faced with leaving their horses to run free, and one woman rode her horse to a shopping area, waiting and hoping to somehow get her and the horse out. The firemen told her she had to go, and they promised they would do what they could for her loyal horse, and they didn't let her down. They told her they would get a Uhaul from down the street, and haul the horse out, and they did. The woman though had to leave the scene without him, they really made her go. Nobody knows where she went so she didn't get to see her horse driven away in the Uhaul.

Just writing that makes me agitated. To have to make these hard choices, stay and die, leave your horse and know he will suffer, and die...just so hard to watch. I get to turn off the images and walk away, they don't. Although i can't stop thinking of the images either.

I saw a pot bellied pig being guided out of a house by police, to a car I suppose. Thank you to all those people. Can you imagine if it were Rosie?

I saw llamas and a pony sitting on Malibu beach, tied to posts, their owners probably had no other choice and hoped the ocean water would at least keep them safe.

Two frightened shepherd dogs, dirty but healthy, looking lost and scared.

I took this photo of Benedetto two nights ago, the sunset was so striking. But when I looked at it again this morning it made me think that anyone that lives through a fire must see a sunset like this in a different way. I would imagine if it effects me to read these stories, the people that live through them are never the same, and visceral reactions must come even when they look at something as beautiful as a sunset.

We can only pray from our little house. They are facing such horrible things all at once, those people and animals.

My blue hangover was worth it

Yesterday, Muddy came bounding into the bedroom at 5 am like always, pushed his wet nose under the blankets and flipped them up sending a shot of cold air on my skin. He does this every morning. But this particular morning was his 9th birthday so I sensed he was a tish happier than normal. Muddy starts everyday with enthusiasm,

"It's a new morning! Isn't it great?!"

Yep, yes, it is, Muddy, especially with your wet nose on me.

The excitement of the day's voting was also part of the energy and I was excited, but anxious. I know many were. In Maine, we overwhelmingly sent a message to the sitting governor, president and current political believers of the administration–NO MORE.

We elected a moderately leaning Democrat woman, and put the house and senate in Democratic hands. We voted against another Trumper business man for governor - and we have suffered through a horrible governor here for years. What I'm proud and relieved to see is there were no tight races, this was a mandate, with most Dems getting over 60% of the vote, and turnout was high.

I have hope. I think what I hope for most is that there will be an effort, somehow, for politicians to come together more in the House. Dump is not going to change, but he at least won't go rolling down a hill without brakes out of control without any speed bumps. He has wasted no time going right back to his onslaught of the media, and lies, pointing fingers, and we're right back into the circus.

One thing I feel needs to happen is to bring more understanding to the city elite and progressive leaning people about their rural neighbors, and that somehow rural people with certain views have to be more clearly heard and understood. I'm not talking about persuading either side to switch views, but I live and work with many people in my rural villages that are good people that voted for the current president. I do not believe everyone of them is a racist. I do however feel after two years, that sexism, and racism has to be acknowledged by everyone. If you can't see it, I believe you need to be educated on it...but I'm sick of rural people being designated as ignorant and uncaring.

To me, many [not all] of the city elite saying these things sound as elitist as the white men of the Senate and former House they love to criticize.

SO I was excited for the voting results. I also realized as I was in my little town hall in my village of 600, how much I love where we are, and how we are truly meant to be here. I feel a real sense of community here. When people went in to vote [it's the old school building that is now the town hall] there were-mainly elder-towns people there volunteering, and then there was a long table of sweets and goodies manned by other towns people. People stood and chatted. I stopped to get my trailer license, and someone said,

"Oh are you the ones who live at 315?"

Two years ago that might have freaked me out. Today, I feel we are becoming part of the community and region, and we are also giving back to it with our work. I walked out of there just feeling so positive how the universe brought us to this exact town, and house and at this time, for a reason. It's all part of our path here.

I also feel the current administration-which is exposing the underbelly of America that has always been there-is also meant to be here, at this specific time, for a reason. I don't like it, and we can change it, but it is teaching us all many different things-be it the fact that whites are born into privilege no matter their income, and that racism is alive and thriving, as is sexism and every other ism.

But I felt hope again last night. And I do have a tish of a blue hangover, after a bit too much wine runneth over. But one has to let off steam.

And besides, it was Muddy's birthday.

