Tag: animals

My Good Friends

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

I am sitting in the floor right now, finishing up last-minute work with my students before the new week begins. I am sitting in the floor instead of on our sofa because Bairre wanted my spot. I didn’t have the hear to tell him no, so I got up and went to the floor and took this picture of him. Isn’t he beautiful? Isn’t he spoiled?

It’s okay though because I am now closer to the wood stove. Though the dry heat seems to wreak havoc on my skin, I adore the fire. So does our kitty, Betty. She is right next to me, and she is doing the cutest thing ever.

She is on her back with her paws kind of in the air. Every now and then, she literally kneads the air. I love her little pink feet. Betty loves the wood stove more than I can express. I love her and love the fact that she gets to spend her winter days by the wood stove more than I can express.

We had a tough week here. Mostly just parenting stuff, and then there’s the big stuff that looms. Reading about the fires in LA, well, you know how it is. It’s just hard to see it all happening exactly the way scientists said it was going to happen. It’s like the knowing and not doing anything about it is just salt in the wound. I can’t imagine how devastated the poor people and animals are who live there.

And parenting is such hard work, but I swear, parenting a teen is the most work. It’s like, you can start to see where the holes are, and you are trying desperately to patch them before your teen is grown and on their own–and it’s too late. .

But progress on the parenting front was made, and I have good friends for support. Boudica just came up to give me kisses. Then, she gave me the Pyr Paw and very appropriately typed a B on the keyboard. I’m so thankful for these animals. It’s okay if there are holes in their raising. It’s okay that Bairre is a little too spoiled.

In fact, it’s magnificent that he’s a little too spoiled.

Farm Chores in Times of COVID

~ Crystal Sands ~ 3 Comments

Last week, I took a test and confirmed that I have COVID. Our whole family has had COVID, and it has not been easy for sure. We made it four years without catching it. I have both an autoimmune disorder and asthma, and my mom ended up getting long COVID, so I really didn’t want any part of it. Still, after a while, it just seemed we couldn’t ask our teenage son to keep masking when no one else was. I mean, I don’t mind being strange, but it’s hard to ask your kid to be strange for you. Plus, we were vaccinated, so we decided to just take our chances. Thankfully, we are doing okay overall, but every time I think I am doing better, I go right back down. I am a bit down today because this morning was another setback. I woke up this morning worse than I have been in a couple of days. Nevertheless, I got up and did my farm chores.

And that has been the biggest challenge during all of this–the farm chores. Last week, there were a couple of days I could barely move, but I drug myself out of bed every morning and hauled those buckets of water and carried the bag of feed and did my part–all in extremely slow motion. I noticed one morning that it had taken us two hours to do what we normally do in one. In some ways, I don’t even know how we did it, but you always find strength you didn’t know you had when you have no choice, right?

The whole thing has been a reality check for my life though. My full-time work doesn’t allow for sick days really, so I had to keep working. It was really hard to concentrate. We live thousands of miles from family, and our isolation has never felt more significant. I’m questioning a lot of things.

Still, I am so proud of us because we are making it. Ron has been sicker than I have ever seen him, but he just never stopped. Some mornings, I was moving so slowly on my part of the chores that he would grab the buckets from my hands and finish my chores too after he had finished his own. Some evenings, when he just couldn’t get up, I carried in the feed and water and closed up the chickens and ducks by myself. We took turns when we could and never stopped trying. We took care of each other. I realized that we are pretty self reliant–not completely, of course, but quite a bit.

All of the animals are doing just fine, except for poor Bairre and Boudica. We have not been able to take them on their long walks, and they are both more than a little depressed. Oh, and the chicken coop really, really needs a cleaning, but thankfully, the snow and ice have all melted, allowing the chickens to have full run of their giant fenced yard, which means they are not spending too much time in the coop anyway. Just for sleeping. And I’m pretty sure that, tomorrow, Ron and I will be well enough to clean it out–at least Ron will be able to, and I’ll do my best to help. Ron is noticeably better today.

