Pickles learns what peace is

 “What’s wrong with Mrs. Dunn?” I heard Pickles ask Earnest the Pig.

“She’s feeling upside down today” said Earnest.

“Upside down? That sounds dreadful,” said Poetry, one of the old goats. “It would give me gas.”

“Mrs. Dunn, what does it feel like to be upside down?” Pickles asked me as she jumped up on the rock next to me.

“Out of sorts,” I said.

“But it’s your birthday!” squeeled Pickles. Suddenly everyone broke out in a very disjointed version of the birthday song and despite my upside downess, it did bring a smile to my face.

“Are you feeling old, is that it?” asked Earnest the pig.

“Not really,” I said.

“How old are you, Mrs. Dunn?” asked Hannah, who was one.

“Sixty four,” I said.

“Oh my Lord, that is very old,” said Poetry the old goat. “You must not have long to go.”

“Humans live longer than goats,” explained Earnest.

“That’s even older than that ancient turtle that was in National Geographic,” said Pickles.

“I am moving as slow as turtle today,” I said. “Sometimes, you just have to be with your upside down feelings, even if it’s your birthday,” I said.

“When I get upside down, I close my eyes and think of the things that I can do to make it a better world,” said Earnest. “Like write a sonnet, or a poem of love.”

“That’s very nice, Earnest, and very wise. But the world needs more than I can give it right now,” I said.

The donkeys had slowly made their way across the field to join the conversation.

“Mrs. Dunn is upside down,” Pickles told the donkeys.

“Oh dear, being upside down is a dreadful state” Paco the poet donkey said.

“Just sit with me,” I said. And they did. “I am grateful we are all here, and not in danger in Ukraine. Those poor people, those poor animals,” I said. “If I could have one birthday gift today, it would be peace, and I would give it to Ukraine.”

Pickles leapt to action, and Hannah followed.

“Where are we going, Pickles?!” Hannah asked.

“We must find “peace” and get it to Mrs. Dunn,” said Pickles.

“Oh, little Pickles,” Earnest the pig said, “I’m afraid “peace” is not an object to be found, it is something one grows in one’s heart, and it goes out into the world through peaceful actions.”

“Why is that man hurting the people and animals?”  asked little Hannah.

“He has no heart,” I said.

“Then how will he grow any peace inside of him if he has no heart?” Pickles asked.

“He won’t,” said Earnest the pig. “He won’t.”

Hannah cried. Then Pickles cried. I cried too.

Old Matilda, the very old matriarch donkey cleared her throat to speak. Everyone stopped crying, as Matilda rarely spoke but when she did it was always with wise, motherly love.

“We must visualize the mothers and children and animals and elders surrounded with sunflowers,” she said.

And we did.

Teddy continues to share love

Teddy visited Cove's last week and we saw Linda, our elder friend who is in hospice care, and blind. She loves animals. We haven't been able to get The Teapot to her {she loves horses} due to weather but Teddy is almost as big as a pony so it helps her a lot. Teddy loves to be brushed too.

We also met a new resident and she was sweet as can be. Despite memory issues, she understood what an animal was and is and she enjoyed touching him and petting him. Next week Teddy will visit Lincoln Home for the first time.

He is doing well here. But we discovered he is capable of jumping very high fences if they are wood-he can propel himself over with his strong hind legs and claws. My farrier and I witnessed it and it was amazing. So we've had to adjust many areas so he can't get out. He wants to be with me 24/7! I knew he loved people and it is clear this is not an exaggeration. In fact, he's almost dismissive of the other animals, even Marcella. They get along but he clearly would rather be with me. I have been crating him in his stall at night [which Martyn reinforced for me this weekend] and it works well, as his crate is his safe harbor. I'm a firm believer in crate training. He is afraid of loud storms too and his crate will help him feel safe. I put Marcella in with him in the stall and then in the day I've got them together in a goat paddock. I thought Marcella would help him settle, and to be honest, I think it is more that he needs to know each day I will come out and be there. Once I leave the paddock, he cries for a few seconds, and settles. I've been putting him inside during rain because he's not that demonstrative with the goats and if it gets stormy I'm afraid he could panic.

So he is a very different dog than White Dog, and that is okay. One has to adjust to a new dog and we are. I just want him to be safe, and I also want to be able to sleep well knowing he is safe in his crate which he is. The crate we got is huge, made for Danes. He can stand in it and move around. It also means he can eat in peace, and Marcella can eat in peace. These dogs don't like interaction when they are eating, trust me. 