We lose an elder...the beautiful Assumpta

I had to go work on a downed wire in the field this morning. It was only 70 but ninety percent humidity so I was focused on getting done as soon as possible. I had let the sheep and Birdie out of their paddock where they stay at night, and fed the equines. It was all routine. I wasn't paying too much attention to anyone, and then I realized,

There is a sheep missing...Assumpta...

I figured she was hanging low back at the barn due to the high humidity. In the past year, I've noted she is laying down longer, and more. Sometimes she doesn't get up to eat her hay as quickly as she used too. I knew her life was probably more like months versus years. Sheep are very good at carrying on until one day, they don't. It would be a deadly thing for a sheep in a flock to act sick. They are programmed to stay alive, and stay with the flock for security from predators.

I headed back to the barn to check on her, Martyn was close behind working on other projects. And then I saw her lifeless body in the distance. I knew she was gone. I cried out to her, and ran, but she was dead. By her appearance, we think she died early evening. There was no sign of distress from her body, and there were no marks on the ground indicating she had been pawing the dirt. I like to think she went to the back corner to be on her own, to sleep after the sun went down, the ground was probably cooler in that area. Maybe she just dozed off, and never woke up.

Just last night when I brought the girls up from the field, they were panting. Sheep can't sweat, so pant. Assumpta was there and I scratched her chin and told her to hang in there, the weather was supposed to be cooler in a day. I'm so glad I had that brief interaction with her. Assumpta was not one of the more personable sheep, she was like a stern but fair matriarch that didn't need a lot of hands on attention. She was a Blue Leicester cross and had the most beautiful wool. I have yarn from last season, and still have to skirt her fleece from this year. I will have to do something really special with it.

I let the sheep wander over before we dug the grave. They of course already knew she was dead, as did Birdie. As Martyn dug the hole, I picked her a bouquet, and White Dog examined the dirt and hole. We laid her body in the grave, covered her eyes, and buried her with earth. And White Dog sat with me the entire time. Martyn placed one large rock on top, and White Dog marked it as we were leaving.

Don't worry, I'll keep my eye on the grave, was his intention.

I was sad, but also relieved for her. I knew this winter would be hard on her, and she picked a good time to die. She won't have to deal with biting flies and heat, and we could bury her quickly so she could be on her way. I always feel the burial is an important part of the spirit's journey, it is the final goodbye of those of us left behind, and until we let go, they can't totally be free for the intensity of their next journey. That is what I believe.

I went back to the house to cool off, and came back out about an hour later. White Dog was in the shaded barn, and I sat with him, we did our eye to eye conversation without words, and I took the photo of him you see below. I started to leave, but he put a paw up to hold me in my position. I took this to be a simple statement from him,

It's all okay, she's gone now, it's all okay.

And of course, it is.

Thank you for your beautiful wool, Assumpta, I am honored we could care for you in your final years.

And on this day....a pug was born

Today is The Old One Eyed Blind Pug's 12th birthday. I had to wait until he was almost nine to have him in my life, but it was worth the wait. Besides, I had another Old One Eyed Pug I was caring for then. To be able to have had two of these creatures in my daily life is such a gift.

The two pugs are very different from one another. Billy, the first pug, was born to a farm family in Minnesota. He was much needier than Hughie is. Hughie was in a home of a couple and my recollection is they fought quite a bit and Hughie often ended up alone, contained in a room. In some ways, I think this made him even braver than he might have been. At some point, Hughie was run over by accident by a delivery truck, and that is how he lost his one eye, and became blind. Or he was somewhat blind from birth due to a congestive disease that was not cared for properly, so he went blind soon after losing the eye. A kind woman took Hughie on because the couple was not caring for him properly. But she herself was not in good condition and was very limited in bending over and such-and with a small blind dog, you do a lot of bending over to help them. She didn't want to, but she decided she had to rehome him to the right person.

At the time, I had been pugless for about three years. Being pugless after you have been pugged is a sad state. Pugs really get into your heart. I wasn't exactly looking for another pug, but I always said if an elder or needy pug came along, I'd take him. So I was minding my own business, and a friend emailed me about this pug that was on Old Dog Haven, a wonderful place out west that helps rehome elder dogs out of shelters. When I saw his face, and that he was blind, with one eye...well, it was like my old pug was hitting me over the head,

Pick up the phone now!