Cooking has been brutal though. I managed to cook homemade pizza on Thursday, but that’s the last successful thing we have eaten. Ron won’t do take out, so he’s been trying to cook after I gave up on Friday. It has not been pretty. We all just look at the food, laugh and cry a little, and do our best to eat it because we know our bodies need it. We can’t taste much anyway, but somehow, I can still taste “bad.” I am about to have to try to make some bread, so we can eat sandwiches of sorts for a few days. Wish me luck!

I realized during all this that I cannot even imagine being a full-time farmer and getting really sick. What do you do? Who do you call? There are no sick days. Hopefully, all of the full-time farmers I know have a good a support system. I can see it’s needed.

On a side note, since the snow and ice have melted, we started putting Luna outside for a little bit in a separate fenced area. Yesterday, I put the two mean ducks in the fenced area and let her have some time with the rest of the flock. Hopefully, we will get her integrated gradually, but I don’t know if she wants to be. This morning, she acted so tired that I just let her stay in the house and listen to music. She seems so content right now. What in the world are we going to do with her?

We are ALL made of stars.

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

Last week, Ron brought this beautiful egg to me and said it reminded him of a picture of the universe he had just seen online. He said it made the egg even more beautiful to him.

“We are all made of stars,” I said.

And then he showed me the picture of the universe he saw, and it was remarkably like the spots on the beautiful egg our little Faure lays. I couldn’t share that exact photograph because it is copyrighted, but I found this older picture of the universe. The one you see here was taken by the Hubble telescope in 2009. The patterns on Faure’s egg are so similar to the photo of the universe, and this connection Ron pointed out to me made me think about just how much humans have in common with animals around us, and this was something I didn’t fully understand until I became a farmer. Living so closely with animals helps me understand that humans aren’t that special and yet we are so, so special.

We are all made of star stuff–carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and such–ALL of us. I think most humans think we are special but forget that elephants, dogs, chickens, and ducks who like Bach are made of the same stuff. So many people think we are so different from the animals around us. For a long time, western science said so too. Science is catching up to the truth, I think, but of course, some people have known all along. In Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass, she writes about the Potawatomi language having words for plants and animals that would translate as things like “tree people” and “horse people.”

In the ten years I have been watching my chickens live their lives in their little community on our farm, I have seen how they make friends, mourn for each other, have people they don’t like, snuggle each other, argue with each other, fight with each other. They are social creatures. They worry. They anticipate. Some of them make cross species connections to me. I see how most of them go along with the crowd. There are some unusual ones who struggle to fit in with the crowd. There can be a price to be paid for not fitting in too. Doesn’t this sound familiar? In so many ways, we are all the same–different scale, different levels of it, but the same stuff.

In the past, when I have tried to tell people this, I have been dismissed, even laughed at, reminded that we can’t “humanize animals,” which is frustrating, especially given the research on chicken intelligence. I have seen some people even seem offended that I would compare humans to chickens.

But it’s magical to me that we all have so much in common, that we are all so similar. There are pattens in Nature that repeat everywhere. Nature is efficient like that. If it works, it works. And we all have those patterns in our cells–in the fabric of who we are. It binds us, does it not?

That’s the magic in this world, and I think we miss this too much. But it’s there, right in front of us–just waiting for us to pay attention to it.

Betty, Luna, and New Friends

~ Crystal Sands ~ 1 Comment

Betty and Luna are not the new friends. Luna is on Day 7 in the house, and Betty is very curious. Luna is very cautious.

I think it was the third day Luna was in the house that Betty grew brave enough to investigate the duck. Betty did not like the quacking and seemed to just stay away from Luna at first. I thought this was fortunate because I was worried about Betty deciding to pounce. But, on that third day, I guess curiosity got the best of her–plus, Luna was quiet.

I was working on my laptop at the kitchen table, very near Luna, and she let out the loudest quack I have ever heard. It echoed! I jumped and saw Betty scrambling, terrified. She flew through the kitty door and down into our basement.

