To say goodbye.

In loving memory of Leroy.

January 6, 2000 // November 24, 2012.

She was a part of our family for as long as my childish memory can remember.  I recall those long ago days when my brother and I would pack a picnic, don our rubber boots, and go exploring in the early spring, up creeks and down hidden trails.  Jake was my dog, and Leroy was Aubrey's mischievous new puppy.  What good times the four of us had.

Everyone thought Leroy was a boy, and no wonder.  That all started when Aubrey was in the middle of an Encyclopedia Brown detective story streak, and his greatest dream was to have a puppy of his own.  A puppy named Leroy, after his favorite super sleuth.

Not long after, we were visiting our Grampy when he mentioned that a cowboy friend of his had a little cowdog with a litter of new puppies.  Aubrey went to see them, and was offered the pick of the litter.  The finest, smartest, prettiest of the whole lot, the one he knew was meant to be his, was a female.  

Grampy said Leroy was a fine name for a girl.

So she joined our family.

We called her the Black-and-Blue-Heeler for the first year of her life, as the instincts passed down from her Aussie Shepard, Blue Heeler, Border Collie, Kelpie, and McNab ancestors made ferociously gnawing on the ankles of any passerby the most natural thing in the world.  She soon learned to channel that energy into fetching sticks, chasing sticks, carrying sticks.  Till the last few months of her life, Leroy and her branches, twigs, and young logs were inseparable.

She loved chasing kids in a field, running and ducking and dodging so fast you could hardly see her.  She lived to fetch sticks and protect her family.  No coyote dared show his face when she was on the job.  And she hated to have her picture taken.  We always had to take surreptitious photographs of her for fear of offending her sensibilities.  Oh, and baths.  She definitely didn't take much of a shine to those.

If you ever came over to visit, she would have been at your feet in less than ten seconds with a log so big you would question her ability to carry it, much less your own to throw it.  She really went in for big sticks.

She was lying at the top of the pasture one mellow afternoon in mid October, serenely soaking up the autumn sunshine.  Her muzzle had turned gray.  Her body, once so quick and strong, was stiff and weak with age.  

She had become an old dog.  

I am so thankful I was able to capture these last sweet moments of her life, before the sun was hidden behind winter clouds and the cold brought slowly deepening pain and sickness.

She was always so vital, so cheerful, so in the middle of things.  Now, we cherished every moment with her more than ever, knowing that there was nothing we could do but wait for the end to come.

She slept by the fire on the floor of my tent, day in and day out.  What was at first a peaceful doze gradually became restlessness over the weeks, then pain and misery.  Watching her endure those agonies, helpless to bring relief, was terrible.

Then we knew it was time.

To say goodbye is one of the hardest lessons we have to learn on this earth.

But with it comes a tremendous gratitude for the memories we keep in our hearts, for the lives that have crossed ours and made them better.

The gift of love is the greatest of all, and that will never be taken away.

Merry Month of May

Yes, It's me. =)

I am stopping by the blog in the middle of making a great big pot of lentil soup and cornbread for lunch to feed to the hungry gardeners working in the greenhouse.  It's a lovely rainy day, and weeding underneath that canopy of warm, thick plastic is quite fun:)  The outside world looks like a watercolor painting through the rain droplets streaming from the center of the hoop house.

• I am amazed at the undeniable fact that my graduation ceremony is a little over a week away!  I am looking forward to that with the utmost excitement.  

• My mother sprained her ankle two Sundays ago and has been experiencing pain and a great deal of swelling.  Praise the Lord, she seems to be slowly recovering, but we would appreciate prayers for her to be out of pain and fully recovered soon.  And thank God for essential oils!

• 4-H archery is going splendidly.  I am hoping to get a recurve bow of my own here soon.  Very fun.  (Here a friend kindly gave me the use of theirs:)

• A gorgeous swallowtail butterfly paid us a visit...

I have very big, very exciting plans both for my near future and this blog's!  I can hardly wait to show you what is in store. . . finding time to make these plans reality in the midst of a full, hectic summer will be interesting;)

Well, that's all for now - y'all come back now, you hear?

Love,

~Kellie~

P.S. I am very fond of wall tents.

Meet Petrov

"Elegance is a question of personality."