And I did. I talked to the woman that needed to rehome him, and there had been a person interested, but as I talked to her, she changed her mind and knew she wanted me to have him. I'm so grateful for that. Another of my friends, who I lovingly called my Goat Hauler, as she had driven several goats to me from Seattle area to Apifera, a 12 hour round trip- she met me halfway in Tacoma, and the pug known as Hughie entered my life.

He was so well behaved, so brave and unafraid of his new home. He immediately adapted to navigating the rooms and areas he could not see. He never whined, and you could also tell that if you raised your voice, he cowered a bit. Like I said we had heard he'd come from a fighting home, so it took him awhile to understand when we yelled at the TV, it was not about him. We yell at the TV a lot these days, so we also balance it with lots of soothing talk. When we came across the country from Oregon to Maine, Hughie rode with Huck and Mud in the backseat, and each night we slept in a different barn stall, with the dogs, the barn animals remained in the large trailer. Hughie was just a little champ, content to sleep in his bed that he knew so well, even if it was in a barn that he could not see. He enjoyed french fries on the trip, and now in Maine he gets a banana each morning which he relishes, reminding me to relish my banana too.

Hughie is completely blind but he lives a wonderful little enchanted life. He is carried out to the garden in the morning, does his business and comes in and eats. Then he naps in one of his many day beds. At night he is lifted onto the couch to watch tv with us, and that is after he helps Martyn chop any vegetables for dinner. He has a sweet little call of 'Woo-woo" he does when he excited or happy. He is no pushover.

I would tell anyone who finds a blind dog that needs a home-don't turn away. They do not need your pity, they need you to see them as a possible wonderful addition to your family. They are resilient and have other senses that help them navigate. I have so many blind animals, and not one of them is a burden, each of them brings me joy and also reminds me that physical challenges in man or beast do not close the door to being a contributing member of a household.

I love you Hughie. I am so glad I am not pugless. I am so glad you are here with us.

The eyes of White Dog...no words needed

Guarding for dinosaurs and wild bear

White Dog waiting to be set free in the lower pastures, which are not ready for animals yet since they are wet, and some are being reseeded and limed. He's perfectly happy though, as long as he has a job, which he always does-right now it is guarding the paddocks from wild bear and dinosaurs.

When I'm with an animal, I check my intentions

Muddy is going on nine later in the year. He is still very athletic and most, including vets, think he looks much younger. But I've noticed in the past six months or so he is getting the old dog look. Sometimes I think I see Huck when I look over at him. They were five years apart in age but out of the same parents. I did that on purpose, knowing someday Huck would leave us, and Muddy could carry on, in his own way of course. The two dogs were very different. Where Muddy could run all day, especially with his frisbee, Huck became a lay-around-and-just-be-me-lab, pretty much when Muddy showed up as a pup. He played, but it was as if he thought,

OK, good, they have reinforcements, I can relax a bit now.

I spent all day and everyday with the Huck, and when Mud came along, Huck sort of became more of my at-your-side-guy. When we moved to Maine, Huck was still healthy, although gimpy, but by the next spring his behavior and changed a bit. I saw deep thoughts in those brown eyes, and he began sleeping away from Mud, by my side at the bed. When I found the large mass on his neck, which came on quickly, I knew something was wrong. It was a wasting cancer, and we helped him on his way. He was 12. It was a horrible goodbye for me and Martyn. "End of an era," as Martyn said.

Muddy is a talker. He talks in a series of lip movements, lip curling, and yawning words. We walk together and he loves that. He seems so very happy when he sees me put on-not my Muck boots-but my hiking shoes.

That is the thing about dogs, they just want to partake in simple, but important, rituals with their owners, like a morning walk to sit by the cove a spell. They could care less about my aging face, but are completely tuned into my intent of the moment. They pick up on that, which is probably the best training lesson I can remind myself of with any animal-check your intentions with an animal, because they sense it.

We interrupt your scheduled programming to present The Nose

I will never learn. One can not try to be photographed with The Nose. The Nose always wins. The Nose will pull you in every time leaving any other person or subject in the image completely lost as a sideshow. As it should be-because I can not resist The Nose either. I want to reach into the photo and squeeze it to turn the clown sound come out of it.