About 15 minutes later, I heard the kitty door open, and in slow motion, Betty made her way through the door. With her paws stretched, she walked back by the duck–ever so slowly. It was like she was afraid to take a step near the monster. I laughed at poor Betty’s fear. I asked her if she was okay, and she glared at me, just glared. How dare I bring this monster into our house? It was the cutest thing, but poor Betty didn’t think any of it was cute.

Betty is getting curiouser and curiouser.

After another day or two, Betty got brave again though, and this time, Luna didn’t scream at her. This has led to some bravery on Betty’s part, which has led to some stress on my part.

Thankfully, Luna has made a friend. It’s our teenage son, and I am surprised. At first, he complained when we lost the guest bathroom to another duck. That kid is going to have some stories when he grows up.

I noticed he kept asking questions about her though, and by the end of the first day, he was asking about petting her. I told him he could see what she did. If she seemed too nervous, maybe not. I explained the nature of Indian Runner ducks. I thought she might be nervous about someone who is essentially a stranger, but then I remembered he was very involved in the raising of our ducks when they were babies. They loved him, and he spent a lot of time with them.

Maybe she remembers him or maybe it’s just that these two connect, but I am shocked by how much this duck loves our son in just a week. The first time he leaned into pet her, she raised her bill up and touched him, and they have been fast friends ever since.

I noticed Luna, who is getting frustrated with her hurt leg, was starting to complain more during the day. This, coupled with Betty’s fascination with her, made me wonder if I was going to have to think of another solution for Luna during the day, but the best solution arose. Luna loves our son so much that she is content just hanging out in his room and being near him.

She’s safe from Betty’s curiosity and seems to be in heaven hearing our son’s voice. Interestingly, when he’s been outside and comes in the house while she is having a tub soak, she hears his voice and starts quacking. This is all fascinating stuff. As an animal person, I hoped both my children would be animal people. It’s great when they are. Animals make us better humans. Luna can teach him things I can’t.

I hope they stay good friends.

Just Me, Myself, and I

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

I do not usually spend time alone. When Ron is working in the garden or he and my son are away for any day trips, I have Boudica and Bairre with me always, and those two are absolutely just furry people. This week, however, I have spent the last four days, from 9:00 in the morning until 4:00 in the afternoon, completely alone.

My son is at a music camp on the coast of Maine, in beautiful Rockport. Since the drive is long, I have just spent my week working on my computer in a fantastic little library and then walking around. I have done a lot of walking around. In fact, I just checked my phone, and in the last four days, I have walked 20.53 miles. I have been trying a new strategy in my quest for better health and less anxiety: I walk, run, jog, bike, garden, pull weeds, climb stairs, and anything else I can think of until I am fairly exhausted physically. This seems to keep my anxiety down, which is an overall health improver.

But spending so much time walking alone this week has been an eye opener for me. I often think I would like a little alone time, but I haven’t liked it very much. I have also realized that being around animals keeps me from feeling alone, and that seems like a very hopeful thing.

The first day of my adventures alone, I had zero interactions with dogs, cats, birds, etc. Not a soul. I walked through neighborhoods and didn’t even see a squirrel. I missed all of the animals at home. I talk to the chickens. The ducks will hang out and nibble on me if I sit still long enough. Watching the chickadees and hummingbirds also makes me feel like I have company. And, of course, having a Great Pyrenees next to me is always so comforting.

I missed Ron and my son too, of course, but I am very aware that my son will grow up and move away. And, when it’s just me and Ron, I’ll lose him every summer to his garden. Ron also actually needs and likes regular alone time, so I’m thankful that the company of animals is so comforting to me. I’ll never have to be alone very much, will I?

My mom is alone and has been struggling with this greatly. She has been sick from long COVID, shingles, and a variety of autoimmune issues, and I think her loneliness adds to her struggles. Well, of course it does because our mental health impacts our health so much. And, for my mom, her dogs are just not enough company. She says she’s lonely. I try to call her several times a week, but I wish she had chickens or a Great Pyrenees, though she is not really a “big dog” person like I am. She likes little dogs. I think though she is not as much of an animal person as I am, and this week, as I have walked the coast of Maine alone and thought about myself, my mom, and my animal friends, I have been thankful to be the way I am. I am thankful that I am able to connect so deeply with animals.