But he loves to know when we are going in the truck. He is going to be making lots of love visits.

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It's my birthday but I'm upside down

I turn 64 today. The sun is out. I saw my father at the window this morning-he came, as usual, as a single red cardinal. Moments later, my mother appeared, as a dove. So that was nice. I had made my mother's sturdy white cake with chocolate frosting a day ago, so I could take teeny bites all week. I just can't eat that much sugar and rarely do, but I thought of how many times my mother made that cake for me. 

Then the power went out and it made my day feel upside down, but it came back on two hours later. Note to self: you have to get confidant turning the generator on.

I just feel sort of upside down today, unable to make simple decisions, like what should we have for dinner on my bday. Or what should I do today. I guess its the weight of Ukraine on my mind and heart. I don't know. I did this painting this past week, in honor of the little child that died. I wrote about it back then when she died she was in her pajama bottoms that had little unicorns on them, she and her parents were trying to get food. She died in ambulance, with her parents bloodied and weeping. It was all just so sad, and unnecessary, and unfair. Fuck Putin.

The painting honors the little girl, and I called it "In heaven the unicorn on her pajamas came to life and her belly button grew a sunflower".

Maybe I'll drive to the ocean and looked out at her. I don't know.

My much younger and sweet farrier says I don't look older than 50. I think I finally look my age. I think I looked younger than many for some time, probably because I don't smoke and I take care of my skin. But in the last year, I see photos and what I see in the mirror, I think it looks 64. It feels like 64 is closer to the next decade than the last. That's sobering. I have a lot to get done.

Happy birthday to me. I don't have to worry about being killed by bullets today. I just wish I could put an end to the madness.

By the way, I treated myself to a beautiful robin egg blue linen scarf from a small company in Lithuania called Sand Snow.

 

One year with Buddy

It's the birthday of one of the biggest clowns on the farm, Buddy. He is one year old. The picture above was on the day he arrived, a quiet and somber little chap, but not fearful. Bear was more of 'hold me and don't let go' pup on arrival.

After Muddy died of bone cancer, we brought home a pup, Bear, and we watched him run around pretending The Goose was his dog friend. Bear played every day with Mister Bubbles, his large equine rubber ball. He loves Mister Bubbles to this day, proudly displaying it in his mouth at a fast trot.

Out West, we always had the two chocolates, Huck and Muddy. When Huck died, Muddy was getting older and he had our old pug, Hughie [still miss that guy to pieces, both of them]. But with Bear, it felt like we needed to not wait to get him a friend. The pandemic had hit, and Bear had a wonderful 3 months at Cove's sharing himself with elders. Once Covid hit, our outings were gone overnight, as was socializing him. I decided, what is the point in waiting to get another pup, we aren't getting any younger [we had waited five years the time before, so one dog would be mature when the pup came].  

Well, on came Buddy. He was much more independent than Bear, still is. Bear still feels more like my dog, and he still wants to be with me if I'm petting Buddy. But he has matured a lot and is now two+. In time, who knows, he might do elder visits again.

Having two younger dogs at once is a switch, especially labs, and with the four inside cats, a lot of bing bought bing boom. Everyone gets along but there are moments when I am clearly living in  a Booth cartoon [showing my age again].

There is just something nice about two chocolates.

We love you little Buddy, you are a good friend to Bear...and Franklin Muffinpants.

Would you be a brave Ukranian? Get the anger out of your body, she said, do art, write, speak

I think there is not a person in the world right now who is not distraught about the war in Ukraine. If you aren't, I don't understand. Coming on the heels of two plus years of the pandemic, civil unrest, political chaos....it all seems too much. But here I sit, not in a war zone–at this moment– so it is nothing compared to what Ukrainians are going through, the ones who haven't died that is.

It's wrong. I wonder sometimes if there is karma. I always believe the universal laws, invisible to us humans, always work it out and makes evil doers and crooks and liars pay, somehow. It often takes more time than we would wish. But you look at the evil that Putin has been doing for so long [please research this on your own if you don't know his career of atrocities], and you wonder why the universe hasn't stepped in.

So I'm devastated about the carnage, the plain unfairness of what Russia is doing, and gobsmacked by people in the political world in the USA who ally themselves with this deranged  dictator.

