Day: December 4, 2012

Sometime last week, I realized that I talking to Red conversationally, rather than giving him commands. Red is so smart and alert that he is understanding my intentions, perhaps some of my words. I find himself simply talking to him, saying things like “wait a sec,” or “just stay here a bit,” or “I’m going to get the camera, hold the sheep until I get back,” or “let’s go to bed,” and he responds as if he knows what I am saying. Dogs to not speak our language, but they can smell and sense and see our emotions and intentions. This afternoon I said. “Red, let’s go into town,” and he ran out the door to the car. He pays close to attention to me and perhaps he is like Apple’s Siri, and the more we talk, the more he understands.

I wonder if we can discuss meditation.

He is a hero, submitting his paws to the pecks of a hen rather than blow off the “stay” command. I do not deserve this dog.

You have to be careful when you tell Red to “stay.” He will stay, even if a mountain lion is coming at him. This afternoon I told him to stay in front of the barn while I fed the animals and I didn’t see that one of the chickens came over to him and was pecking away at his coat, looking for buds or grass embedded in his fur. I was astonished. I have never had a dog that would allow a chicken to peck at him in that way, and the chicken ought to be grateful that it wasn’t Frieda, or she would be our dinner. Lenore would have run, and Rose would have chased the hen away.

When Red is told to stay, he stays. I told him to stay out in the pasture and then went into the house to write, and after a couple of hours I looked around – he is always near me – and I couldn’t find him in the house. I went outside and he was exactly where I had left him in the “stay” position.

I grabbed the camera, of course, when I saw him warily submitting to the hen, and then I released him. He was glad to get away. Minnie was enjoying the show.

This afternoon, I looked up and saw the last light falling on the tops of the trees behind our farm. The last light has so much symbolism for me. I think we spent much of our lives passing from darkness to light. We are born in the dark, and brought into the light, and we begin each day in the dark and end it in the light, passing back and forth. This is true of our lives, we pass back and forth between love and hope and meaning, and anger and fear and emptiness. Light follows dark, grief follows love, morning follows night, happiness follows despair. There is nothing we experience – no loss, no trauma, no disappointment – that does not bring light or meaning of some kind. That does not bring benefit in some way.

The photographer feels the light, at least this one does. The light is my focus, my point, the essence of my work. The last light is sacred to me, it is a metaphor, a symbol of our passing from one world into another. The night has night been kind to me, yet I am learning to love and appreciate it – its stillness, calm, sense of peace and rest.

Our morning chores are getting more efficient, more focused. We are feeding the sheep separately from the donkeys, but in the same area. Red stands by in case there is trouble, but there is not. Lulu has been focused on the outer pasture for two days now, something is out there. A coyote perhaps, or  some deer, or a bear.