One time, I read an article about an elderly woman who turned her farm into a rescue farm in her old age and just took care of older animals as they lived out their lives. I wish I could find that article.

Betty

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 358 of 365

I feel I cannot end my daily blogging mission without telling a story about Betty, one of our cats. Betty and her sister, Bella, kind of landed in our laps just a week after we lost our Great Pyrenees, Gus, to lymphoma. I say “landed in our laps” because we had thought about getting barn cats for our homestead for years to help with mice and rats. I posted on Facebook about needing to look into getting a barn cat when a friend told her friend, who had two semi-barn kittens in need of a home.

The woman told me they were sisters and that they were fantastic and that she was really hoping to find a home where they could stay together. She was worried about them being separated. So, of course, I was like, “I think we must do this.” Ron, somehow, agreed, but we both agreed that we needed them to live out of our garage because Sophie, our very old and sick kitty, was so old and so fragile–and we needed farm help.

I researched and talked to people about how to care for barn cats and made a plan to go pick up the kitties. I expected them to be running around outside, but it was a chilly day. They were inside, and Betty was curled up on a chair in front of a fire. I thought to myself, “How am I going to take this beautiful kitty, so happy and content by the fire, and tell her she has to be a barn kitty?”

When I was leaving with Betty, the woman, who was just fantastic, said “That one’s super sweet and snuggly. I’ll bet she’ll be in the house in no time.”

Immediately, I could see what she meant. We turned our garage into a kitten play land, complete with carpets, toys, crates, boxes, and everything else I could think of. The plan was to keep them in the garage until they got bigger. Plus, we read that barn kitties need plenty of time to see your home as home before you let them out into the world. The plan was one month.

Of course, during this month, Ron and I and our son spent so much time in the garage with these adorable babies. And Betty just snuggled and charmed all of us. When it had been one month, Ron and I were heading to the garage with the idea that we were going to let them outside for just a little bit that day. But just as I was about to open the door, Ron said, “Let’s just bring those babies inside with us,.”

I was on it!

The first day they were in the house, Betty was in heaven. She slept by the wood stove and was sweet to Sophie. She was such a sweet baby at first. Then, when she was comfortable in the house, she went wild. Just wild! One time, in the middle of the night, she jumped on my face and sliced my eye lid. For weeks, I was scared to go to sleep. She climbed a lot of curtains and walls but eventually settled down.

In the year and a half since Betty and Bella moved in, I have loved getting to know them. Betty is still the biggest charmer, though Bella has her moments. But Betty is extra special to me because she has the soul of an artist.

It started when she discovered the paint brushes when she was little. Every day, she would find a new paint brush and carry it around with her. I would pick them up, and she would get them again. I kept them in the basement, and we would wake up every morning to paint brushes throughout the house. She was carrying these up the stairs and through a small cat door. They seemed to bring her comfort. She still frequently brings paint brushes through the kitty door in the middle of the night. One morning, Ron said he found a giant ball of yard pushed just almost through the little kitty door, but it was stuck. I want to put a night camera in our house just to see what all Betty is up to.

We discovered Betty also really loves cello. She wants to sit right next to our son when he practices his cello, but our son doesn’t let her stay in the room because she climbs on him. So Betty gets kicked out of the music room during cello. She gets to stay sometimes for our son’s piano practice because she sits on top of the piano.

When I practice cello, I try to let her stay, but I ultimately have to kick her out as well because she wants to actually sit on the cello. She loves the vibrations.

My favorite is when she plays the piano herself. If my son forgets to close the door to the music room, she will be in there playing the piano. Oh, and she loves to watch us play chess. I think she may love that the most. She seems to be studying the board. She never jumps on the pieces. She just sits over the board and watches every move. One time, we decided to play made-up chess where we didn’t follow the rules, and I swear, Betty looked confused. I understand if you’re skeptical, and I’m not for sure she noticed the differences in the moves, but I think she may have.

Her love of the arts definitely leaves me with questions, but mostly, I am just thankful to have a kitty who loves the arts like I do. Betty will be two years old in August. I am hoping for a long and wonderful life with this amazing soul.

