Sometimes, during a winter night, I will step out on the back porch and look around. I can see Highway 20 to the northeast. A low spot in the landscape allows me to observe vehicles traveling east and west for about 10 seconds before they are hidden by a rise on either side. The ones going west are only two bright headlights, like yellow saucers, while the eastbound show a long beam of white light stretching ahead of them into the darkness. I don’t walk out to the porch and watch the highway traffic a mile away because I am sad or happy. I do it just to observe. Watching motion in this world has always fascinated me. Waves rolling in and out, little birds flitting from tree to tree. Shadows starting long, getting short, then long again in the other direction during the course of a day. A steady summer rain splashing on a slow flowing river, geese flying right over your head while migrating, dogs playing with each other, a campfire burning nicely in front of you surrounded by friends. Back to the highway. There are some semitrailers outfitted with exterior lights that outline the whole truck, dozens of bright lights, making them look like they are ready for some mission in a superhero movie. I asked my son-in-law what was up with all the semi lights and he said none of them are required or necessary. They do it just to stand out in the night, to show off. But once you decorate your truck with them you better keep them all lit, because if any go out and you are caught by the state, you will be fined for faulty lights. Back to the porch. There go a couple more brightly lit semis, through my little viewpoint, off to the east and west. The wind is kicking up from the south, so I stand back against the house, looking again to the northeast and the highway. I feel the temperature dropping and turn to go inside. It is warm in there. Outside the wind blows and trucks keep passing by.
“And yet our struggles are intrinsically meaningful, and perhaps more important than our goals. Speaking for myself, anyway, I generally find that the satisfaction I get from an accomplishment—whether it’s a good piece of writing or winning a basketball game—is relatively brief and somewhat anticlimactic. The process, the striving, the struggle—that is the main thing, for that is what fills up our days and gives them a forward drive, something to live, to fight, and even to die for.”
Our college age daughter brought the dog down to us overnight. She left a note on the kitchen table that there was a surprise waiting for us outside. Shelly and I woke up the following morning, read the note and went outside to the fenced backyard. A beautiful black lab, about one year old, was waiting to greet us. She immediately ran away from me when I walked out. I sat in a chair on the deck and coaxed her over to me. After smelling me I petted her a bit, then she jumped up and put her paws on my shoulders, looking me straight in the eyes. I had passed the trust test.
Our daughter has named most of our dogs, and this one she named Marley, because the dog was black and chill, just like Bob Marley. Turned out Marley had a fine black coat, but was definitely not chill. Labs as a breed are produced for energy and stamina, to run and hunt for long amounts of time. Not so much to just take a leisurely walk around the block. Marley did not really start to relax and slow down until around 6 or 7 years old. After struggling for several years with different leashes and even a full body harness for walks we decided she was just not built for the city and we would take her out to the woods or lake where she could run free.
I don’t think I have had a dog with so many aliases: Marley Maples, Marles Barkley, Girly Girl, Ooooold Lady, Marley Girl, (and along with our other dog Steve: Thing 1 and Thing 2, Marley being Thing 1) Honey, Sweetie, Baby, The Marlinator, Pooper, and I imagine some I have forgotten.
When we were finally ready to move to the country Marley was right there with us, riding along in one of the packed vans in the little empty space I left for her, trip after trip. She took to country living very well, chasing the rabbits around our acreage like she had the squirrels in our backyard in the city.
During the last couple of years her age began showing, her muzzle getting grayer, loosing teeth, going deaf, skipping meals, having accidents in the house and, during the last six months the onset of some kind of dementia. A few mornings she would wander off, with Steve following, clear down to the acreage to the east, about half a mile away, slowly walking back home when she was good and ready. She was almost 15 when we decided to put her down on February 21. She took it well, always trusting us, up to the end.
I remembered a touching little essay about a dog from years ago that ran in an Ann Landers column. I found it online:
A DOG`S PLEA
Treat me kindly, my beloved friend, for no heart in all the world is more grateful for kindness than the loving heart of me.
Do not break my spirit with a stick, for though I might lick your hand between blows, your patience and understanding will more quickly teach me the things you would have me learn.
Speak to me often, for your voice is the world`s sweetest music, as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail when the sound of your footstep falls upon my waiting ear.
Please take me inside when it is cold and wet, for I am a domesticated animal, no longer accustomed to bitter elements. I ask no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth.
Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst.
Feed me clean food that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my life, should your life be in danger.
And, my friend, when I am very old and I no longer enjoy good health, hearing and sight, do not make heroic efforts to keep me going. I am not having any fun. Please see to it that my life is taken gently. I shall leave this Earth knowing with the last breath I draw that my fate was always safest in your hands.
Once a month I highlight a piece of art I have created and posted on my Fine Art America site. This one is titled The Planeter from the Faces and Beings Collection.
It’s been one year since I wrote on this blog and I decided to start it up again. We have been doing well, riding out the ups and downs like everyone else.
During last summer I noticed one of our big ash trees had a huge, old wound in the trunk, which was obscured by lilac bushes growing around it. The wound penetrated at least two-thirds through the trunk. Looking at the lilt of the tree it appeared that if it were to fall it would most likely hit our house and then possibly crash down on our septic system. A tree trimmer we hired took it down for $2,400. While walking around our acreage we noticed most of the other ash trees were dead or dying. Emerald Ash Borer has hit our part of Iowa hard and most of the ash trees in our area are dead. There are around ten or so on our property, and all need to come down, except the biggest one, which I paid to have treated. For right now that was much cheaper than having it taken down.
Our garden last year was about the worst we have ever had, very few tomatoes or peppers, but gigantic zucchinis for some reason. It was a hot, dry summer.
Fall was very short-lived, turning cold early. Shelly and I were feeling pretty ill just before Thanksgiving, and we both tested positive for Covid-19. The worst of it continued for a couple of weeks, and we both experienced lasting effects such as headaches, weakness, coughing and shortness of breath. Things have mostly cleared up by now.
Winter came on strong and windy and snowy. I had never experienced a three-day blizzard until just before last Christmas. When it was over, on Christmas Eve day, there were some snow drifts 6 feet tall along the east side of the house, across the driveway, and two in the parking lot. The west side of the machine shed was buried up to the roof. Farmer Johnson drove up that day on his tractor equipped with a bucket loader on the front and a double auger snow thrower on the back, and he was able to scoop and blow out the driveway and parking lot for us. He is a generous man who never asks anything in return. We give him and his wife baked bread and goodies, as well as produce from our garden when we can. He always says “I don’t help you to earn goodies!” and we always reply “We know! This is just what we do!”
We are really looking forward to spring and warmer weather, which should be right around the corner…as could be another snow storm.
Off The Back Porch 