The images of the six year old girl, bloodied, wounded from gunfire or explosives while trying to get food with her young parents, that pushed me over an edge. But I had to look, and I did not glance, I absorbed it at length, caressing each of their faces, crying with them, praying for them. She was in her pajama bottoms, that had unicorns on them. She was trying to get food.

I feel we must not look away. We in our privileged places get to take breaks from the on the ground horror, but we must not look away. I have been studying the various links to how to help the people there, and eventually will pick one. I hope you will too if you are able. The bravery of these people, old and young, taking up arms. Can you imagine this? Can you imagine if Russia invaded Maine at the border of Canada, headed for Augusta, an hour away? Can you imagine being told to take up arms, make bombs and stand your ground? Would you do it? I asked someone the other day, all the people driving around with upside down flags, Confederate flags, or the people who brazenly stormed and destroyed the sanctity of the Capital, would they defend their state/country if this happened? Or would they join forces with evil, or become their own state and abandon what they had seen as corrupt government? I look around and I am not so sure that many Americans would be as brave in this situation. We have the privileged of not being on the border of such evil.

A friend sent me a quote from someone, I've since misplaced it. But it spoke about what to do with angst, anger or fear in such extreme times as this war is presenting. The gist of it was to not bury the feelings in your body, but to bring it out through art, poems, songs, creative expression, talking, shouting...One does not always have to go online with puppy dog photos and cats in hats. Sometimes even us happy people must shout through art. I noticed I lost a smattering of 'followers' on IG, most of whom I don't know, and i don't care. But there are people who just don't want to see it or hear it. They want the farm lady to just stick to the cute dog videos or magical goose pictures. I don't care about that, just as I would never do a painting 'that looks good with my living room furniture'.

I pray for Ukraine. But they need much more than prayers. I don't have the answers, and at first I felt we were not giving enough. The more I hear historians and military people I respect speak, I understand the dilemma we and other countries are in. Putin knew this. But he and his reptilian face [Madeline Albright's op ed was so insightful] are weakened by what he's done. 

Teddy's maiden voyage

 

It was meant to be. It worked out just as it was meant to. White Dog helped, I know it. But there were other invisible forces going on too. The rescue that had Teddy had been working with him for over a year, making sure they understood what Teddy's true calling was so he would be placed properly in the best situation. He really loved Teddy and after I shared photos of Teddy on his first visit to the elders, he wrote me back and was so at peace with the fact he waited until the right fit came, a fit he would sense and feel was right. I guess several other adopters came along but for whatever reason, he felt they would not be a good fit for Teddy.

We visited our friend Linda on Wednesday and Teddy was great. Linda is our elder friend who is in hospice care and has several medical issues but also went blind several years ago. It really helps her to hold animals, and we spent two hours with her, all the while Teddy stood and was brushed and hugged and loved on. 

Teddy and I are doing great and our routine together is becoming clearer to Teddy and it shows in his demeanor-he seems much less anxious about 'where are you' when I leave the barn to do chores. The routine is becoming consistent for him. Teddy gets to be a dog, Teddy gets to bark in his field in the day if he feels he should, and then Teddy get his own palatial stall to sleep in. I also started bringing White Dog in at night in his final year-there are donkeys and llamas out there and really no need for night time guard since we don't raise animals anymore, and all the goats are up near Marcella.

To be honest, I like this. I like knowing Teddy is safe inside. I have become a wuss, to be honest. It also helps me see how well, or not, he is eating. He is like White Dog, he grazes, or takes days to eat. So I switched foods and that seems to have been a hit, and, wait for it...I've been poaching boneless chicken breasts chucks for him. Gads, I'm getting soft! But he needs to put on weight.

To look out and see him in the snow today, in the storm, it is like white Dog and he were having a brief conversation,

"Teddy, you are doing great, thank you for helping her," White Dog says.

"White Dog, thank you for helping me get here."

Visit Instagram to see more of Teddy's first week.

He has arrived...introducing my heart dog...Teddy!

 

I knew it was meant to be. I knew White Dog was helping make this connection. I know White Dog felt my pain after he died. He could feel my pain when he was alive and in death I know he knew I needed something huge, a project.

And the I saw Teddy. And I kept thinking of his face, and I ended up adopting him from the Pyr rescue in Virginia, where they had worked with him for over a year to determine what would be the best job for him. I alos found out when he arrived that his first owner, his only owner, was an elderly woman who lost her husband and she had to sell her farm,, and she sent Teddy tot he rescue. My understanding is he went everywhere with her as well as guard her goats and hens. When I hear his first owner was a loving elder who had to give him up, I think maybe she too had asked the spirits to help Teddy land in the right place.