Elvis has left the building…

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

Day 304 of 365

Ron is loved by our animals so much, in some ways, more than I am loved. I’m okay with this, of course. I think it’s magnificent. Ron is pretty terrible with people but animals love him. Love.

That has to be the number one reason I love him. Stray dogs will find him. One time, when we were visiting my family in Texas, he rescued two dogs. We were only there four days! Bairre and Boudica think he hung the moon. They love him the most, and I am the consolation prize. Even Betty, our kitty, as much as she loves me, seems to favor Ron a bit more. I feel it’s hard to say with our kitty, Bella. She’s hard to read.

Tonight, our son has orchestra rehearsal, so Ron dropped him off in town and then came home to work on a project. He’s building a nice space for starting seedlings indoors, Anyway, Ron just left, and while he was getting on his boots, both dogs were right in his face the whole time.

When Ron went out the door, I said goodbye and then looked around at the animals: Bairre had his nose pressed against the door like he was just broken hearted. Boudica had her head down, and even Betty was sitting on the ledge by the door, looking sad that her favorite human had left.

“Elvis has left the building, folks,” I said. “Elvis has left the building.”

I live with good people.

~ Crystal Sands ~ 3 Comments

Day 176 of 365

In Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book, Braiding Sweetgrass, in the chapter on language, she writes about how the words for plants and animals in the native Potawatomi language translates into something like “tree people” and “bird people.”

When I first read this, I cried because I call my animals people. I just don’t have a better word for how they seem to me. It has always felt to me that the way most other people speak of chickens or ducks or dogs or any animal is not the way I see these animals. Everyone is “people” to me, and we are equal in my mind. I am reminded this week, as we have brought home a new puppy, that I live with the best people.

Boudica is doing much better with the new puppy. She still grumps at him some, but I am certain she is mainly doing it to make sure he knows his place. Still, she has started to play with him, and it’s just joyful to watch. She needed a playmate so badly, which I thought was the case. She is six years old but still a puppy in her heart. She would try to play with me, but I just wasn’t very fun. Bairre seems pretty fun though. And, oh my goodness, he thinks Boudica is the coolest person in the world.

Boudica is also already teaching him some. Ron said that she got between him and the ducks yesterday when he tried to chase the ducks. And to allow us an opportunity to get some work done, we will put the puppy on the deck, close the gates, and tell Boudica to keep an eye on him. She actually does for the most part.

I am also so impressed with the kitties. Betty really seems to like Bairre. He has chased her a bit and gotten a few swats, but she studies him and will play with him a little bit. It’s fascinating, especially the study. The first night we brought him home, she started following him around, only she was like lurking in the shadows, and he was oblivious to it. But everywhere he went, Betty was poking her head around the corner to see what and who he was. This was fantastic for me to watch. And once she determined he was okay, she started getting really close to him.

Bella was terrified of him at first but now plays with him a little. Mainly, she investigates him while he’s sleeping, which is the cutest thing ever. He will be sleeping, and after some initial sniffs, she will reach out and touch his fur. Maybe she’s trying to see why he’s so fluffy. He’s very fluffy.

I was thinking today about how wonderful these animals are and how thankful I am to them for getting along. We have not always had the best luck with members of our little family getting along. Gus was so jealous of Sophie, and she was pretty disgusted by him. Those two had a few stressful incidences over the years. But, so far, it seems everyone in our family has accepted Bairre and seems to kind of like him. He is pretty cute and charming. And, boy, isn’t it the truth that being cute and charming goes a long way in the world? I wouldn’t know about this first hand, but I have seen it in action.

Anyway, I am thankful to all of my people, and I try to remember to show it. I am fortunate. I get to live with really good people.

Requiem for a Queen

~ Crystal Sands ~ 13 Comments

Day 129 of 365

How does one honor a queen with words? If I could write music for her, I would. All I have are words. I am such a peasant, but I have had the good fortune of knowing a queen. And, over time, she became one of my dearest friends. 