- Jean-Paul Gaultier

I have recently acquired a friend I would like to introduce to you.

His name is Petrov.

I met this charming gentleman on my birthday last month, whilst browsing through the antique shops downtown.  By some chance, I forgot to bring him home.  Next time I went in to town, however, I marched in to Wiggett's and strode purposefully down to the basement.  There my little friend resided, and, much to my relief, I found him exactly where I had left him hanging from a safety pin along with his two companions.  I picked them all up, and carrying them to the front counter, flung them down in front of the clerk in the most approved fur-trader method I could muster.  He raised an eyebrow.  

What else could he do, when a determined young lady strode into his shop, disappeared in to the basement without so much as looking around, and then emerge carrying three weasels? =D

At any rate, I was tickled to find my little friends.  I ran out to the car where my Mom and sisters were waiting, and before I was even in my seat I was attacked by hands reaching and voices clamoring to see my treasures!

I chose the middle-sized one to be my very own.  Ma got the biggest one, a rather ungainly fellow, nearly two feet long, with enormous yellowish eyes and a clip fixed to his mouth so as to be able to "bite" things.  As of yet he has no name:)  Ellen selected the littlest, a furry brown thing with the most cunning wee nose and beady green eyes.  He has been dubbed Perchik.  

Neither Ma nor Ellen wear their weasels in public.

My weasel is the most darling of all;)  

So of course, I wear him proudly around my neck. . . driving home from town, for instance.  

Oh, my wicked sense of humor.  Have you ever seen a girl wearing a red leather coat, white sunglasses - and a tawny  colored weasel with a bushy tail and beady eyes draped around her neck, driving down the road?  If you have, perhaps you made a face similar to the ones I saw through my windshield.  

'Twas highly amusing.  And delightfully hilarious.  And slightly naughty of me. . . sigh.  We stopped by Tasha's house on the way home, and she gave me a face similar to the ones I had seen through my windshield - oh, it was rich.

His name is Petrov.

He's soft.  Warm.  Furry.  Cute.  Impossibly long and flat.

He keeps my neck nice and warm.

He looks pretty stylish, too.

He's an excellent music connoisseur.

And faithful companion.

Ta ta for now!

~Kellie~

P.S.  In spite of my impish sense of humor, I have not the slightest wish to offend anyone by wearing a real weasel around my neck.  I would be truly grieved to do that.  

I strongly believe in taking dominion of this earth God has entrusted to us, and a large part of that trust is being good stewards of the animals He created.  Thanks for understanding. :)

Perhaps...

Perhaps...

Perhaps I was wearing my favorite denim circle skirt and brown sweater that day as I went out to the goat pens to meet a buyer interested in our Boer buck, Chauvelin.

Perhaps, on being asked "Does he lead well?", I confidently and innocently replied; "Oh, yes, he was raised out in the pasture on a lead rope with my little sisters - he's very well behaved."

Perhaps I was then unceremoniously plunged into an unprecedented, tremendous, terrifying, half hour long war, attempting to load said well-behaved buck into the buyer's pickup.

Perhaps, just perhaps, I named said well-behaved buck Citizen Chauvelin for a reason, after all. Other than the fact that I was reading El Dorado around the time I named him. Impair de poissons. Le Terrorist. ;D

Perhaps you have never experienced the physical and mental anguish of wrestling with an animal notorious for it's repugnant aroma, emanating fruity wafts of repulsive barnyard bouquet, and liberally splashed with that nameless, thick, odorous muck that accumulates after several weeks of rain in a goat pen.

Perhaps, oh, perhaps, that vile caprine creature was not the only thing liberally splashed with deplorable muck by the time I tackled, desperately sized, and bodily cast him up into the bed of the truck.

Perhaps I was never so glad in all my life to see someone leave our property as I was to see that whimsical, cruel, amused buyer go down the drive with that buck safely fastened to a sturdy rope in the bed, their cash safely ensconced in my now besmeared and besmelled skirt pocket.

Perhaps I astonished my poor mother by charging through the open front door, thrusting the paper bills into her hand, and crying UNCLEAN!! UNCLEAN!!! whilist racing for the shower.

Perhaps copious amounts of soap are the epitome of luxury, lavender is akin to a miracle, and I will never again give my word of honor about a goat.

Perhaps all of these things are true.