Rosie's Tale

I started a writing group 2 years ago.  Six other women gather once/month at each others home.  The "host", or the gal who's home we go to for that month, must come up with the prompt that we will all create a write for.  We then read them aloud to each other and have a potluck dinner after.  This month our friend's prompt was to "write a children's story".  And this is what I wrote. 

Rosie’s Tale (Or How Rosie Lost Her Tail)

Rosie

I was born under the porch of Mr. and Mrs. who lived in Alabama where the weather was warm and dry when I was born.  It was comfortable under the porch in a dirt hole with two brothers and my mom close by.  I couldn’t open my eyes for the first few weeks but I could feel my siblings and I could smell my mom and find her when I was hungry. 

As I began to get my legs under me and find my balance, my two brothers and I began to explore the world beyond the dirt hole and out from under the porch.  The Mr. wasn’t horrible to us.  Often he would stop as he walked through the yard to pat us or play with us.  The Mrs. would yell from the screen door for him to  “stop petting those disgusting puppies!”   She was not friendly and we soon learned to stay away from her or you might get kicked out of her way.

One day my mother found a full garbage bag that had fallen out of the trash bin near the gate to the back alley.  The crows had ripped it open and there were chicken bones and gristle in that bag.  We made a beeline for it and mom let us root around in that bag with her.  That’s when the Mrs. came running and screaming with a broom over her head.  I didn’t want to drop my juicy chicken leg so I didn’t move fast enough.  WHAM! She just missed hitting me with that broomstick when I leaped away!  I took off running across the yard.   I saw Mr. on the porch with the door to the house open.  All I wanted to do was get away from that stick so I scrambled up the steps with Mrs. chasing right behind me!   

I hadn’t quite gotten all the way through the door when Mr. slammed the door and caught my tail in it.   There was a horrible crunching sound and tremendous pain.  I yelped and started to howl.  Mr. quickly opened the door but it was too late.  My tail was busted and hanging at a weird angle. There was blood spurting everywhere. 

“Get that dog out of here!! The Mrs. growled as she bolted through the door. ““Look at the mess that thing made all over my floor!”

With me still screaming, Mr. scooped me up in a towel, and took me out to the shed.

There he picked up a big axe and chopped my busted and dangling tail off.  I howled even louder. He was kind and almost gentle as he wrapped my tail in a cloth to try and stop the bleeding.  As I whimpered and cried he wrapped me back up in the bloody towel and tucked me under the workbench.  I curled into a tight ball and tried to fall asleep.  I just wanted to get away from the pain.

The following morning I could hear Mrs. yelling from inside the house that the Mr. had to get rid of “all those puppies!  Get them out of my yard!”  

Mr. began scooping up my 2 brothers and me into a wheel barrel with steep, slippery sides that we couldn’t climb out of.  Our mother was walking around the wheel barrel crying and trying to get to us but he pushed her away.  He rolled us through the alley gate and shut it quickly to keep mom from following us.  We could hear her barking as he rolled us towards the river on the other side of town.  I was still in so much pain that I just laid on the bottom of the wheel barrel while my brothers continued to try to scramble over the side making little squeaky puppy barks.

 

At the river there was a man fishing.  He looked over at the Mr. and asked, “whatcha’ gonna to with them puppies?”

“I’m gonna put ‘em in this sack,” Mr. said, holding up an old burlap bag.

“I”ve got to find a rock to put in there with ‘em and throw the whole thing into the river.  The Mrs. doesn't want ‘em around anymore.  Breaks my heart but I gotta do it”.

“Hmmm”, says the fisherman, “I’ll take those puppies from you, if you’d like me to”.

And so my brothers and I were put into the arms of a stranger.

This stranger worked at a place where there were lots of other dogs and even more puppies.  My brothers and I were quickly put into a small room with a cement floor and chicken wire for walls.  There were a lot of these rooms and we could see many of the other dogs in all the other rooms through the wire.  There was water and food and some blankets to lay on. It was warmer in this room than it was outside so I curled up on the blankets that were in the corner.  

The next morning  I was taken to a very bright room with a tall table where a woman unwrapped my tail and began to put gunk on it.  I didn’t want her touching my tail and tried to get away from her.  She was gentle but strong and kept talking to me in a soothing voice, “You’re going to be OK little girl.  Just let me take care of you and finish up here.”  

She then wrapped the stump of my tail in a clean cloth and put a needle into my leg and pushed liquid through it.  I had to admit I felt much better after she had taken care of me!

