Reason #1: Every single day, we discover little gems.
DOGS
Chloe (left) and Jigs lead the 2014 summer solstice hike up Pasture Gulch.
In August 2011, I stopped letting Borage, Jigs, Chloe, and Lolo run free. To many, this might not seem like a big deal. Deciding to walk your dogs on leashes instead of allowing them to run wild… who cares? But in my life, the decision to restrain my dogs, snapping long extended leads to their collars before each and every hike, marked a major shift in how I navigate life. It all boiled down to one emotion — fear. I was terrified. That summer, both of my parents were dying in front of me. Together, we had already endured a year of cancer, but nothing was going right. Surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, infections, middle-of-the-night ER visits — if one more bad thing happened to someone I love, I feared I wouldn’t be able to take it.
Lolo, my once-Iditarod-lead-dog, now known as my white shadow.
I could be my parents’ constant caregivers, but I could not stop disease from ravaging their bodies. I longed for control — of anything. By making my dogs walk close at my side, I could prevent them from getting lost in the woods or hurt by a wild animal. I could keep them from being swept away by a swollen river. Before my parents became ill, one of my main joys was allowing my dogs to be dogs. I would arrive at a trailhead and open every car door, releasing them to the wilderness. Exploring forests, chasing critters, swimming in clear Montana waters — for 20 years, I cherished those pure moments with all of my dogs (Kirby, Rosa, Adeline, Borage, Jigs, Chloe, Lolo… and dozens more sled dogs).
Knowing what I now know, how do I go back? How do I calm the what if’s? How do I let go of those I love? I think, just maybe, some of the answers might be in the dogs themselves. Jigs, Chloe, and Lolo continue to drag me on down the trail, reminding me that life is not experienced in the later… but in the now. And that the best kind of love happens when you let go of the leash. Thankfully, they’re patient.
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When I started this blog, my intention was to post something — a column, musing, photograph, video, etc. — every day. Knowing where my travels often take me, I knew it wouldn’t be wise to promise a daily entry. But I will always make my best effort. For the last two days, I’ve been without internet at my house. Electrical power, cell service, and internet can be “iffy” in Martinsdale. High winds knock out power lines. There are no cell phone towers in sight. Maybe the cold weather and snow up high had something to do with it? Naw, probably not, but when it snows in mid-June it sure seems like a good thing to blame your problems on… not that being out-of-the-cyber-loop is a true problem. And, no matter the season, I LOVE snow! So all is well.
Chloe says, “How many times do I have to hear this???”
Although, Chloe does seem bored by my decision to write (indoors) instead of walk (outside) in the chilly rain/hail/snow. I took a break from the memoir-writing to work on a piece of short fiction, and I’m enjoying it. I can’t say the same for Chloe — when I write, I read everything out loud over and over again. If Chloe’s snoring is any indication of my foray into fiction, I’m in real trouble.
People have been asking about my decision on grad school, so I’ll give you a quick update here. Because of too many unknowns in my life at the moment, I decided to defer admission to the Iowa State University MFA program. The offer is very exciting, and the school has a one-of-a-kind “creative writing and the environment” focus, so going through the pros and cons of relocating (when I already have two houses 1800 miles apart to maintain) was challenging. But I do feel good about the decision. And it’s good to have an option in place for next year.