He arrive yesterday, we are forever grateful for the rescue to have driven him all the way here for a very fair fee. We felt it was best for Teddy, so we are so happy he did. I have a secure suite in barn next to MArcella for him. He did just fine on his first day, and night. I couldn't wait to get to him in morning. When I opened the stall door, he was lying about and at first his face looked sort of sad, but then it's like he remembered me and was happy. I did chores in barn while he ate, and then took him out to equine barn where he can be in field and come and go to see me. He definitely is still wondering where he is, but he's happy. I still don't want to put him in pasture alone until he settles more so he is going out in increments with me.

Today I took him to visit Martyn at work. He rides great! SO great for our healing visits to elders. He is unfased by chain saw and loud sounds too.

He is not White Dog, but there are moments where it is like they both merge in and out-when I look out in field and see him. White Dog was more an explorer, more brave, Teddy seems more like he needs my reassurance. He is not timid in the least, he just loves people.

While White Dog was my spirit dog, Teddy feels like he is my heart dog...and White Dog knew I needed him. He is the dog I need. I was thinking how Bear was going to be that, but once Covid hit, and we got Buddy for Bear, I feel like Buddy and Bear are a team, and they need each other. In time I think they will be possible candidates for visits, but not right now.

Teddy is a stoic guy who simply loves touch. How perfect for our elder friends. Stay tuned. And visit Instagram for an overabundance of videos and photos.

Earnest the Pig helps us understand what "hope" is...

 {My latest from my Tails & Tales column for the Lincoln County News}

 

I was leaving to get some errands done when I heard lots of chatter in the front barn. One learns to check in on such activity to make sure nothing is amiss–and it often is.

“Oh I want green beans, the stringless variety,” said Earnest the pig. “And of course, put me down for some large pumpkins too.”

“How many rows will 1000 beat seeds be?” said Ollie the goat.

My curiosity was on high alert as I looked down at the catalogue everyone was gathered around.

“Burpee’s Seed Catalogue,” I read out loud.

“Oh, Mrs. Dunn, the joy of dreaming of spring in February,” said Poetry, one of the old goats. “Makes my bones and joints hurt less just thinking about it.”

“I plan to grow only lettuce this year,” said The Goose. “I am getting different varieties but want a lot of Buttercrunch...so tender.”

“Mrs. Dunn, what are you getting?” asked Pickles.

“A back ache, thinking of all these garden beds. I can’t take care of all your beds, I have my own to tend,” I said.

“We’ve got a scathingly brilliant plan, Mrs. Dunn,” said Pickles.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.

“We have talked to the chickens who will have grub duty, Earnest will till the rows, me and Puddles will be in charge of harvesting,” said Pickles.

“That is scathingly brilliant,” I said, doing a quick and tiny eye roll. “What if we just stick to pumpkins and sunflowers for you guys?”

Everyone stopped for a minute, some chewing on their cud as they pondered this new development.

“I really had my heart set on a green bean casserole–you know the kind your grandmother made, with mushroom sauce and shaved almonds, and crunched up potato chips on the top?” said Earnest the pig.

I’ll get you an Oysterhead Pizza instead,” I said.

“Fair enough, I like the shaved Brussels sprout one,” the pig said.

“I really like beets,” said Ollie, “especially the tops.”

“I always plant way too many beets and you’ll get some of mine,” I said. “So we’ll order sunflowers and pumpkins, okay?”

I started to walk away, and noticed Earnest the pig gazing out to the fields.

“It’s all about hope,” said Earnest. “In the middle of winter, the little seeds are under ground in the cold and dark. And even though we can’t see them, they are busy percolating, getting ready to be born. Imagine, living deep in the ground, hearing the winter storms above you for months...it takes courage to believe everything is as it should be and will evolve into what it will be. That is hope.”

The animals had gathered around Earnest, and had listened intently to his wisdom.

“Earnest, do you ever lose hope that winter will end?” asked Pickles.

“Well, I do love winter, but some winters are especially bleak, and relentless, and sometimes I feel
I’m losing hope,” Earnest said.

“What do you do then?” asked Pickles.

“I read the seed catalogue,” Earnest said.

Red Bucket

I did this last week, it is now on the shop. I called it "Red Bucket" because I want the viewer to have their own experience in deciding what it is about. Or maybe they just like the colors, I don't know. Some of you will see the symbolism, and the references to Apifera.