I am very busy and intent working on the new photo book, which will be designed by Cheryl Watson who owned Graphiculture in Minneapolis for years. She gave me some of my first illustration jobs back in 1997 [oh my, seems like another life, I guess it was!]. I'm very excited about this book. It will be big and juicy, maybe 200 pages or so, perhaps about 11", with large photos filling the pages. I have just been working on the introduction chapter which highlights the beginnings of Apifera in Oregon. It has been a bittersweet challenge, but I also am realizing this book needs to happen and is something my soul needs to work on NOW. Many people have asked me over the last few years to consider a photo book, and I kept pushing the idea away. They are expensive to produce, and I just wasn't sure it was a good idea.

But Cheryl came along and suggested it again, and wanted to work on it. I am thrilled. This is the first book of my own that I have had design help with and I know it will add to the final book in ways I might not have been able too.

So stay tuned as this new book gets birthed.

Awakening to quiet beauty

Awaking to morning after there has been considerable snow at night is always a magical experience for me, perhaps it takes me back to childhood, when a new snow meant no school, sledding and baking cookies.

It was a heavy snow of about six inches, caking the branches of every tree. And the sky color this early morning was very intense blue. It will be gone soon as its warm, and fifties are forecast for next week, so I will relish in it today.

There is a sound to the snow. But it also leaves a blanket on the interference of the noises of the human world going by the front of the farm. As much as spring and gardening and all the joys that come with warmer seasons, I do love winter for giving me quiet and less intrusion.

Dreary day...stuff yourself into a dog bed

It is a dreary day. The beautiful snows we've had this week are now being rained on, and it is grey. I have been in a quiet little funk all day, but...take heart, I say to myself, I will have soup tonight after a hot bath, some tea, and to bed early. I really just want to get in bed today, I don't usually feel like that, but today the relentlessness of the rain and grey is getting to me, plus I'm tired.

I should just follow Muddy's lead and try to squish myself into a pug bed!

The Nose has a special public service announcement

When The Nose speaks, we listen. White Dog greets me everyday, wind, rain, sleet or snow. I guess he could be a mail person, although he might get distracted and do some walkabouts on his delivery route.

I always take time to commune with him, thank him for his service, and we look into each other's eyes in silence, or at least without words. I often tell him my mantra,

"Everything will be okay."

This is what I told all the animals as we prepared to leave the old farm for our long trip to Maine, and I still continue to say it to Benedetto. I think it is more for me than him, of course. I remember those days of reality sinking in, that we were in fact leaving our home for the unknown, and saying my mantra while looking in Ben's eyes soothed me and therefore him. These dogs are so telepathic, more so than any I've worked with.

So this morning The Nose was right there waiting.

I let him into the front paddocks to be with Marcella today. Everyone gets a bit bored, cooped up, in all the snow days. In the photo below, White Dog is standing in the area where the new barn will go. It will butt up against the other barn. I will be trying to come up with more fundraising fun in the coming weeks, as a down payment will be coming due soon. Remember, every dollar of the first $10,000 is being matched by The J&J Stanley Foundation [hoof stomps and pig squeals].

This barn fundraiser is a big undertaking-but will be crucial to our ongoing work. It will be so wonderful to have more stall space, and it will take pressure off the hay barn too. I already have ideas to improve and alter Her Royal Highness's suite. There might even be room for a giraffe, or elephant, who knows.

White Dog stands in the area where the new barn will go.

The blizzard begins

I was up early to do feedings not sure when the Gabonzo or whatever-they-are-calling-it snow storm was hitting. And there at the gate, as a light flurry began, no wind, was my faithful gatekeeper, Benedetto. He's there rain or shine, wind or sleet...knowing breakfast is in my bucket, but also to let me know that everything is alright or he would not be standing at the gate.

The storm is now in full force. It is 2 pm. It is a whiteout and the gusts are strong. A classic Nor'easter is upon us. But this time we have our new generator so we are better prepared should we lose power.

Stay tuned.

Christmas faces-our feelings get worn on our sleeves

It's really like any other day here, the routine is the same no matter the occasion. It's the routine the animals come to expect, the routine that keeps them feeling secure in knowing food is on the table morning and night and water buckets that iced over are replenished.

We are in the middle of another big storm. I'm grateful we aren't traveling or even driving a short distance. Just getting to the barn in the winds and hard pellet snow was a nippy endeavor, and there are slick spots [but thanks to some loyal Apiferians I have really good boot cleats that work wonderfully].

As I came back from the barn this morning, I took time to just stand in the field, the wind howling, the tree limbs bending with a light layer of ice from yesterday's morning rain. I breathed in deep, I felt it all, I left myself in it all. It was seconds, but is part of the wonderful time between Christmas and New Year's, like I said in my post yesterday-it is full of hope, and plans. I have a personal challenge I am determined to face, and I told the sky realm keepers I was going to do it. I felt strong.