We were treated nicely in this new cement home and my tail healed well.  It looked funny and was hard for me to wag it when I was happy but at least it didn’t hurt anymore. This new home had friendly people who would laugh when they saw my little stump wiggle back and forth.  It wasn’t a real tail wag but people seemed to understand that I was happy.  DIfferent people would pick me up and tell me I was funny looking but still pretty cute as they took me outside to play.  There was always plenty of water and food for us in this new home.  We grew bigger and stronger in this place.

When I was three months old all of the puppies in this new home were gathered up.  My brothers and I were put into a very small box with little tiny windows that we could see out of.  We were then put into the back of a big car.  It began to move.  For several days this van was moving with occasional stops to give us fresh water, more food and a chance to run around on a leash. 

We were all taken to a new cement home in a country that was really cold with white stuff on the ground that froze my paws if I stepped in it!  I hated going outside in this cement home!  It was too cold!  

One day my brothers and I were picked up by two girls and carried into a room where a man and woman were sitting on the floor.  There were toys in this room and my brothers immediately began to fight over some of them.  The man was sitting with his legs crossed.  I could see a light that seemed to be coming from inside of him and spreading out over the entire room.  He had a gentle energy about him.  This light kept pulling me towards him and into his lap! I wanted to be with this man!

My brothers would see me there and come and push me off the man only to go back to their toys. But I kept going back to his lap.  

He said to the woman, “I really like that one over there”, as he pointed at my bigger brother.

The woman gently laughed and said, “but look who is in your lap”.

He looked down at me and I looked up at him.  I wiggled the stump of my tail.

“That little tail-less one has come back into your lap three times, Dave”.

“She has?”

“Yes”

“Well then, I guess this little one is choosing us!’ he said

 “I know she is!” the woman replied.

They took me out to another car and wrapped me into a big warm coat.  The man pulled me right over to his side and I immediately felt warm and safe so I fell asleep.

I knew this was my new home with this man, Dave, and this woman, Mary, and my name is Rosie.

I vowed from the moment these people took me home that I would be the best dog I could be for them.  

I’m an older dog now but I’ve had a wonderful life filled with long walks off leash through woods and fields.  I’ve been fed good food every day and given lots of treats. I also get a lot of hugs, get snuggled into warm blankets when I’m cold and feel so much love.  I’m still a little nervous going in and out of open doors but I’ve learned not to be afraid of big sticks or brooms.  No one has ever hurt me again.

OH!  And I've learned to really like this cold white stuff! 

Let the Wind Carry Me

 In the morning I read my choice letters that tell me of the world and US politics.  These voices are informed and educated views spreading facts in honest and straight forward terms.  And it's horrible.  It's mind blowing and my heart feels shredded as I read, and view the images, of the horrors humans are inflicting on each other in distant lands. 

Yet, here at home there are horrors too.  The current Republican party has been taken over by extreme zealots hell bent on destroying our democracy.  And the anger that morphs into brutality of anyone who is not white or male has become unhinged.  My mind is blown as I grapple with trying to understand the "why" of all this.  I feel hobbled and overwhelmed and insignificant as I wonder what can possibly be done to turn this around.  This darkness seems to have been released by those who condone it and operate from greed and the need for power.  How do we send that hate back into the black holes it emerged from?

Yesterday I took to my woods.  A walk that was slow and deliberate.  I listened as the trees sang to me of the wind.  They told me to send my prayers into their canopy so the wind could carry them greater distances.  I listened to the streams giggling and babbling over rocks and under felled trees and I was reminded to flow, to dance around and over the feelings that easily become obstacles that paralyze me.   I watched an Eagle soar over my mountain and was reminded to rise above it all and to give my prayers to that majestic bird who would "take them straight up.  They see what's needed".

And so I sent my prayers into the wind, asking that those in the horrors of a hell be released soon.  I gave my prayers to the Eagles and asked that Grace fill those hurting hearts with some kind of peace so that they might survive the atrocities raining down on them. 

I prayed that the evil and hatred that fills this world right now be overpowered by the good in so many others.  I asked that my prayers join with all of yours to fill the wind and spread throughout the land and beyond.  A vibrational Universal wave of goodness and love soaring around the globe and blanketing with light the blackness that is sucking and consuming too much.

It was all I could think to do at this time.                                                                                                      I pray that it's enough ... for now.

 I’m always asked, “why do you get up so early?”

