Achilles in the moment

Achilles in the moment

This is another favourite photo. Achilles romps in deep snow in the backyard in Goderich during our first winter in Canada. Living in the moment.

Dog run

Dog run

This is a favourite photo, taken in Goderich not long after Achilles, Stella, and I arrived in Canada.

Stella as she so often is, is a blur. Angling in on Achilles, who is spotlighted by the sun, whiskers glowing. He’s galloping along, looking sideways at her and running so hard that his big, sturdy, upright ears are flopping down.

It’s a portrait of life, living in the here and now. It’s a good reminder to live in the now.

Gray day

This morning’s sky was almost uniform, almost featureless. Look closely though and the observant viewer will see subtle shadings of light and colour.

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No one here

No one here

This photo aptly summarizes the past three weeks of activity at our bird feeder. You may recall that I am participating in Project Feeder Watch, a citizen science project.

For the first two weeks there was a stream of visitors – sparrows, juncos, a Red-breasted Nuthach, blue jays. Since then, few birds have come. I suspect it’s because the fruitful growing season resulted in a prolific supply of wild foods. Another factor is the absence of snow cover so far this season. Activity will probably pick up because it’s been colder than normal for most of the past week and it looks the first accumulating snowfall will happen this weekend.

Close call

Close call

My drive home at this time of year takes place during dusk. There is quite a lot of light when I leave work and by the time I get home it’s virtually dark.

I was about five minutes from home tonight, driving about 93, 55 mph, speed limit is 90. Normally I drive at 100 or so. Headlights on but not brights because they added no useful illumination. I was scanning the shoulders for eye reflections, looking left. As I swept eyes to the right, motion caught my attention, moving from right to left. What I’m about to describe might imply conscious thought, decision, and reaction. Not at all.

I recognized a deer very close, crossing the highway. In less than a second I stepped hard on the brake, cut the wheel about 1/4 turn right and took my foot off the brake. By that time the deer was basically in the middle of the road maybe about 15 feet in front of me, running hard to the left. I had been ready to take the ditch which was only about 18 inches deep; the right wheels were just on the shoulder so I slowly corrected steering back to the left to stay on the road. Bambi kept running so I stayed on the road.

Everything in the previous paragraph happened in about three seconds. Not enough time to feel fright let alone fear. It’s a good thing I was driving no faster and probably good I had turned the radio off.

I make a point to be an alert driver – no cell phone use, adjust sound system and other systems when no traffic as about, do the same when drinking, two hands (generally) on the wheel. Yet so many things worked out – I was going slower than usual, paying attention to what I was doing, the deer kept going instead of stopping or turning around, the pavement was dry.

Perhaps I will drive closer to the speed limit.

Wintry day

Taken with the PlayBook.

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It’s the first wintry day of the season. About 1cm of snow fell overnight, lending an appropriate cast to the scene, which was, is, assisted by the moderate northwest breeze.

Shades of blue

Shades of blue

No, we have not been buried under a wall of snow. This is a three year old photo from the Goderich area, a part of the world which can be buried under a wall of snow.

Dogs that left footprints

Dogs that left footprints

These dogs have graced the lives of one or another or both us. I look often at this collage, usually with a smile on my face and in my heart. Clockwise from top right:

Just a saying about the impact they had on us.

Rex, a very sweet boy. Faye adopted him sight unseen. Despite his blindness, HW positive diagnosis and treatment, and other concerns, he was always a sweet, loving, courageous boy whose sense of direction and location was as sure as that of many sighted animals. His job was to be loving and to show the way.

Moonpie ran into my yard and heart as a tiny puppy. Enthusiasm was her watchword and how she lived her life. She was a delightful Labx who never would swim but loved chasing a ball and whose life came to a shockingly abrupt, all too early end.

Kingsley Leigh was my friend Marian’s dog, and she taught me the love of and for dogs. Kingsley was an extraordinary dog, smart, sensitive, mischevious. I had not had any dogs in my life before her, and now I cannot imagine ever living life without a dog.

Ah, Corndog. He strayed from his previous home into my life and though he went back to that home he never left and eventually came back for good. Corndog never met a human or a dog he disliked.

BoJo was hard done by. He’d been abandoned outside a shelter which took him in anyway, had pretty much run out of time there, had very bad hips which must have hurt terribly. None of these things were his fault. Faye saw to it that we gave him two comfortable years that he would not have otherwise had. I did not give him the credit he deserved. My loss.

Bruno guarded Faye throughout his life, which regrettably ended before I met him. He was loyal, a marvellous companion by all accounts I have read and heard and I wish I could have met him.

Avis was the second dog in my adult life. She could be hard-headed, even morose, and sometimes difficult to control. It didn’t help that I was ignorant, lacking in knowledge and self-awareness. Dussie was nearly fearless and full of character, once at eleven years of age launching herself at a GSD/wolf mix.

I am doubtful there is a Rainbow Bridge, that concept, that philosophy seems awfully egocentric to me. Who would Corndog choose? Why should he choose me, a bit player in the totality of his approximately nine years of life? He had a pretty good life at his previous home so why would he come running up to me? And, he loved all people. I would be not at all offended if he continued loving whatever human was scritching his ears when I entered.

I don’t often shed tears that they are gone. Instead I prefer to be grateful, and to try to remember and apply the lessons they taught while they were in my life.

More holiday swing

Here are a few more photos of the dogs.

Achilles, looking wistfully (pardon my anthropomorphizing) at something . . .

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Stella looks right at the photographer.

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And Kendal, the best of the three.

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