But I much like it. It pleases me.

Another very grumpy arrival to Apifera

Introducing…Francine. If you think she looks cross it’s because she is. 

She has been at the shelter since May due to her anti social behavior towards people. They tried many things to see if she would overcome her distaste to humans but to no avail. My contact wondered if a quieter life here would help or at least get her out of the shelter. She arrived today and is safe in a cubby cage and I doubt I will see her for a long time. She is okay with cats. 

I don’t think this will be a Walter story…but who knows. She’s had most of her teeth pulled. So we will let her be herself and maybe in time she might accept my touch.

It made me think of Rosie the pig...aka The World's Grumpiest pig But I'm Fine As I Am Pig. ROsie was living like a princess as a piglet in the home of an elder woman. She had her own room and bed and I'm not sure anyone really touched her. But the woman died and Rosie was eventually sent to a sanctuary. It was there she met Stevie the crippled goat-he was the only animal there that would tolerate her grumpiness. I happened to be wanting a pig back them, at the old Apifera out West. I called them and talked to them about Rosie, and told them I wasn't sure I was right for her since I'd never had a pig, but the more they talked to me the more they wanted me to adopt her. I also said I didn't need another goat as I had many elder goats I was caring for, but they said Stevie the goat had to go with Rosie.

And so we took them both and I am so glad we did. A remarkable story of acceptance and friendship-just the way you are kind of friends. Rosie was able to come to Maine with us. Since she was so grumpy and nobody tolerated ehr well [Stevie had died by then] we made her a special hut for the trip and she slept the entire way and was as content as can be. She lived another couple of years but grew old, and crippled. She was blind. The Goose befriended her and slept on her for warmth. I miss her.

But the point is, I could not change her and it taught me a lesson that my role is to create a safe place for an animal, and to observe, not force. Observe them over many days, weeks and months, and see what they need and want. Rosie wanted nothing, except a safe bed, some sun now and then and on good days, a belly rub.

So we will let Francine have her cubby, and she can come out in the dark and be a cat, and in the morning when the sun rises, she is free to return to her cubby. In time she might enjoy a window seat.

Blue clouds

 

A gift is coming to Apifera...and White Dog helped, I just know it

 

I was going to wait to share this news...but decided since so many people loved White Dog I would share now.

About a week ago, I was pretty much minding my own business, sort of, in the office doing paper work. I was killing a few minutes waiting for an upload when I just kind of accidentally, or intently, looked up 'Maremma puppies'. With that, I felt a pit in my stomach. I wasn't ready, and I really didn't think another pup was the right answer. I let it go. Went back to work. But that same day, a tech from my vet clinic-they all loved White Dog-sent me her friend's farm info since she had puppies. That sort of got me to snorting around the internet at puppies and adult Maremmas. Still did not feel right. None of them looked like White Dog.

 

I realized what I wanted I could not have-I wanted White Dog back. Impossible. 

 

In the coming days, I spent more time with Marcella, seeking answers about if, or how, to fill the hole in the barnyard left by White Dog. I talked to White Dog everyday when I walk over his grave. I told him if there is a dog out there that needs me as much as I need him, please help get the dog to me.

 

Well, somewhere in there I had an exchange with a nice farm woman with Maremmas who wondered about a rescue. She said, "It's a risk, but look how it worked out with White Dog." Hmmmm. There are so many Maremma and Great Pyrenees that get bought as pups, end up in a house without proper jobs, and they end up in a shelter. The story is old, it is repeated over and over-they don't have the space, time or understanding of the needs and DNA of this breed, and the cute puppy turns into an LGD without a job. I knew it was a huge risk and I wasn't interested, nor did I think it was wise, to start looking at all the sad ads in rescue groups or shelters. 

 

But I stumbled on a farm that takes in Great Pyrenees, and helps decipher what kind of job the dog needs and wants. They also raise pups and have goats and is very knowledgeable about the needs of a working dog.This is like Horses with Hope, the two equines we adopted from them were worked with for months to determine the best home for them. I knew what I was bringing home.

 

I looked at the face of this dog...in the photo you see here. He had been living on a farm so knows life on the farm, but appeared to be sterile, and that was one of his jobs. He was treated well there I believe. But he was placed with the farm that helps Prys. For the past year, the farm tried to find what job would be best for the dog, and even though he did well around goats and it appears other animals, they found that he loved people, and everyone loved him. They began taking him everywhere, and he even showed him a few times at AKC shows just to give the dog a new experience and see how he'd do.