It started when Jim was sick.  Like clockwork I knew he would wake at 7:00 and my day would begin.  As I entered the bedroom Jim would be sitting on the edge of the bed staring at nothing.  Sometimes there were tears.  I wondered if in his dreams he was running trails with our dog or pounding his bike up Blackstrap mountain.  Waking brought him back to this horrid reality.  I would gently help him to the bathroom, hanging close while he did his morning routine then helped him walk back to the bedroom.   As he sat on the bed I would hold up a shirt, “this one?”.  The sweater, yes?  No?  The pants.  Together we’d dress him in his chosen outfit, with me assisting him in putting that bent and stiff right arm into the arm holes, lifting and aiming his right leg into the pants, slipping on his socks and tying his shoes.  Now dressed we would head towards the stairs.  I would position myself in front, a stair or two lower, acting as a spotter in  hopes I could catch him should he slip, or miscalculate the next step or lose his tight one-handed grip on the railing, or any number of things that could go horribly wrong with his severely compromised body.  This was just the beginning of the long day ahead of taking care of this man who once was an amazing athlete.

So during those days I would slide out of bed early.  If I got up at 3:00 I had 4 blessed hours to myself.  I’d tiptoe down to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee.  With a steaming cup in hand I’d walk into the living room and open the laptop to check emails and facebook, then I would begin writing my blog.  Jim had a very large and amazing community of friends and business associates who were following these blogs in order to stay in touch with how Jim was doing.  I’d sit there, watching the tequila cocktail of colors fill the horizon as the sun rose over Casco Bay.   The first Crow, of the family of 4 that I fed, would land in the White Pine tree, directly in my vision to inform me it was time for their breakfast.   At 7:00 I could hear the bed creak overhead and knew my quiet time was over.

So, why do I continue to get up so early?  

Because I love the early morning hours.  They ask nothing of me.  There’s a hush that needs to be kept.  A calm that cannot be disrupted.  There’s the ritual of making coffee and a peace that the darkness brings.  In these wee hours just before dawn there is the promise of the coming light.  It seeps into the blackness; the stars blink out and the mountain’s silhouette begins to show.  The trees become woodcut etchings against the changing light in the sky that turns black to pink and then to a hint of blue.  As the sun climbs higher the summit of “my” mountain reflects the light, shimmering in a rosy glow, sometimes fuchsia, changing to gold.  The light travels down the slope of the mountain and spreads into the valley .  Now the morning feels old; it’s time to start the chores of the day.

But early morning, when the night begins to pull away, there are no demands, only silence before beginning another day.

And this is why I get up so early.

The Chickadees

 Sometimes if we share something sacred it loses its power.   Other times it is a salve for someone else and thus an important experience to share.  Today I share with you a sacred experience that happened the first of January of 2023.

I walk with Rosie every day.  When the lake is frozen I love to walk out onto the ice where there is a wonderful view of the mountains that create this valley.  Rosie loves to hug the shoreline and explore a muskrat lodge. It appears she can hear them inside it.  When the ice shifts there is an amazing song that vibrates across the lake … at times it booms.  I’ve witnessed Rosie several times stopping to stare down at the ice and then she jumps at it, much like a fox diving head first into the snow after a mouse. Without the deep snow Rosie simply bangs the ice with her front paws, creating more sound and more intrigue for her with more front paw banging.  It never ceases to have me laughing out loud when she does this.

On this one day there was not much snow pack so I was able to hike across the frozen lake and onto the trails without cumbersome snow shoes.  From across the lake I headed into our trails that meander through varied terrain of our acreage.  As I chose a trail that would eventually head back to the house a Chickadee flew by me very close and landed in a branch right at eye level.  I love Chickadees.  The Black Capped Chickadee is here in Maine year round and recognized as Maine's State bird.  Sweet, small, with a black cap and gray body they have many different voices with one that sounds like their name, “dee-dee-dee”.  During mating season they give a melodic “fee-bee, fee-bee”, always a blessed sound of spring.

This one little bird caught my attention and with it sitting so close to me I stopped to talk with it.  At this point the tree filled with many little birds, a flock of Chickadees.  They flitted and swirled all over the branches.  I stood smiling at all of them when a few began to fly around me.  I felt no aggression, only amazement as they flew so close I could hear their small wings and feel the air that they created in this flight.  This lasted for several minutes until Rosie realized I wasn’t behind her and came charging back down the trail, which sent the birds scattering. 