I took extra time in the cat room too, grooming Maxine, sitting with the new arrivals, talking to them all, or not, just sitting. When I came in it was already lunchtime and I had a cup of Martyn's homemade soup he left for me.

I am loved.

The dogs were watching me. Time for some more Christmas Garland festivity and I wrapped The Old Blind One Eyed Pug in it. The way Mud looked at me, the way the pug looked at him...it's Christmas, every feel gets worn on our sleeves.

Dusk...I have a lot to learn

The dusk here, as well as dawn, has captured me. I guess this is a normal phenomena with artists in mid coast Maine. But dusk especially is a mystical time here. As my friend who moved back to Maine from Oregon said to me,

"I traded the big, open sky for a deeper sky."

This was profound, and true.

While the western sky is beautiful, it went on and on and symbolized expanse to me, the same things the early settlers must have felt as they first arrived. It did not feel like a blanket, or a window to me, it felt more like a sea.

Here in mid coast, being on the ocean, the sky puts on a show of acts all day long. The clouds are volatile, the light is being orchestrated by wind and air temperatures merging into the sea. I felt this photo was so beautiful even in it's technical imperfections. I didn't doctor it up at all even though I wished White Dog had been lighter, and that the sliver of the moon showed like it did that night.

But I have a lot to learn. It's still a beautiful photograph, and reminded me somewhat of the same feeling of being a little girl and watching "Wizard of Oz"-those beginning scenes of the sky slowly changing into the big storm, it riveted me every year even though I'd seen that movie so many times. The sky here is also riveting, daily, nightly.

It's a blessing to be so moved by sky.

Marcella, we could not do it without you

She is one of the most challenging creatures I've worked in partnership with. We had some rough spots in her first year. Maremmas are not like a pet dog, and if you try to treat them like one...well, good luck, and it would also be a disservice to them. They were bred to be livestock companions and guards and while they certainly have many loyal dog like behaviors, they set their own boundaries when on their turf. While Benedetto is much more of a field periphery walker, Marcella sticks with her charges. I have found in Maine that Benne is much better with the sheep, and Marcella's job is with the front barn of small goats.

Marcella came to us as a pup. We got her from a sheep farm that had been raising them as working dogs for years. He knew his stuff and I learned a lot before I purchased her. I will tell you that we looked at getting one when we first arrived at the old farm in Oregon and had our first sheep. But I wasn't ready. I had come from having dogs my entire life but they lived inside at night and were with me during the day. I talked to a lot of experienced Maremma people, and I just knew I wasn't ready, and I didn't want to muck up a good dog.

I'm really glad we waited. But I'm also glad we brought her home. She is a valuable part of our farm. Now in Maine, Marcella lives in the front barn near the house, with some smaller Misfits, and Earnest. She has an important job of keeping them all in check, and she also keeps the rats at bay, and the eagles that float around looking for chickens and rodents. Ever since an eagle took one of our ducks out west, both Marcella and Benedetto go crazy when hawks and eagles fly, and they watch those birds until they are gone.

Most of the challenges I had with Marcella were in her first year and a half. Some of it was my fear of letting her be her-the breeder had told me if she felt she needed to be some place and it meant going under a fence, she'd find a way. She proved that on her second night, coming out under a gate from her barn stall where I bedded her those first nights. There were also simple issues of feeding-you do not get near her food-in any way-and in her first year I had a serious wound from her, and she would not back off. I sat patiently waiting her to release her grip, knowing if I moved my hand it would rip it open. Treating a wound on a Maremma can also be difficult, or trimming nails. As she has matured certain things are easier, but she is always going to be a Maremma.

Now I understand her much better. If I'm in the stall with her and the goats, her charges, she wants attention, but I also know there are some kinds of attention she might see as a threat.

I always tell people, if you came to our farm and Benedetto was at the fence, you might get away with petting him, but that would not happen with Marcella. If someone comes into the barn with me, she is up at at them at her stall. I have to take the person in [and only do with certain people] and we act normally and let her examine the person.

She is a beautiful creature too. She consistently crosses her legs - a dog version of Grace Kelly, I always think.

Happy birthday, Marcella, you are one of a kind, and a good partner. Thank you for teaching me how to treat you.