I am allergic to cats, so I didn’t have a cat in my life until we adopted our kitty, Sophie, in 2011. I had always wanted one, and Ron, my husband, had always been a cat person. I think he missed having kitties around. I assessed my experiences with cat allergies, and I seemed to do better with cats with lighter fur and longer hair. One Friday night, we stopped by the Humane Society “just to see what they had,” in case they had a kitty with light fur or long hair. The had one single adoptable kitty in the whole place. 

It was there that I met a kitty so beautiful I almost couldn’t believe it. Her eyes were large and green and outlined in thick black lines. She looked regal. And, in her cage, she was snuggling a soft blanket. 

“Well, she likes soft stuff, just like I do,” I told Ron. 

But we had to do an allergy test. The worker at the Humane Society opened the cage, and I gave Sophie some good, long pets—only her name wasn’t Sophie at that time. It was “Ginger.” Sophie’s fur was long and black and white. Ginger didn’t seem right for her, but that’s what it said on the card on her cage.  

We went home that Friday night and waited for some potential allergic reaction. It never came. I thought about her all weekend, longed for her, panicked at the thought that someone might get to her first. That Monday was President’s Day, so I had to wait until Tuesday. I called as soon as they opened that morning, and after teaching that day, Ron picked me up from work and took me straight to the Humane Society.

After a short interview, that kitty was ours, and I was so thankful. Ron asked me what we should name her, and I knew immediately it was “Sophie.” Truly, Sophie seemed to accept and appreciate this name right away. 

Sadly, she did not accept or appreciate me right away. I didn’t know how to pet or hold–or not hold–a cat. I didn’t know how to read all of her communication. I didn’t know that the belly was a trap. She showed me her belly, just like a dog, but I was not supposed to scratch the belly. Ron, the cat person, offered instruction, and it helped. He adored Sophie too and was so great with cats, but he held back to let me try to bond with her. 

My allergies also flared up. I struggled to breathe sometimes, and my eyes were a constant mess. I started taking some over-the-counter allergy meds, and they helped in the immediate. Over time, I didn’t need them anymore. Interestingly, either due to the meds or due to my allergies, I completely lost my sense of smell in the first year we had Sophie. To this day, my sense of smell has never returned. It’s great for cleaning the chicken coop, but it’s a heartbreaker that I can’t smell fresh bread or vanilla or flowers. 

Still, it was worth it. Sophie and I began to figure each other out. We both had trust issues, it turned out. Sophie was three to five years old when we adopted her and had already had a rough life. She had been found on the streets, covered in fleas, and due to allergies, she had lost much of her fur on her back legs and all near her tail, which wasn’t quite all the way grown back when we first got her (it would later fill in beautifully). She held herself back from me, and I, a little bit scared of those claws, held myself back from her. 

But, oh my goodness, she was regal. She held herself in just this certain way, with such dignity, so reserved and sometimes in full judgement of your simple human brain. Ron, who had had quite a few cats in his life, said that Sophie was indeed royalty, that she was unique in his experience. What an honor to get to live with a queen. 

And she loved my fluffy robes I would wear in our Maine winters. We had this in common. We loved soft and fluffy, and we bonded over this. I would sit on the sofa and call for her. Over time, she got to the point where she just couldn’t help herself. She would sit in my lap, snuggled into my robe, and knead and purr. 

Sophie’s purr was magical. It was deep and soothing. In my life now, I have met many cats. I have yet to hear a purr as deep and powerful as Sophie’s. We healed each other. I gave her the adoration and soft robe she required, and she purred for me, healing my brokenness. 

I will never forget the first night I felt safe enough to put my face into her face. In the first year, if I got too close to her face, she would hiss at me, so I just gave up. But, late one night, after about three years together, Sophie came up behind me to get into my lap for a nightly snuggle in my robe. For some reason, on this night, I just felt this urge to try to connect more deeply with her. I slowly leaned my forehead into her forehead, and, miraculously, she leaned in right back. We held this position for minutes, just taking it in. It felt like we were both saying, “I trust you.” It was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had with an animal–and I’ve had some amazing experiences.

When a queen lets you get that close to them, you feel honored. 

