A Dog's Life 2

Really?

You buried your bone in Nana's petunia patch?

I suppose they were a little scraggly but I'm not sure if this is an improvement.

A Dog's Life 1

Wouldn't it be nice to spend the day outside, lying the soft green grass, chewing on what's left of a knuckle bone? Someone will call you in for lunch then send you back outside again, then call you in for supper, then take you in the truck for an ice cream cone.
The bone will wait. The bone will be there. Until it's been gnawed into bits that get lost in the lawn.
Little does she know there is a brand new, never-been-buried one in the laundry room waiting for the current one to exhaust its life as a bone.
Sometimes, knowing what's out there -- a bone! a bone! -- and being able to anticipate is the best part of life but other times, it's the surprises -- a new bone! a new bone! -- is what makes life utterly amazing.

For The Birds

"You'll take Archie back if his new home doesn't work out, right?" my mother asked this morning.
"Of course I will but that would mean we'd have to stop feeding the wild birds," I answered.
And that is why I chose to rehome Archie, the cat of my dreams, instead of taking down the bird feeders. Because we got so excited to see this painting bunting under the maple tree (it was a brief visit, unfortunately), because we get excited whenever a rose-breasted grosbeak drops by, because we want to have the sweet goldfinches singing outside our windows. Because we want cardinals here, too.
We are cat people but we also are bird people.
I made a mistake and I corrected it. The correction leaves me with a broken heart and an empty chair in my office where he used to sleep, but as long as I don't dwell on it, I am okay. Sort of. I'm not devastated about my decision to rehome Archie; I'm devastated because my own stupidity made him an outdoor cat in the first place. My heartbreak and the horrible empty space in this house once filled by a spunky orange cat could have been avoided.
But I had an email from his new momma and she says her dog loves Archie and they, humans and furmans, are spending the weekend getting to know each other.
"Thank you," she wrote. "He's such a good boy."

My Boy's New Adventure

I made the decision to find a new home for Archie. And I did it for the wild birds.
It wasn't an easy decision to make but it is the consequence of the decision I made a year ago to let him outside. Within days, he went from being my sweet little boy to being a wild man. He LOVES it outside, that's where he wants to be. Sure, when it's raining or snowing, he's content to be inside snuggled up on his blanket in the living room or sharing Nana's reclining chair upstairs but he really, really likes being outside.
The problem is we really, really like the wild birds. And we've missed feeding them all over the property since we took in Fern, a stray cat, and she began roaming our property in 2012.
So I've been unhappy for the past year, in conflict about my decision and angry with myself for going against what my heart wanted. I wanted him to be an indoor cat but with Fern going outside, we could see the itch in Archie to be outside. It appeared that he simply wanted to be where his family was, on the back deck or in the gardens, so I thought perhaps he'd hang out with us and not be a bother to the birds and the squirrels.
Ha! When I'm wrong, I'm colossally wrong. Sure, he comes when he's called -- but only if he's not roaming the shore of the river on the other side of the road.
When he showed up with a female hummingbird in his mouth last Sunday morning, it was the last straw. They hummingbirds were already struggling with the cold and it wasn't fair for them to have a cat leaping at them -- leaping at them! -- while they were sitting at the feeder. I emailed a friend of mine who was looking for a mostly-outdoor cat to keep the rodent population down in her barn and she picked him up this morning. Archie is off on a new adventure with two lovely people, a dog named Abby (no new name to learn there), and two horses. It relieved me to hear my friend's first words when she walked into my house: "I plan to keep him inside for a couple of days so he can get used to his new place." That's exactly what I needed to hear to erase any lingering doubts this was the right way to fix a wrong decision.
I'm both heartbroken and relieved about rehoming Archie. He was exactly what I wanted in a cat: a marmalade boy, friendly, snuggly, really part of the family. I'm going to miss his little furry body pressed up against mine in bed. But at the same time, I'm relieved that the wild birds and the squirrels are safe. Fern has a problem with one of her kidneys so she isn't well and she has chilled out; she seems to prefer hanging out watching the birds now instead of chasing them down. And she doesn't need to do that anymore; she no longer has to hunt to feed herself. Archie, on the other hand, lives to hunt. It's a game to him so he is now living where his skills will be appreciated, not cursed.
I am going to miss this boy; I was madly in love with him. Hopefully soon, being mad at myself for losing him to the great outdoors will fade and it won't hurt to know I an the reason he gets to be someone's else boy now.

Not Kidding Around About This Birthday Wish

As published in The Citizen-Record newspaper on Wednesday, June 3, 2013, by Sara Jewell.

Best part of the zoo? Hanging out with the petting goats.

