Dogging it

Kona Dog

      They work as a team.  Andy, a medium sized mixed breed with shaggy curly hair,  sits on command as his owner walks six feet away to the end of his leash.  Tethered to Andy is a short woman with gray pageboy hair who looks to be in her mid sixties, and who walks with a distinctive limp (remnants of a hip surgery?).  Sipping coffee from my bench, I watch their routine played out with  a precision made possible by weekly practice.   He doesn't move.  Someone takes the bait, and compliments Andy's looks or his apparent intelligence and a conversation ensues.  Knowing she haves them on the line, she moves immediately to the next feat, placing a dog bone at his feet where he ignores the urge to eat it until she gives the command.  The discussions center around Andy, when and where she got him, how smart he is, the tricks he can perform.  He is the star; the bait.
      I know the routine well as they have been at every Saturday's Farmer's Market that I have been to for the past several years.  I have been one of those passerby to compliment Andy, to ask about him, to pet him.  They pass their morning at the market, winding their way through the shoppers, back and forth...constantly roaming from one end of the market to the other, pausing occasionally to allow their act to subtly unfold.  The payoff for Andy is a dog bone and a pat on the head.  Her gain is less tangible, but infinitely more important - human interaction.  It doesn't seem to matter that Andy is the sole focus of the fleeting conversations elicited by their well rehearsed act, the human connection has been made, however temporary.  Having been witness to this for two years, I must confess that I know only half the duo's name.

     

     While Andy serves as a people passport for his owner, allowing her to actively engage others, my dog, Kona, has often served me as a confidant in my retreats from civilization.   In those times where individuals or mankind have disappointed and/or disgusted me, he has been there to patiently listen to my rants.  Confessing my own sins and innermost thoughts he responds with non judgemental love, sitting quietly next to me, often placing his head within easy petting distance upon my lap.

     My proclivity for solitary refuge is not only born out of the perceived negative behaviors of humanity.  I often find great joy walking about my farm's few acres, contemplating its next stage of development or simply enjoying the sights, smells and voices of nature.  Kona wanders about with me, sniffing out the social and travel nuances of the farm's resident and migrant populations - deer, squirrels, birds, and the occasional raccoon and fox.  (Unlike some visiting dogs, Kona has an innate respect for our resident bees and avoids hanging out directly in front of their hives.  Some of his friends have had to learn that there is a price to pay for sniffing too close to the hives entrance.)  At times I proclaim my considerations for the future out loud and he is yet to offer objections to any of them, allowing me to work through the list of potential gains and hazards for myself.  He is a natural teacher; a faithful friend.

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     I find the relative quiet of 2 a.m. holds the same attraction as walking the farm during the day. It provides space for uninterrupted thought.  Waking up in the middle of the night might be labeled as insomnia to some; to me it is a welcome chance to create, solve problems, and contemplate the nature of the universe and my place in it.  One morning last week I woke up around this time  and decided to design a mobile chicken coop utilizing pieces of scaffolding I scavenged from my neighbor's barn and that now lie in a pile northeast of the garden.  The process was worked out in my head, without the need for pencil and paper and, more importantly, without the need to leave the comfort of our warm bed.  While I was in the groove I came up with a basic framework for building a shelter for pigs that could also be easily moved around.  Solutions to fencing problems, brewing concerns, plumbing challenges, writing ideas, frequently manifest during this time.

        Sometimes at 2 a.m., in moments of priceless clarity, I have the opportunity to walk a short distance from those people, situations, and things to which I'm tethered, either by choice or imposition, to view and appreciate them for what they offer: a chance to express my humanity.