“Our animals shepherd us through certain eras of our lives. When we are ready to turn the corner and make it our own…they let us go.” Author Unknown
Tom dog came home to a young 11 year old boy. Now 26, Tom’s “boy” misses him the most.
We knew this day was coming. The average lifespan of a retriever is 10 years. Tom-dog was 14 years, 8 months when we said good-bye today.
He came home to our youngest son many years ago and was the grand-pup of our first retriever. In the learning hands of a growing boy he was trained into an outstanding hunter and companion.
Stephen and Tom with Tim and Blaze following successful Senior Hunter Qualifiers.
When his boy grew to manhood, left for college, got married and started his family, Tom stayed with us. In the years that have followed, this magnificent family member has been greeted by 3 rowdy grandkids that he loved dearly.
Tom-dog always loved kids. It is only fitting that Tom-dog’s grand-pup, Jake, now resides with Tom-dog’s first person and family.
Tom dog (R) walks with GrandThing 3 and Jake (L) Jake is Tom dog’s grand-pup.
Thought you might like Tim’s side of our morning photo shoot. His inclusion of a “backside” might deserve its own post response.
Ever wonder what is going on behind the scenes with other blogs? This is a little snippet in the life of The Backdoor Artist. If you are a follower of my blog, you probably already know that I am married to The Backdoor Artist, Mary Livingston.
Mary has a front row seat to our backyard with a large window facing out from her work space. It is a wonderful view. A view which often provides for visual treats. Yesterday she spotted a large buck across the pond. She posted this adventure complete with beautiful pictures here at, http://thebackdoorartist.com/2012/12/11/animal-attraction/.
Spotting this big old buck prompted frantic camera grabbing and stealthful sneaking out into the yard to photograph the buck. When he didn’t run away, we plotted to stalk our subject for more and better shots. More frantic activity ensued with changing of clothes and getting shoes on. We came…
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A buck in rut in the lower field.
As I sat down to paint this morning, movement in the field on the other side of the pond caught my attention. The distance, about 250 yards, from the window was a bit far for a nice shot. Tim and I quietly slipped around the south side of the dam, then belly crawled to get within 100 yards. This nice black-tailed buck in rut was watching a doe by one of the lower ponds.
The doe he was fixated on. She is pretty, can you blame him?
The buck stares longingly at the doe. He did not notice us at all.
We must have been a sight, laying on our bellies, in the rain soaked grass, stalking the deer for a photo. The buck did not notice us at all. He was captivated by her scent. She was nervous, people crawling through the grass and taking aim her way was more than she could stand. She bolted up the hill and over the ridge with him in hot pursuit.
Gotta sneak bliss when you can, even when people are watching.
When she fled to higher ground, he pranced after her.
They paused for a moment.
I predict twins in the spring.
One soppy morning, on our way to the hen house to gather chicken eggs, my oldest granddaughter was just the right height to spot movement in the tall stasis near the duck pen.
“Grandma, what’s that? Something moved.”
It caught my attention about the time she finished speaking. A newly hatched duckling was attempting to get back into the duck pen. On the other side, floating lifeless in the water was another newly hatched duckling. The pen was not a safe place for the hatchlings. I quickly rescued the living duckling and wrapped it in my top against my belly to keep it warm.
“Is it okay? Is the duckel’ing okay?” GrandThing1 was very worried.
We hurried back to the house where we gathered a storage bin, some rags and a heat lamp. When the makeshift brood box was ready, I slipped the little bird from under my top. 
My granddaughter’s eyes widened as she raised her delicate little hands in an open cup to receive the tiny baby.
“Oh, Grandma, it’s so cute. Hello, baby duckel’ing.” Reassured by her soft little voice, the duckling settled in. She cuddled it close.
“What will it eat?” She leaned over and whispered into her hands, “Are you hungry? Grandma, the duckel’ing is hungry.”
I dialed Grandpa’s cell and held the phone to her so she could leave a message.
“Grandpa, we need food for the baby duckel’ing.”
We placed the feathered baby into its brood box. GrandThing1 announced, “The duckel’ing needs a nap.” Off she rushed to where she napped during her visits.
I heard rustling, a little bit of grumbling, then, “Here it is!” Back she came with her favorite nap time storybook. She seated herself so the duckling could hear. Her little voice did not miss a beat retelling her memorized tale.
“Brown bear, brown bear…”
The Duckel’ing by GrandThing1. Of course now she says “duckling” it has been many birthdays since this event. We will always remember the “duckel’ing.”
Happy Birthday GrandThing1
Love,
Grandma
GrandThing1 and Grandma draw pictures together in a hangout.
