I saw this field out of the corner of my eye, driving home with Maria from the train in Albany. Something inside of me was freed when I began taking pictures, and I glanced at the light on the tall grass, the silos of the farm off the road, and the sky behind it. Everything was in place for this landscape, including the 35 mm lens I was carrying on the camera for New York City. I didn’t really need it there, but I was glad I had it here. I put the camera on the Aperture setting and fiddled a bit, closing up the lens to keep the sun from overpowering the photo (f/6.3 1/160).
I went out with Lenore to feed the chickens this morning, and she hopped up on the Pig Barn stairs and I told her “photoshoot” and Lenore went right to sleep.
“Lenore,” I said, “many people are complaining to me that I haven’t been putting a lot of photos of you and Frieda up lately. I tried to explain to them that losing Izzy and Rose, I suspect I just haven’t been in the mood for dog photos lately. I think when Red arrives at the end of the month it might be different. But I don’t take orders for photos, I take what I feel like taking. I’m not going to force it, just because people want to be entertained.”
Lenore sniffed and said, a bit sharply, “well, why don’t you tell them to take their own photos of dogs and put them up on their own blogs. At their own expense. Or better yet, go on over to petfinder.org. A million dogs there.”
“Ouch,” I said, “that’s not very nice. Not really in keeping with the Hound Of Love thing. This is part of social media. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Well, my motto is if you aren’t paying for it, you don’t get to grouse,” said Lenore, yawning. “And perhaps some understanding is good. Since Rose and Izzy died I don’t feel like posing much either. Maybe that’s why my eyes are closed, Mr. Touch-Me-Feely! I’ve seen you with border collies, and if this dog is what he is cracked up to be, you’ll wear out that new camera in a hurry. Those dogs are crazy, and stuff is always happening. I never figured out why Rose would run around in the heat like that chasing sheep. I asked her once, and she looked at me with her wild and crazy eyes like I was the lunatic. Frieda and I have been discussing it. You know how Jon is, I told Frieda. Every time a new dog arrives, the earth suddenly revolves around the moon. I’ll bet dinner on it, this dog will be a book within two years. Talk about obsessive. But then, he settles down and you have to admit life here is good for dogs. Even Frieda figured that out that this is better than chasing chipmunks through the woods.”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said, “there’ s truth in that. Dogs are the engine that drives the enterprise, for sure. Well, I don’t want to get grumpy with people, as I tend to do when they start making foolish or selfish demands. But I’m not taking requests for photos, that’s for sure. That would be the end of the blog for me.”
Lenore opened her eyes. “Good for you, champ. You know, boss,” she said, “one can take even the love thing too far. Once in awhile, it’s healthy to get grumpy. You know, like passing gas, something I know a lot about.”
For me, this flower is a poem, dying in the most gracious and accepting way, dropping its petals on the old windlowlocks of the farmhouse window, a perfect marriage really, metaphor that just wraps you up and gives you a great big hug.