A friend on the South Shore has a small dairy goat farm and when I attended one of her cheese-making classes a year ago, she introduced her Swiss Toggenburgs to me by saying, “They are just like dogs.”

That did it. Ever since, I’ve wanted a goat.

She also keeps a small herd of Alpines for weed and brush control and one of this spring’s kids developed septicemia and is now blind. My friend says it would make a good pet.

That did it. Ever since, I’ve wanted that kid.

When I tell my friend Jane, who grew up with goats, that I want a couple as pets, she shakes her head and says, “You have no idea.”

No, I don’t have any idea. And yes, I do have an idea.

I have the idea that I would like to have farm animals around me, to be responsible for feeding them and cleaning them and for learning about the world through their eyes.

On the other hand, I have no idea how to take care of farm animals but that problem was solved by falling in love with a Nova Scotia country boy. This was the man to make my dreams come true.

It didn’t hurt that he lived on 72 acres. So many! Imagine the possibilities. I figured the most immediate possibility would be the fulfillment of my lifelong dream of having a pet pig.

Shortly after I moved here from Ontario eight years ago, however, I read a book about a family who made a pet out of a runt his original owner simply couldn’t bear to put down and discovered the truth about pigs: if not butchered at six months, they grow to be 350 pounds. That was too big a responsibility for this city girl.

Fortunately, my husband was not to blame for the squelching of that dream. Instead, he made another one come true. By our first anniversary, there was a chicken coop filled with hens and a rooster in the backyard and we’ve been going strong – maritally and poultry – ever since.

Unfortunately for my husband, that didn’t squelch my hankering for animals; chickens are lovely but they are small and feathery and require little care. You watch a chicken more than you interact with it.

Even our few rabbits, more wild than tame, weren’t cute and cuddly enough to make me put aside my idea of farm animals so when I started making noises about getting goats and a donkey, maybe llamas or perhaps sheep to keep the lawn mowed, my husband finally sat me down and said, “When you make more money, you can have more animals.”

A reasonable negotiation on his part and perhaps he knows me too well. Because of who I am (a slow worker) and what I do (a freelance writer), I’m no closer to having a variety of four-footed farm animals roaming these 72 acres than I was eight years ago.

I’m sure he was counting on that.

But I just celebrated my 45^th birthday and that’s when a woman begins to take stock of what she has in her life. Life insurance is fine, RRSPs are great but what about kids?

There is one on the South Shore who needs a home and would make a great pet. Perhaps a darling doeling is just what this (ahem) middle-aged woman needs.

Did you know a baby llama is called a “cria”? I’m craving a cria.

My poor husband. Every time this hankering for farm animals comes on, I suspect he goes down on his knees in the garage and says a little prayer to whoever is in charge of his world: Dear Keeper of My Sanity, thank you for not blessing us with a barn.

Humans Are Stupid

I miss seeing this, the sight of a doe and her fawn behind our house. For several springs, a doe would give birth in the field behind our house; on the rainy June afternoon this photo was taken, this doe stuck to the ditch under the trees by the lane. What an amazing experience to be so close to new life emerging in the wild. I always felt it said something about our energy on this property, how excited my husband was to have these animals close and appearing to trust us.
This photo was taken from an upstairs window in June 2012. When we still had trees back there.
Since they were cut down over the winter of 2013/2014, we have lost a lot of wildlife. We no longer see pairs of pileated woodpeckers. We no longer see bears. We no longer see deer. When their home and habitat and food source was destroyed, 65 acres in all, they had to move on, find new woods in which to live, get as far away from humans as they can.
Stupid humans with their heavy tread upon the earth. Lazy humans who claim clearcutting is more efficient and economical. Blind and greedy humans who prefer the "convenience" of heating with wood and oil instead of investing in more earth-friendly technologies like solar power and personal wind mills.
I am as guilty, as stupid as everyone else. Then again, I was a child in the 1970's and I remember the oil crisis then and the demands to conserve, to find new resources. Forty years later, little has changed. We aren't even smart enough to make replanting a law.
A green, wet day like today always reminds me of those rainy days in June 2012 when we watched this doe and her fawn for an afternoon, when we celebrated the safe arrival of new life, when we took for granted that the deer and the trees would be here forever.

The Goat Ate My Original Idea

This week's column for The Citizen-Record just took an unexpected turn! Inspired by my friend Heather's Facebook posts about this spring's kids at her Sweetwood Farm in Blockhouse (the photo is of a pair of the farm's delightful Nubians), I started out writing about my lifelong dream of having farm animals but somehow my 45th birthday and a hankering for kids has crept in.
My poor husband. I might have to keep this issue away from him. There are some things a man doesn't need to know about his wife. Or about what his wife is about to bring home...