Day: June 19, 2012

There is a lot going on in my life – too much? I don’t think so. But a lot. I’ve been so absorbed with Red the last few days I almost missed the beautiful daisies planted outside of the Pig Barn. Someone is coming to look at the farm next week. Sounds serious. We’ll see. Haven’t even really dealt with the idea of moving this horde across to the New Bedlam Farm. Where will the barn cats go? The chickens? How many fences? The new place is not ours yet, so we are in limbo, in between one reality and another.

Dogs have always marked the passage of life for me, at least my adult life. Red’s  presence suggests another passage, I am not yet clear what it is. He is the kind of dog – like my other dogs – who takes you places, and I love the number three for dogs. Frieda has her own role, guarding the farm, patrolling the fences. Lenore spreads love and ease everywhere — and Red? I don’t know. He could be anything, really, a therapy dog, a trial dog, a wonderful companion. We are buds already. I went to Gardenworks today to get some strawberries and Red came along. He hopped into the car – just said “kennel up” – and I forgot I didn’t have a leash. We walked inside, he greeted some admirers, kept an eye on me, stood by my side while I shopped and paid and then hopped back into the car.

I thought it would take months for him to do that – this is the second day. Some dogs just fit you like a glove. I have three like that. Red  seems fine out of the crate now, finding corners and spaces to hole up and watch me. He is always near me.

Maria and I have been doing obedience training. I’ll write about that tomorrow.  If he’s tired, he’s also done quite a number on me.

I call him The Big Red Dog and he has as big a heart as any dog I know. I think all of my dogs are blessed with great hearts. Frieda is loyal survivor, Lenore a love machine, and Red a powerful combination of love and work. After he worked, we hosed him down, and he sat up with me while I took some photos. It seems I have a shadow.

We’re into it now. Red and have begun the dog-breaking process with Maria’s wool sheep, a pack of flighty and willful Border Leicesters who have never been around a dog and who responded by butting Red all over the place. I got into it with him, standing by my dog, poking the sheep with my foot in support of Red to get them moving. I thought both of us were going to pass out. He really took a beating.

Herding sheep is about respect. The sheep have to respect the dog, and vice versa. Red does not hurt sheep or run them around. When he is butted, he nips back on the nose, but doesn’t back down. He takes some hard shots but doesn’t run away.I remember from my early training days – and Karen Thompson and I talked about this week – that the process of dog breaking sheep can take a week or two. The dog has to hold his ground until the sheep understand they have to deal with him. That happened a little bit today. They softened their opposition. More tomorrow.

I got in there with him and we pushed the sheep out of the Pole Barn and pressured them until they got out into the open. We’ll be out there every day until they submit. Red has passed out on the sofa on the porch, sleeping next to Frieda and Lenore. The three are a Troika already. He is housebroken and I took him several places today. He loves coming along, rides easily. A ride-a-long dog. A lifetime dog.

Album on Facebook.

The last art show to be held on Bedlam Farm will be this Saturday and Sunday, 11 to 4 p.m. Should be a good crowd, and it is a bit bittersweet for me. I love the farm, and the Pig Barn Gallery was one of its triumphs. But I don’t mourn things and I won’t turn leaving the farm into a sob story either. Life goes on and you can either go on with it, or not. Personal choice. Somebody wrote on Facebook that Red might be filling the holes in my heart from Izzy and Rose, but I must be honest – there are no holes in my heart. I love my dogs and I expect them to live well with me, and then die, and die comfortably, and then I move along, swimming in the river of life, as I like to put it.

My heart is not empty, but is filling up with good things – Maria, new books, photography, Red, Simon, Frieda and Lenore, even Strut the Rooster With Style, Rocky, the New Bedlam Farm, the Writer’s Workshop, George Forss. I’d be a selfish man if I had holes in my heart with a life like that.

One of these good things is watching Maria evolve as an artist, and as a curator also. Her art shows are stellar, filled with creative and surprising artists and their work. This one, “Anointing The Goddess” is no exception. I will be selling print photos and notecards. And signings books (Battenkill Books will be here.) Details on Maria’s website.

If it works out, I’ll do some herding with Red, and people can come and greet Simon, a veteran media whore by now. Lenore is the official greeter. Please don’t throw the ball for her. She doesn’t need any exercise, and hundreds of people tossing balls all day is not a fun thing for any dog. I’m psyched.

My angel texted me this morning from her new job (she quit Dunkin Donuts after being docked 75 cents for giving a Lab a donut rather than just the hole). She’s considering IT training. Sometimes, she follows the news and texts me about it.

Hey, she said, you following this Michigan story when a legislator named Lisa Brown was silenced by a bunch of stupid men for using the word “vagina” during a debate on women’s health? They want to ban her from speaking.

Yes, I said, that’s why I love to read H.L. Mencken. He also appreciated the uniquely American gift of Bible-spouting Boobs in politics, as I do. They exist to make everyone else feel smart and good about themselves. And they are funny. Sort of.

What are you doing about it,? she asked me. I say vagina all the time, she said.

Well, I said, I am not political, I don’t vote or participate in the left or right system. It doesn’t include me or my ideas. But I thought about it.

So I gathered the other men on the farm this morning. Simon and Red. I gave them each a treat.

And then I said, “boys, this is a chance for us to show our stuff. We are all feminists on this farm, right?  I’m teaching you a new word. Vagina.” And I said it aloud a few times. Vagina. Vagina. Vagina. They both cocked their heads at me.

Simon chewed his biscuit thoughtfully and stared at my pocket, drooling a bit on the floor. Red got a little nervous. I think politics makes him nervous. I just want to herd sheep, he seemed to be saying. Is this a bad word?

No, I said, it is one of the most beautiful words in the world. It speaks of life and love together, a powerful thing. It is like a flower, I said, a rose. Think of it that way. You and me, we all deal with vaginas one way or another, or at least you did Simon, you too Red. You had 70 kids. And I have to be candid, I said. When I think of the word vagina, very good thoughts go through my mind. Nothing offensive in any way shape or form, not even for a mid-60’s man with sore knees. I’m not dead yet. Every time I say  “vagina,” I told them, something good happens.

What is an offensive word, asked Red? I’m new here, he said. How about “politicians?” I suggested, though Lisa Brown has my vote. I would be delighted to have a President who said “vagina,” rather than all the junk they say now.

So what’s the fuss about? asked Simon, chewing. Simon loves everything about women. Well, I said, there are a lot of dumb and arrogant men in the world and they still think they can tell women what do to and say it seems. There are no women like that on the farm. Frieda growls at you, Red, if you even look at her treat. And Simon, Lulu or Fanny kick you in the head at least one a day if you even think of their vaginas.

So here’s a new command. “Vagina.” It means to find the nearest female on the farm, kiss them if you can and sing to them: we love you and encourage you and appreciate you. And you can say whatever you damn well please anytime and place you want. Not really up to us.

Can I say “Penis?” asked Simon, sort of mischievously. I blushed. Not too much, I said. Go slow. But let’s  keep having some vagina monologues. Maybe we can shut some legislatures down completely. Do some real good. Simon brayed. Red wagged his tail a bit.

I texted this to my angel. Go dude, she said. Even the ass gets it.