As I headed home I chose one more trail that wouldn’t be a direct line to the house but allowed us to extend this walk a bit longer.  Once again a chickadee caught my attention and landed in a branch that overhung the trail beside me.  I stopped and watched in amazement as the tree filled with this flock.  

“Are you all following me?” I whispered? 

And a few birds flew to me and back to the branch.  With Rosie running back to me she scattered the birds once more.  They didn't revisit me again for the rest of the walk. 

The next day Rosie and I needed to do a longer walk.  Sometimes this will  mean heading down the skimobile trail in the opposite direction of our trails.  A half mile from the house I reached the peak of the first rise when the Chickadees returned to me!  I stood in awe as they filled a tree beside me for a third time. I closed my eyes and whispered my gratitude to them as I felt little wings on my face as they swirled around me.  

I just stood there astounded at these little beings that were insistent on getting my attention once more and then honoring me with their trust as they flew so close to me.

Chickadees are the one bird easy to “tame” with a bit of food.  With a little coaxing and patience you can get them to land on your hand and take the food from you.  But on these two days I carried only dog treats, no seeds for these feathered friends. I was offering them nothing to feast on.  Nor did I feel any aggression from them.  This was not mating season or nesting season for these birds and even if it was they would not be protecting a nest as an entire flock like this!

For me this was a spiritual sign, a message.  Over the course of my years I have been graced with many signs from the animal kingdom.  These messages are gifts to me and I have learned to accept the message that is being offered; to learn and grow from it.

Here is the Chickadees message:

One of the primary gifts of the Chickadee Spirit Animal is simple joy and a sense of serenity. If life has been far more complicated than it need to be, Chickadee's presence is like a breath of fresh air. Take it in! Put down those worries for a little while and listen to the Chickadee's lilting song; the bird also portends better things are on the horizon for you, particularly good news.

Call on your inner Chickadee Power when you want to stick to the absolute, fundamental truth in any matter. The lines in the sand are clear, and you need to walk them with dignity and honor.

This was absolutely the message I needed to absorb, to trust and to embrace. At that time I was struggling with a lot of family drama and being shown who one family member was. I had to believe her and this was difficult for me to accept. My heart, head and spirit was hurting as I had to navigate this new information and the nefarious deeds that had been done against me and my other siblings.

The Chickadee's message was so powerful at that time, so intuitively correct for me that I reached for it several times over the course of months.

Today I still struggle with letting go, but as the Chickadee promised better things have come and I live with gratitude every day.

 

Sex on the Trails

 We live a short walk from a discontinued road that is now an ATV trail in the summer and a skimobile trail in the winter.  When the sleds have traveled it the trail is hard packed and wonderful to walk on.  Near the house the trail is maintained by our local ATV/Snowmobile club.  A mile and a half away it connects with the ITS (Interconnected Trail System) which runs throughout the entire state of Maine.  This means Rosie and I can certainly get a lot of miles in if we feel up for it!

At least once a week I like to go out for a longer walk, 5-7 miles, on these trails and just see what’s doing in the neighborhood.  A light snow shows signs of the Fisher that travels off the mountain and comes across the trail.  This might be the same g/gal who travels through the back of our property.  Weasel tracks dart in and out of small holes and a small red fox loves to walk this trail too. 

Two weeks ago Rosie and I were about one mile from the house when I began to see urine markings along the small snowbank the snowmobiles and the groomer created.  This first marking was obviously a male that had lifted his leg and spread his yellow urine for a couple steps.  The squiggly line looked like the animal was trying to write his name in the snow!  Coyote tracks all over the trail helped me identify the culprit.  There were also the tell tail scratch marks of his hind legs “ground scratching” to spread the scent as well as demonstrate dominance.  Only a few steps later there was urine with blood in it.  More male marking and then more female marking with her blood.  She’s in heat!  It’s coyote mating season!

Coyotes, similar to wolves, mate for life and raise the pups together.  Unlike wolves they do not form a pack but form a “family”.  Coyotes usually travel and hunt alone although we have seen the mated alpha couple hunting together in our field.  The males will leave the family within six to nine months and strike off for their own territory.  The females may stay with their parents for a longer period of time eventually dispersing to find mates before the next breeding season. Thus the difference between the "family" and the "pack".

Rosie had a lot of interest in all this urine and she demonstrated her own “ground scratching” even without urinating.  Not sure what she was trying to prove but it fascinated me all the same.

So our neighborhood coyote pair are mating!   Their pups will be born at the end of March or first of April.  WIthin a month the pups will be weaned and then the parents will work together to feed them regurgitated food until they are big enough to learn to hunt for themselves.  It might be fun if we get to see the little ones in the field down front learning to hunt mice. 

