Saturday, September 07, 2002
I took the dogs for a walk along "my country road". It is down the hill from my home and meanders along the creek then up a hill along a farm where drought-stunted corn is growing this year.
At a certain point the road cuts through a wooded section with neighboring homes far enough away to give the illusion of wilderness. The canopy of tall trees shade the road here and birds are usually chattering. But today it is eerily quiet for an early moring. Only on the way back did I hear the raucous vocalizations of sparring blue jays and a few unknown chitters. (Has West Nile killed the birds?) I haven't walked along the road most of the summer because of the heat and West Nile. It is particularly buggy at this section of road, but not today.
We move to the berm for the occasional passing car or pickup truck. Patti, the black lab wearing the invisible fence collar, who lives on a corner property, greets us at the edge of her boundary. We walk over, the dogs for a sniff while I stroke her head and chest as she leans against my legs.
The dogs had just had a bath at the kennel so I didn't let them swim in the creek. It is a little chilly anyway so they are not overheated.
At the crest of the hill by the farm, the trees are cleared and the sun is hot. I notice the wild flowers growing at the edge of the road, blue chicory, mauve clover, white Queen Anne's lace, an occasional yellow bloom of a dandilion. The dogs want to go into the fields but I don't let them because of ticks. So we stick to the road and turn around at telephone pole that marks the beginning of the downward slope of the other side of the hill. Patti is not outside on the return trip.
I stop and let the dogs off their leashes at the bottom of the driveway and make a faggot of downed sycamore branches scattered around its trunk, securing them with one of the leashes. Christopher is not a help, jumping up trying to snag one of the hoisted branch in his jaws. Sometimes he succeeds pulling the bunch downward but I have learned to expect it and keep firm grip. I have a compost heap where my property slopes steeply down to the road. There used to be heavy erosion here, but since I have started heaping branches, leaves and weeding cuttings there, that has stopped.
The three of us are tired. I am typing on my laptop in my adjustable bed and the dogs are sleeping amidst the pillows piled on the bed to protect our actual sleeping pillows. Barkus is truly exhausted and sleeping with a soft, rasping breath. Chris could be more active but he is resting because we are and occasionally looks over at me to see if I am ready to get up. He was the one who insisted that I take them for a walk. I wanted to stay in bed but he barked and nudged until I got up!
I am glad that he did.
Rosalind 11:24 AM
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