We went along, so well, for years. We became so close, such good friends. She ruled our household with grace, and she fell into this absolute trust of me. I could touch her feet, her ears, and even her belly somtimes. She was my kitty teacher. Through Sophie, I learned what all the tail movements meant, the howls, the yowls, and I learned that cats love to get involved with both crochet and quilting projects. I also learned about how kitties love to “help” with puzzles.

Then, about three years ago, she started losing weight. I took her to the vet, and after some tests, the vet told me Sophie probably did not have long. “Maybe a year,” he said. “Maybe.” 

But I gave her the thyroid medications every day. And when her kidneys started to fail from the side effects of the thyroid medication, I bought the special cat food and did all the tricks to get her to eat that special cat food. I fed her six to ten times a day every day. Then, in late 2020, in the middle of the pandemic, I found a lump on her throat. The vet told me it would be a risky surgery for her because of her overall health problems but that the lump was blocking her windpipe; there was no choice but to operate. 

In the weeks leading up to the surgery, Sophie was especially clingy to me. She slept on my head and was with me at every opportunity. The day she had the surgery, in December of 2020, I was a wreck. I knew she might die in surgery, but I prayed to the universe “just one more year,” I begged. 

Sophie lived, but after the surgery, she was changed. The surgery damaged her vocal cords, and she lost her purr. She wouldn’t snuggle me like she used to. For a while, I thought she was just holding a grudge against me for the surgery. She was a fantastic grudge holder. Unfortunately, it was no grudge. She would try to snuggle me, but snuggling me led to purring, and the purring disturbed her damaged vocal cords, and then she would cough, and then should leave. She was frustrated. I was heartbroken. 

Still, there were good parts of our new existence. We had a woodstove installed during the pandemic, and she loved that woodstove more than I can express. A woodstove warms your bones in the Maine winter like nothing else I have experienced, and Sophie appreciated this. She would sleep in front of the woodstove, under the woodstove, beside the woodstove, and behind the woodstove. When our new kitties, Betty and Bella, came, they wanted to be in Sophie’s spots beside the woodstove,  but the queen would not allow it. And she usually stayed near me throughout the day. And she would still involve herself in all quilting and crochet projects. 

Then, September came, and she took a turn. She got very sick. The vet said it was time to prepare for the end. He looked me in my eyes and was a little teary, and said, “You did well. She made it far longer than I thought she would. You did well.” Still, as I do, I tried to remain hopeful, and I didn’t really want to entertain the possibility of the end. I wanted her to at least make it to woodstove season. She loved it so. 

It was not to be. Today, we took Sophie for her last vet trip. At about 12:45 this afternoon, my Sophie, my queen, left me. As she went to sleep, I put my forehead to her forehead. I wanted her to remember that night—and me. 

We decided to bury her on our property—not next to Gus—he hated Sophie, I think because she was his competition for my heart. Ron dug a grave for her next to my Poe. Ron actually worked as a gravedigger with his grandfather when Ron was young, and he digs graves properly. When he was finished, he came to the house and told me and our son that it was time to bury her. I picked up her little box from the vet, and somehow, we naturally formed a funeral procession. Ron and I both noticed this formation. We walked, single file, in mourning, from one side of our property to the other. Somehow, it seemed proper for Sophie to have a formal procession. 

Now, I get to figure out how to get on with my life without her. Because she had so many health struggles the last few years, my life is going to be so much easier. I will no longer have to feed her ten times a day or pick her up to her special spot for drinking from the sink every time I turn around. There are no more meds, no more helping her fight the mats in her beautiful, long fur that came at the end, as she got too sick to care for herself.

But I have lost one of the most magnificent beings I have ever known. I would give just about anything to be able to serve her again. 

The Loyalty of a Farm Dog

~ Crystal Sands ~ 7 Comments

Day 4 of 365

Yesterday, a hawk flew over the duck area, and I could see it from the dining room window. I was up and alert, as was Boudica, our Great Pyrenees. In a matter of seconds, Boudica and I went from looking out the window to action. Without thinking, I went to open the back door and said to Boudica, “You take the ducks. I’ll take the chickens.”

