There was a time not too long ago if I had pushed a big lens in Frieda’s face and pushed her to stand up with my free arm (while sheep were a few feet away) I might have sacrificed the arm in the process. Frieda is a changed girl, and we are good buddies, she is lying by my feet now, groaning and drooling. I am shooting photos for the cover of my book on Frieda and Maria, “The Second Chance Dog: A Love Story,” out in the fall.
In the book, I write extensively about the diverse training ideas and approaches I used to keep Frieda from eating me and destroying my dogs and the farm. There was the Beef Jerky Campaign, but there was also the seminal breakthrough for me that came when I devoured the writings of Annie Sullivan, who taught Helen Keller how to communicate with the outside world. The breakthrough, she wrote, came in understanding that obedience was the foundation of learning. This really jelled with me. Just as Keller struggled to communicate with an alien mind, so did I, and the ideas that inspired changed Frieda’s life, thus mine.
Frieda and I are having a fun time on our cover shoots, she is eager and patient. She is a working dog just as much as Red, and she is just as vain. She used to snarl at the camera, now she preens and poses.
I called Mannix Marketing today and told them I wanted them to add a “Contribute” Button to the blog. It was a hard decision for me, to make, I have resisted it for years. But it needn’t have been a hard decision, and I understand my unease about it mostly had to do with old issues and attitudes in my tormented subconscious. People have the right to not contribute – the blog will still be free. People have the right to contribute if they wish.
There is really nothing difficult about the idea, even less for me to be uncomfortable about. People pay for things they want or need or use all of the time. The blog is expensive to maintain, so is the camera equipment and lenses that go into the photographs here. People understand that. NPR does it all the time. So do many good blogs and websites. The problem was me, the spasms of the Big Shot, I think, the man who didn’t have to think about money and bought a new L.L. Bean jacket every year because he never could find the old ones. When Maria came to live with me, she ended up taking a half dozen of them to the Salvation Army.
What is wrong with getting paid for your good and honest work? What is wrong with me? Getting paid is a fine and healthy thing to do, a sign of health, not avarice. I posted this news on Facebook and was shocked at the tenor of almost all of the messages. What took you so long? was the most common question. We’d be happy to contribute was second. The process of awakening, of growing up, of being authentic is the relentless discovery, day in and day out, that I did not – often still don’t – see the world clearly. I lived in a fog of anxiety and delusion, mostly running from the realities of life. When you can’t run anymore, you begin to face life and understand it. Six months ago, I was vowing that the website would never had a “donate” or “contribute” button, that was for lesser websites run by people who wanted to be compensated for their work. That was not me, I was too Big A Shot.
When I got off the phone with Mannix, I was puzzled that it took me so long. Do I not need money to live? Are my bills paid by fairies in the sky? Is my work cheap and worthless? I am learning that false modesty is no more appealing than arrogance, especially when it is born in unreality and avoidance.
So I’m putting up a “Contribute” button for people who wish to pay me for my words and photos and support the blog. It will go on the right hand side of the Farm Journal. People can contribute via PayPal. It will take a week or so for my Contribution Button to be ready. Please do not feel any pressure to contribute. Please don’t hesitate to contribute if you can and wish. It is the best way to ensure that this blog is healthy and strong. If they can’t contribute, they are very welcome here.
Today, I went to see my doctor, Glenn Finley, a naturopath who works out of Vermont. I brought Red, as I often do. In Vermont. In holistic practices, it is not unusual to see dogs accompanying patients. I finally have a doctor I look forward to seeing. I see Glenn every couple of months, the visits usually run an hour to 90 minutes. He checks me out, asks me a bunch of questions, talks to me about my life. He asks how things are in the marriage, how active I am, goes over my diet, scribbles some notes. He often offers me a healthy recipe, gives me some holistic medicines, sometimes a bag of his special tea concoctions to strength my organs and calm my nervous system. He wants to know what is going on in my life. He takes some tests, checks my blood pressure. He is a passionate photographer, and we love to moon over the cameras we cannot afford.
It has been four years since I have since a traditional medical practitioner, and I well understand that conventional medicine is important and does many things well. In its current form, it was not a good approach for me, even though I imagine I am not done with traditional medicine in my life. There are times when you just need it. But I appreciate Glenn’s thoughtfulness, the ease of his manner and his office, his gentle but persistent educating of me when it comes to nutrition and the idea that food is the best medicine in the world, carefully considered. He always has some new ideas for me, I always learn something new. He always takes a few minutes to hang out with Red. It is easy to slip into rigid doctrines – all holistic medicine is good, all Western medicine isn’t. It isn’t that black and white. Medicine doesn’t fit nearly in those narrow positions any more than life does, or the idea of a “left” and a “right.” We each have to find what we need. Glenn always sees the vitality in me, I always feel healthy around him. I am pleased to not be on any prescription medications. My ideas about health have evolved greatly, and Glenn seems to be keeping me healthy. And it is always a pleasure to go see him, something I do not usually associate with going to see a doctor.
Every morning, when we go outside to do the barn chores, Red is waiting for me, an eager waiting at the office door to punch in. He is always a bit impatient, not quite understanding why it is taking me so long to open the gate. He is punctual and patient. He does not move from the spot until the gate is open and he is released. You are an important man, I said. You take your work seriously.