Yesterday I headed out again towards where I had witnessed the urine marks. I wanted to see if there were any more signs of coyotes.  There were!  At the same place where there had been urine markings there was now an amazing amount of coyote tracks in the middle of the trail with the trail dug up in two different places.  This was obviously signs of some kind of tussle.  There was no blood, so if this was a fight for dominance it wasn’t real serious.  Nor were there any signs of a kill since there was no hair, feathers or blood.   Were these signs of the male mating with the female?  I have no idea and can only piece together the clues and make guesses.  This had happened recently as these tracks were created after the dusting of snow we had gotten in the early morning. I am aware that the coyote is going to be more aggressive during mating season and although I wasn’t really worried or feeling any fear I did find myself  taking note of any large branches that had fallen along the trail as a possible defense tool just in case! 

I do love our trails out here.  It is a wild land with acres and acres of wooded countryside and miles before any other houses exist along these trails.  There is far too much logging of it, in my humble opinion, as landowners here seem to see the trees as a commodity vs living beings. We vow to the trees on our acreage that they are safe and we will continue to let them grow; only cutting what we need to heat our home in the winter and preferring to take the standing dead or downed trees before cutting the live ones. 

These trails hold stories for me to witness who I walk this land with.  Rarely do I see other human tracks and this is fine with me.  I relish being out here alone with my dog and all the other beings who share, what feels like, sacred space with us.

2023

 4:00 am and 18 degrees Fahrenheit.  It's cold.

The snow sounds like the squeaking of styrofoam as I walk out onto the deck.  

There has been a light dusting of snow.  Two inches, not nearly enough for folks in these mountains who love their winter sports, but enough to reflect the waning full moon and its blue-white light creating a world with shadows from trees that look like wood etchings.  The treetops on the mountain shimmer under the moon, reflecting the topping of frozen confection of snow and ice. 

The stars actually twinkle.  I stare at one trying to decide if it's moving, not wanting to mistake the flashing and sparkle for a plane.  It is such a bright star that it's truly blinking and winking in this cold morning air.

I step out here every morning to send my prayers on the breeze to be carried across this valley and over the mountains. Calling in the Spirits to hear my prayers for a better world, peace to those who struggle in this life.  Asking that the anger and dark hearts of too many be filled with more love.  Asking for guidance for me in holding onto trust that all will be OK.  Trusting that the wish to "send help!" is heard.  

"What you practice becomes stronger."  I choose to practice gratitude.  I choose to practice kindness.  I choose to practice honesty.  I choose to practice faith and trust in this wide Universe and to stand in silence, on this deeply cold morning in the light of this brilliant moon.  I choose to practice gratitude.

Mornings in the mountains

 On these cold, clear mornings I rise early in the dark; the "bewitching hour" as some think of it.  I get the coffee going and then walk out onto the frost covered deck.  The quarter moon has set so the stars in our world blaze brilliantly in a sky free from all light pollution.   I stand still to let my eyes adjust and then look for the Hunter with his bejeweled belt, standing century in the east.  

Over the top of the mountain I find Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, one of my favorite constellations.  These sisters turn my thoughts to my own sisters.  I mourn the loss of one of them, not that she is gone from this world but she has chosen to be gone from my life.  I send prayers asking for help with the navigation to forgiveness for myself and my own peace as well as peace for what remains of my family.

I search for the Big Dipper, tilted and spilling over these days.  I follow the arch of its handle to the bright star, Arcturus ... "Arch to Arcturus" as I was taught.  Arcturus now hovers, barely visible, on top of the mountains that frame this valley.

I breathe in and stare in wonder at the Universe that is on display for me on these mornings.  I raise my arms in greeting to my ancestors, and to all the loved ones gone from this world and so greatly missed.  In this season of "thanks giving" I send my thanks up into the heavens, gratitude for all that I have, all the love that I am embraced by, all the blessings bestowed on me over all these years.

My dog, Rosie, now jams herself between my legs reminding me that it's cold as I feel her shivering.  I bend low to hold her tight with my thighs and to wrap my arms around her.  She wiggles with delight but continues to shiver.  I ask her, "want to go inside?" and she is at the door before I have time to stand up.  Back inside, with a hot cup of coffee, I return to a warm bed.

Mornings in the mountains.

(Photo credit, David B. Lovejoy @ Lobster Lake)