She was on it. She raced to the duck yard, and as I raced to the chicken yard, I realized how fortunate I am to have a farm dog like Boudica. She is my partner and my friend, and she takes care of me in a way that I have never experienced before. Usually, we take care of our animals, and they will give back to us in so many important ways. But with Boudica, it’s different.

Great Pyrenees are remarkable dogs, but they are also difficult. They make wonderful farm dogs, but they must be trained not to chase the smaller animals, like chickens and ducks. And, when I say “trained,” it’s a certain kind of trained. You really can’t make a Great Pyrenees do anything they don’t want to do. They are bred to be independent thinkers, decision makers on their own. I mean, maybe you can make them, but you would not want to do that to their spirit. You just teach with kindness. You express what you need in a way they can understand, and out of love for you, they comply.

They also bark–a lot. If a squirrel sneezes or a car door opens a half mile away, it is likely worth a bark.

I am speaking in generalizations, of course. I have worked with just two Great Pyrenees in my life, but I read several books before taking on this breed of dog. They are not for the faint of heart. Our Pyrenees, Gus, who passed away last fall and who was likely one of the great loves of my life, could be so difficult. I remember going out to the deck to tell him to stop barking like a maniac when the tiny neighbor dog walked by on a leash. When I commanded him to stop, I was, of course, ignored. It was only when I reasoned with him and asked him very kindly to “please, please, please tone it down” that he would relent. I am in some Facebook groups for Great Pyrenees “owners,” and I see a lot of rehoming posts because these dogs are just more than a lot of people can anticipate.

And I put “owners” in quotation marks because you do not “own” a Great Pyrenees. They will be your partner in life and work and will show you a loyalty the likes of which I cannot put into words if you are loyal to them, too. And therein lies their magnificence, I think.

Boudica cares for me in a way that I have never experienced with an animal. The care is real. Her help is real. I love having this kind of a relationship with an animal, and I wanted to share a few recent examples, besides our partnership in hawk detection.

A few weeks ago, Boudica woke me up in the middle of the night. I was right in the middle of a nightmare, and Boudica nudged me awake with her nose. I assumed she needed to go outside, though this was very unusual for her. She just doesn’t have to go out in the middle of the night anymore. I thought this must be an emergency! So I got up and headed downstairs to the door. But when I got there, there was no Boudica. I went to find her and found she had simply gone back to her bed. I was confused.

It was then that I remembered my son telling me Boudica had, on several occasions, woke him up when he was having a nightmare. I felt so loved that she did this for me.

In another recent incident, I went out for a walk but left Boudica behind that day because I wanted to go for a very long walk. Boudica can make it on short walks, but Great Pyrenees are more “sit and guard” dogs than long walkers. I told her I was sorry but that I would be back soon and left her in the yard. As I made my way past our house to my neighbor’s house, I saw their dog was outside. Their dog is a beautiful lab, and I adore her. But, doing her job well, she barked at me as I walked by her house.

Then I heard this ferocious, almost hysterical bark from Boudica. She was at a dead run toward the edge of our fenced yard in my direction. It was like her worst fears had been realized. There I was, her helpless human, out in the world with another dog surely about to attack me, and she was not with me! She was beside herself!

Of course, I turned around and went home to confirm with Boudica that I was, indeed, all in one piece. I saved my long walk for later.

These are just some of the little stories of protection she provides. She deeply understands that it is her job to protect the chickens and the ducks, and she does so with focus and determination. I am knocking on wood as I type these words, but we just do not see the kinds of predator attacks others who live in the Maine woods often see because, well, we have a farm dog named Boudica.

I love her to the moon and back, and it’s really cool that she loves me just the same.

***

And just a little update on Ruby and her clutch of eggs. She didn’t budge from her eggs today, though I encouraged her to take a break. I did deliver some bread scraps to her, which she promptly gobbled up–at first with the ferocity of the tiny dinosaur she is, and then with a little more gentleness, which makes me hopeful. She’s on day 3 of 21. Then, her real adventure begins.