An atmospheric river has settled in over California. We often call this the “pineapple express.” The winds are warm as the jet stream brings multiple water-laden storms one after another in from the south.
Three power poles snapped yesterday afternoon along the southwest side of our property. PG&E crews were on scene within a few hours and worked through the night. As of this post, still no power. We are using our mobile hotspot to check in with emails, posts and weather updates. Used a generator from the RV for our coffee.
Funny thing, people will tout this as climate change. Let me be clear, historically, this is not unusual for our area.
This was the view of our backyard at about 7 a.m. local time. The lights from the PG&E crews are impressive. Not to be outdone, the moonlight shows a bit through the broken clouds.
Power outage at our place. Happens every now and then, just a fact of life when living in a rural area. So out with the candles and lanterns. I just loved power outages as a kid, board games and ghost stories were sure to follow. But today, when the outage occurred I was painting a cover for a children’s picture book. The candles and lanterns did not cast enough light to paint, not a book cover anyway.
I decided to start a piece that’s been on my mind for a while. It was moving along nicely in the glow of the candlelight. Then it was time for fresh water. No water. We are on a well. No electricity = no water. I began plotting for water. Would it be decadent to paint with bottled water? Would the water in the pond be too muddy from the rains? Perhaps some water out of a downspout?
In the midst of plotting for a water source, Tim arrived and we discussed setting up the generator. He did get a little one out of our RV up for lights. Then voila…the power company had the main electricity back on. Isn’t that how it goes?
Work in progress being painted by candlelight.
Here is the ‘by candlelight’ work in progress. I may have to finish it by candlelight. For now, back to the book cover.
Humble thanks to The Forester Artist for nominating my blog for the Beautiful Blogger Award. I am blessed with his continued support and friendship He has a wonderful blog about “Creating art on the big canvas and the small ones too.”
It took me a few days to accept the nomination. You see, Tim is family. More on that upcoming in my Nov. 4 post, so stay tuned.
Rules:
1. Thank the person who nominated you
Thank you, Tim.
2. Post the award image to your page (see above)
3. Tell 7 facts about yourself
I met my husband (my best friend) on a blind date 32 years ago.
We have 2 wonderful sons, one of whom, along with his beautiful wife, have blessed us with 3 precious grandchildren.
I am a retired professional photographer.
I love dogs.
I enjoy creating.
I like my eggs fresh, store eggs need not apply. (Same goes for tomatoes.)
I pray.
4. Nominate 15 other bloggers, and let them know about the nomination
I chose the following bloggers because of how they inspire me in their recognition of beauty in the world. They may hesitate to accept publicly…believe me, I understand. Whether they accept or not, I want you to meet them, these people who live their gift and thereby bless the world with beauty.
Artistic Expression by Felicia Lilley
Drawing and Painting Hobe Sound
Congratulations and thank you for your contribution to the blogging community.
Bella arrived for her visit on Friday. It is almost 3 months since her sire, Hawk, suddenly died. Bella’s litter was born shortly thereafter. She is almost 10 weeks old.
When I saw the litter, she caught my attention, she has her papa’s soulful eyes. The litter owner chose to keep her. I would have made the same choice. There is something very special about a puppy. Something very healing. A puppy oozes bliss.
When I had a bad day of bone pain, Hawk would lay at my side. It was easier to breath through the ache. I often wondered if he would be big enough the help steady me as the bone disorder destroyed my ability to walk.
Earlier this year when my old girl died at 16½ (very old for a retriever), he spent the better part of two weeks staying by my side. Neither of us knew at that time that death would separate us so soon.
These passing weeks I have been haunted by dreams of his sound as he struggled for breath. In the palm of my hand I can still feel the cessation of his heartbeat. There was nothing we could do to save him. We could only help him pass when the struggle became suffering.
There was a moment, when his gaze held mine and it was clear he knew he was dying. He worried about me to the end.
Our pets are not like children. They are not people. They hold a different place in our hearts, their own place. Some people may not understand what I mean, that’s okay.
So, today, as I see the similarities to Hawk in his daughter, I can’t help but have that ache tug at my heart. I am not ready for another puppy. The time will come, but not now.
Bella is just here for a visit, she goes home tomorrow night. As you can see, she has her papa’s soulful eyes.
Hawk at 7½ weeks on the left. Bella at almost 10 weeks on the right.
As September begins, many are already calling the season autumn.
It is not fall.
Not yet.
It is still summer. The part when summer and autumn tug a bit. There is a nip in the air, yet some days, the heat of hot wind still parches the skin.
It is a restless time.
Change is coming. We have entered Summer’s Dusk.
Summer’s Dusk
© Mary Livingston
Photo: September moonrise over Millville Plains.
Mamiya RB67
Sneaking Bliss 