It was Miss Smudge’s third visit to the veterinary clinic in Midway, as I recall — a routine exam, post-spay. The old vet, one of the most agreeable I’ve ever worked with, expressed concern that my Heeler might be developing neurological issues.
He demonstrated how she wasn’t responding to (or even reacting to) certain visual and auditory stimuli, and he urged me to monitor her carefully. The condition, he said, was sure to progress.
After returning to the motorhome in Harrison, I tossed her ball around the dimly lit confines and proved that there wasn’t a damned thing wrong with her vision. What the vet and I had witnessed was Smudge’s now-familiar (and rather spooky) ability to tune out and shut down, like some canine android that suddenly has been switched off.
In the two years since that day, she’s shown me thousands of times that she is, in fact, neurologically exceptional.
And that brings me to the story of an experience early yesterday morning. It’s illustrated with photos that I took five minutes after it happened, since I didn’t have my phone with me at the time.
Smudge and I were seated at the picnic table. This was our view to the west (1x resolution):
Looking in that direction, past the woodpile and across the road, she began to bark. It wasn’t her squirrel alarm, either — by the sound of it, I suspected she’d seen a deer. I looked that way myself but couldn’t pick it out.
Here’s an image at 2x zoom:
Smudge kept barking. I kept scanning.
And then I saw it — this is at 3x zoom:
Maybe my Heeler had seen the doe’s head bob or an ear twitch. Camouflaged in the brush 75 yards away, this is what she fixed her gaze on (10x zoom):
I find that remarkable.
We watched a long time. The deer didn’t move a muscle. I put the dog in the cabin and came back out with my phone, on the off-chance that the doe was still there.
She was. I captured these images then, including this one at 30x zoom:
What a great way to start my Thursday.
You wouldn’t think that a few measly degrees’ difference in the overnight low would have much of an effect on regulating our comfort in the cabin, but it does. We got lucky yesterday and started with an advantage we hadn’t enjoyed recently.
Ten days from now, we’ll wake up in the 60s. Better yet.
Days are getting shorter. We’ve already lost 27 minutes of light since the Solstice little more than a month ago. The sun still rises in the northeast (65° ENE this morning, 5° south of the Solstice) and it sets in the northwest (295° WNW), so it’s still decidedly summertime. But the march toward autumn is on.
It can’t come soon enough, as far as I’m concerned.
I look forward to flannel shirts and blankets and the smell of wood smoke. I can’t wait to get back into the woods, walking and working.
I miss my long views, of course.
Right now there’s an ever-so-small window in the trees, visible from my “front porch” down by the shed, through which I get a peek at the valley below and the ridge beyond. It teases me, and yet it encourages me.
It gives me hope for better days.
Better days?
I excused myself from Smudge, walked down to the shed and sat in the shade awhile. It was shortly before 11am. The temperature there was perfect for relaxing, and the moment was right for contemplating better days.
Birdsong filled the air. The softest of breezes carried the scent of a warm summer day in the woods. Overhead, the richest greens and deepest blues. Peace consumed me.
These are the best days.
They’ll be even better once the divorce is behind me, which, according to the Marion County docket, will be two months from today. As yet, I’ve heard nothing from the other side — a tactic, perhaps, to give me as little time as possible to respond.
What I do know is that this is my home. It’s great to be here.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable