DON’T TREAD ON US or How our Old Drum came home

So many changes in so little time. Seems that once a year around the same time is my new pattern, for writing here. We lost our ancient cat, Phoebe (22 years old ) and our wonderful Apple, my Golden Retriever, this past year. I admit I am never good at saying goodbye. I love deep and hard. Both of them laid down in my lap, just weeks apart from each other, and left this world. 

Each of my animal friends is a story, a wonderful part of our lives here. Phoebe was here all the way through every change. She was part of our life before I found my horses. She walked in to the house one day and “schooled” my dogs with one wack and that was that. She owned the place and made that very clear. They all slept together every night on the sofa or a pile of pillows in the corner, gently snoring and farting with contentment. And all of them brought laughter to our lives too, watched John and I move in to our sixties and then seventies. We all got old together.

Apple was my girl, always with me. I never moved in to a room without her next to me, or outside for chores. She was loyal and silly, loving and could never resist a dip in the pond Summer or Winter. She was glossy, beautiful both inside and out. And she left this world with the same grace that she entered our lives, with her eyes on me and her tail wagging to the end.

For a while it was hard to breathe. Loosing two best friends in a week was overwhelming. And then I began a search. Our Scout was bereft without his Apple. He could not figure out where she was, spent his time looking off down the road and waiting. He had never been apart from her. I needed to find a friend for Scout, a puppy to give us a challenge. Et voila! I found Sir Paddington, aka Paddi, aka Officer Paddi (said with a Scottish accent of course), or last but never least Paddywack. 

His name came from his amazing resemblance to a bear. I found him on a Craigslist ad, with all of his brothers and sisters. He was all the way to the Ozarks and Missouri just outside a little town called Garden City, where the famous trials of Old Drum happened just after the Civil War. He even lived on a road called Old Drum, after a hunting dog. As we drove out to his birth home we passed the courthouse with a bronze of Old Drum in front and a road side stone and monument to Old Drum. So it was a given that our journey was epic.

We drove in terrible storms all the way there and back, hours of lightning, wind and rain. It rocked and rolled all day long. When we at last arrived, in our ancient truck, we had to take two detours to avoid floods. And it turns out that Paddington was born just down the road from the home of Old Drum. How prophetic is that?! 

Paddington came straight to me, sat on my foot, and said, “ I knew you were coming. I waited. “ That’s the way it always is. My dogs call me and I go find them and bring them home. But he did that to John too, went over to him, wagged his tail, smiled and sat on his foot. Not one of the other puppies did that. They were all sweet but not very interested in us. Sir Paddington was, met us at the door and made it clear he was ready to go. 

He slept in my arms all the way home, three hours of crossing flooded spill ways and driving in thunderstorms. He never once complained, just slept like he was relieved I’d found my way to him. He was on his way to his forever home and he was content.

Eulogy of the Dog 

Gentlemen of the jury: The best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it the most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him and the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his dog.

Gentlemen of the jury: A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens.

If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death.

I thought about naming Paddington Old Drum in honor of his neighboring ghost . Didn’t seem to fit. But he is an exceptional dog, of course as are all of the spectacular dogs we have in our lives. He is growing by leaps and bounds, in to his huge paws. He is part Great Pyrenees, part Anatolian Shepard, part Komondor and part Brindle Treeing Cur Dog, a breed well known in his part of Missouri. His coat is unlike any dog’s coat I’ve ever seen. It’s curling, soft and glossy with all the dog colors. He’s kind of like a dog rainbow, with black, grey, white, brown, red, and blond spots all over. He is surprisingly calm too. At his Vet check the entire staff had to come meet him, he was so easy going. 

He still spends time sitting on one or the other of our feet. He called and we came to get him.

You’re waiting for me to talk about politics. This is my way of doing just that. I am an American. We live in the middle of the best country in the world. Our politics have been messed up during this entire administration and before that too. But we persevere with our dogs by our sides, and all of us willing to fight for what we believe in. Our Scout and Paddington are big, strong, loyal and willing. So are our horses. We stand our ground here. This is our hill.

DON’T TREAD ON US.