 

I walked away. I had to separate my feelings of missing White Dog, with everything I thought I needed now, or wanted now. And one part of my grief was that White Dog had just started doing therapy visits and was a natural. I wished I'd started sooner, but that wasn't his main job then.

 

But I finally contacted the farm, and the more I told them about our set up, our therapy work, and how White Dog had just started doing that when he got his bone cancer...it all became clearer that I was pretty sure this dog could become an Apifera Ambassador. I had no doubts he was the one. But after much chatting back and forth, there was a span of days where I heard nothing, and I thought maybe I had fooled myself with magical thinking. 

 

But each time I looked into the eyes of this dog, I just felt he wanted this new job here, and I wanted him.

I went to White Dog's grave that night and I said, "Look, I thought it was going to be right, but maybe it isn't, and I'm scared. Can you help, if it is right for him to come here." I cried too. And that very night I heard again from the farm. 

 

And so...he is coming to live with us, and I will immediately begin walking him in the village. He loves to ride in the car, which also was a plus. He has been to restaurants and outdoor shops. In time, I will take him out with Harry to the village too. Imagine that, walking down the street, and there comes two beautiful white creatures. And of course, my goal is to share him with the elders on visits.

 

He is 20 hours away and I negotiated a very fair fee for them to bring him directly to us which is so helpful, and I thought best for the dog too. I hope it will be soon, but I will keep you posted. It is winter of course.

 

Cheese has died

Cheese has died. I knew it was coming in the past week - she has been fighting being anemic which I've been treating her for. She's old and compromised and if it was due to barber pole or another parasite, even with swift help it often is a death sentence. But like I said, Cheese was 14 and that is old for a goat, especially a disabled, crippled one.

Yesterday she was weaker than usual but still trying to carry on, but kept getting knocked over. At one point I found her cast. It is very cold, and I did not want her to die unattended, by casting. So I got her in the a safe place, covered in six blankets - where I could proper her against wall to keep her from casting. I gave her pain meds. 

The herd came to inspect my work and say their goodbyes. She died within a couple of hours and was pretty much gone even when the pictures were taken. The cold didn’t kill her but in her condition it most likely sped up her death by a few days. I’m grateful we were all their with her before she became unconscious.

I considered putting her in the heated cat suite, but the floor is slippery and it is an unknown space for her. She is a herd animal and I only considered it due to the extreme cold. But I knew her hours were numbered. Her time was here. She died hearing the familiar sounds of her clan, chewing hay.

Hail to you, sweet, determined Cheese. You were a trooper to go through life so boldly with your crippled legs. I will miss you greatly! I always loved seeing her in the morning and yelling out,

"Cheese!"

Language lessons of spirit

You learn a new language with the loved ones who depart this earth and realm. It happened with my parents, animals and friends who have left. Just the other day I was cutting vegetables, and I found myself leaning on the sink with my fore arms, slightly bent over as I worked-just like my mother used to do. I smiled and greeted her.

So when I awoke to snow, I said, "White Dog came."

It's our new language, forming. Birdie comes as light delicate flakes, White Dog comes in inches that cover the farm, and his grave. It was so beautifully quiet too. That too is so White Dog, they are shape shifters and he came and went without me noticing as I slept. I read recently that "fresh snow absorbs sound, lowering ambient noise over a landscape because the trapped air between snowflakes attenuates vibratio. That's why it gets quiet when it snows." 

 

 

Into the White...a mystery painting

Painting is a wonderful journey. It allows me to reach inside, share a story or a feeling or a revelation that has not been brought to my conscious yet. I often start with a thought, and in this case I had awoken with the words repeating into my head of into the white.

I know what much of this piece is symbolizing [which I don't feel I need to share here]. But there are mysteries to it I don't grasp. I might someday. That happens too, you paint something and it is years later that you realize what something in the piece symbolized. Martyn asked me what the grey area on the upper left was, and I said I didn't know really, although one could see it as a drape...but I don't know.

This canvas will be going to Sundance this month and be available there sometime in March.

The Animals and their Great Heated Bus Idea

 

I was minding my own business, putzing by the firewood pile, when a familiar voice asked,

“Mrs. Dunn, can we have the old oven?”

It was Pickles, of course. If you follow along, and heaven help you if you do, you will know the animals have been trying to get me to allow a baking oven in the barn. Of course, we all know as charming as it would be to have a bunch of short bodied goats, a pig and some fowl baking cookies, it would most certainly end in a disaster.

“No,” I said firmly.

“What if we kept it outside and used matches and firewood to get it warm?” asked Ollie the goat.

My mind envisioned the forest on fire and animals and firemen running everywhere.

“NO, “ I said, more firmly.

They both walked off, heads down, grumbling.

Later that day, I entered the barn to start nightly chores. The gang wasn’t as animated as usual, except little Hannah who is young enough that every second of the day is worthy of joy.

“You all look down and out,” I said.

“We don’t have a way to share our love with the elder peoples,” said Pickles.

We found out recently that due to the pandemic, we were restricted again from bringing animals into Cove’s Edge, and it was too cold for the residents to visit outside, which is still allowed.

“If we had an oven we could bake them cookies, and giant heart shaped cakes,” said Ollie.

Earnest arrived. He sat next to me, he seemed deep in thought.

“We need a bus, a heated bus, with a ramp,” Earnest said as he handed me an ad for one of those old hippie buses, the kind I saw as a young girl out west. There was a price tag of $50,000 on it.

“That’s a lot of money, Earnest,” I said.

“Mrs. Dunn, a bus! We can roll them in and have music on the radio,” said Pickles.

And they all started chanting, “Heated bus! Heated bus!”

“We could drive our friends to the village and look in the pretty shop windows,” said old Poetry the goat.

“Perhaps, Mrs. Dunn, we could stop at Oysterhead Pizza too,” said Earnest the pig.

“I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to stop at Eider’s for your beloved grilled cheese sandwich with cucumbers,” I said.

“I’m currently hankering for the crust of pizza, wood fired just right,” Earnest said.

“Mrs. Dunn, how much is $50,000?” Hannah asked.

“It’s many, many, many ones,” I said. “And it would take all of you years to raise it.”
Keep your hearts open, gather some things and I will drop them off for our elder friends,” I said.

The next day, Earnest the pig brought me a bucket with three goose feathers, one brown egg and     
some hay twine. A note said, “For our friends, until we get a bus. Love, Pickles and friends”.

“Here’s a $100 bill, Mrs. Dunn, for the bus,” the pig said. “I’ll bring more when I can.”

Bitter cold, temper tantrums...and the memory of his expression

We've had two days of zero degrees, but sunny. The winds are gone today. The wind here off the coast is strong and impressive, and then it echoes all around in the surrounding forest. But I do enjoy the cardinals in winter. Brings back memories of my parents and life in Minnesota with them.

I've been very temper tantrum prone due to the icey ground and the fact that extreme cold hampers my tasks. I just fly off the handle while I'm doing chores -like today when the goats split open a bag of feed before I could get it in the feed room. They head butted it and it was all over the ground. I had a fit. It dawned on me later that part of that is because I'm still upset White Dog is gone. My partner. I miss him. And even if he had not had bone cancer, 10 is getting up there for a large breed. Of course I don't get to be in charge of such things-perhaps it is best I can't control that.

I apologized to everyone in the barn for losing my temper. They didn't care. They had feed all over the ground to eat. they don't judge like we humans. They move on.

There will never be another dog like White Dog. As a friend pointed out to me in a lovely sympathy card, we all choose the dogs we bring into our lives-but White Dog chose us. And he got to us the year we decided to move to Maine where he could be in his beloved cold and snow. He hated rain. And I thought to myself, I gave him six winters here. I have hundreds of photos of him, and I'm grateful for that.

The night we put him down, we walked with the vet out to the barn, it was dark. And he greeted us like always. I keep seeing his expression he had on his face when we entered the barn. Tail wagged, ears pricked, happy to see us. I know we did the right thing, the leg had grown huge. the vet assured us it was the right thing too, and of course I had talked to White Dog a lot. But I do keep seeing the expression on his face that night- he was just happy to see all of us. And then he was gone.

White Dog arrived in such a mystical way that I know that will never happen again. I can't force a situation to happen like it did when he showed up out of the blue. The whole thing was a miracle.

Next week I'll start bringing Marcella out to the outer pasture...just to see how that feels. Out west she was my main helper, in Maine her duties shrunk a bit due to the layout here, and I want to try being with her more. She is very different than White Dog on so many levels. I'm open to another pup...the rescue dogs have a real risk factor and it's complicated by the many species we have here. 

I'm just trying to stay open.

 

An intruder comes

 

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I was actually joyful when I looked out and saw the snow. It snowed all day and it felt like White Dog was....Here There and Everywhere. His snow is different than Birdie's snow. It's stronger and more rampant. I am learning our new language, the language we learn after a loved one of any species dies. Some relationships are more human level based, some more spiritual-and White Dog was my spirit dog. In some ways Marcella is too, but White Dog is becasue he came to us in such a mystical way...his mystery he carried with him was always prevelant. I walk over the grave, palms down, and say morning greetings to him. Today I wrote him a note. When I returned to do chores tonight, it was still light and I was a bit agitated to see tracks all around that part of the barnyard. I searched to find a track clear wnough in the 4 inches of fluffy snow. I finally saw there were claws, so it was not a cat or bobcat [cats prints never show the claws]. The prints were quite small so I think it was a fox. I hope to look more tomorrow when the snow has settled a bit. The lobes of a fox sit differently than a coyote or dog. I'm not the best tracker by any means! It upset me becasue Ruthie could be taken by a fox. I was surprised that I never hear Marcella bark from her pig paddock, but she can't run up to that fence so maybe she was sleeping. The tracks were right up to the sheep gate and front of barn where Ruthie often hangs out. It made me miss him, and I was sort of upset the creature walked all over the grave and around it, upset becasue White Dog never would have allowed him on the property but he was right there on his grave. It shows how important his presence was [and is].

Healing art

 

As Old Apple watches, Ruthie stands near the grave and the energy was palpable.

I did this yesterday. Finally got some studio time. It already sold and I was happy it sold to someone who really understands the characters in the piece and what it means.

I get to be angry: soul work...grief work....you have to do it

Grief is active, it's a process they say, and it is. It is a long project without a synopsis, I guess. White Dog's death -in case you can't tell-is a big loss for me, on so many levels. I was dreading it and now that it is here I was right to dread it because it hurts without him. The barn was his domain, and every creature had their respect of White Dog...even Earnest the pig who almost killed him with the intention of it [ a tussle over dropped food].

But it is a process, I'm familiar with the process, and I have Nature all around me. I got in the studio today, finally [the kitchen remodel has consumed us and my brain just can't focus but I had to take a break from that and be in studio for a few days].

I was talking to a friend about anger, within our grief. And I'm in it! It's funny how anger sneaks up on you and one moment you are calm and the next moment you are yelling at the top of your lungs in the barn at a hose-yes, a hose-while your animals quietly munch hay. That was me yesterday, the hose was not cooperating due to the cold temps, so I screamed at it, and I swore and strung together cuss words at the sky. In fact my anger made Ruthie start fluffing up her feathers and chortling. She wasn't sure why I was mad at a hose but she wanted no part of it.

Don't tell a grieving person not to have anger. If you stuff anger, it will catch up to you. 

It's no a process that is linear. You don't walk through the stages of grief without taking a step back to a previous phase. You don't start with shock, then go to sadness, then anger then acceptance. You are in shock at first, and have moments of shock in the coming months. A photo can set you off. And anger is fluid I think, like love, anger twines around like a snake. You have to acknowledge it because if you are angry at a hose you are really angry about something more important. It's what you do with the anger.

So we get to have our anger. The kitchen remodel has also thrown 'order and control' out the window, but it is getting better [and will be so lovely, I will post pics when it is all done].

One thing I found myself being angry at the other day was the fact that my spirit animals have been taken from me, in succession. Birdie the llama, Opie the goat and now White Dog. All were just beginning their work as healing ambassadors. Opie was able to do that for four years, but White Dog was able to partake  here and Birdie really hardly got going but she was such a natural.

Why did the universe take those animals from me? There's no answer. It's not personal. But it felt like it. So I got angry, at the universe. 

I'm getting used to not seeing him in his body. But every morning I walk past Old Apple, and walk right on the grave and say something as I go about my day. I know exactly how is body is laid out and I know Martyn's shirt is under his head. I know he's okay.

Mister Rogers told us to look for the helpers. I was doing chores in the barn, and was reminded that White Dog was a helper to me. He helped in many small ways-like barking at Captain Sparkle if he pushed a gate open when I was doing chores. He alerted me. He could keep certain animals in line if he knew there was trouble.

Who is my helper now? That is what it feels like in the outer barn. Plus I just miss seeing his beautiful, majestic face.