Since I applied for the traditional MFA programs way back in December, I’ve learned about low-residency MFA programs from several professional writers who have attended these schools. I am looking into this as another option which would allow me to write from anywhere (Indiana, Montana, Texas, Bolivia, you name it!). My desire is to write, and I want as much direct guidance as possible. I have heard these programs have an intensive focus on both the quality and quantity of writing put out daily, pushing and supporting writers through the entire book-making process. Most of these programs require students to come on site for 10 days to 2 weeks in January and July before the start of each semester (working year-round for 2-3 years depending on the program). During those hard-core workshopping sessions, the writer picks a mentor to work with for that semester (or for the entire program). After the writer leaves campus, they send in packets of work to their mentor. Most of the programs require at least 40 hours per week of writing to complete the MFA in 2 years. Right now I am looking at schools such as Stonecoast, Vermont College of Fine Arts, the Rainier Writing Workshop, and the University of Alaska. I am still researching all of these and more. Many of the programs have both fall and spring deadlines so I hope to get some applications in by September, and then, once again, wait and wait for acceptance letters (why not be optimistic?). Acceptances to these programs are just as competitive as the traditional MFA’s so I am aware I will need patience in the process. If I can get a short story completed by September, I might apply in both fiction and non-fiction. I also need to write a critical essay — I am reading Rick Bass’ “All the Land to Hold Us” right now, hoping to write about literature and a sense of place. It’s been YEARS (University of Montana, 1994) since I wrote an essay like this. We’ll see how it goes.
I began this blog a few weeks ago to help with my memoir-in-progress. I hoped writing quick “bits” about my relationships with my dogs, my parents, the outdoors, friends, etc. would help give me new direction. Writing about being a caregiver for my parents has been difficult. I miss them so much, and putting myself in front of a computer in their lifelong home to reflect on our last years together guts me… over and over again. I thought the blog would be a good change of pace. I wrote a column for the Great Falls Tribune in Montana for 10 years, and I loved it (thanks, Mike!). Coming here to a String of Dogs takes me back to those column-writing days. And it feels like home. I thank YOU for reading!
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… or is it Big Sky Country?
Somehow we’ve made it through one entire week back home in Montana without any major “Jigs incidents” — knock on wood. For Jigs, making it 7 days in a row without getting sprayed by a skunk or tangled up with a porcupine or stepping on a rattlesnake is a major miracle. My good fortune so far has little to do with Jigs’ improved behavior, and more to do with the fact that I’ve been hiking with him on a leash. But today, no extendo-lead was going to protect me from my terrier’s favorite Montana activity. When Jigs spots a steaming cow patty on the trail (before I do) he lunges straight towards it, ducking his head and somersaulting into the watery pile with the same enthusiasm as a teenager cannon-balling into a swimming pool. And he doesn’t stop there. He squirms back and forth on his back until his wiry coat has completely absorbed the soupy flop. When he finally stands up, the cow dung quick-dries in the wind, leaving my cuddly bedmate encrusted from head to toe. This is nothing new — I know this about Jigs — yet my time away dampened the stinking memory. After needing to give Jigs two hose-downs in one day, it’s all come back to me now. Montana is Big Cow (Pie) Country…
A meadow muffin-maker takes a siesta.
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… of dog lovers. Happy Father’s Day, Dad
Dad and Aunt Dot dressing up their first dog, a very patient terrier named Spot.
Dad and Mom with their beloved Rosa.
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A Martinsdale dog waits for the Mercantile to open. He’s going to be waiting a long while… the only store in town has been closed for years…
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Saturday was a driving (and snoozing) day…
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Thanks, Doug!
I’m devoted to my 1999 Toyota Rav 4 (a.k.a. “Ravioli”). The vehicle — basically just a big dog crate on wheels — has delivered my string thousands of miles across this country. Yesterday morning after I stacked my belongings and 3 dogs in their usual places, I popped the hood for a quick check of the fluids. I was horrified to discover an empty coolant reservoir. WHAT NEXT? I thought, knowing better than to say it out loud — I didn’t really want an answer. I dialed up Ravioli’s “doctor” and, as always, he answered the phone. “What’s up?” Doug said, knowing I must be stuck somewhere with a sick car. When I’m broken-down on the road, Doug rescues me with his knowledge by phone; when I’m stalled-out in Indiana, he’ll come looking for me. Thankfully, yesterday I could drive the Ravioli straight to his house for a consult. It didn’t take him long to find the problem, mend it with radiator stop-leak, and send us on our way. As I merged onto Interstate 74 WEST, I glanced down at my odometer, catching the numbers as they rolled to 266000. I love my little Ravioli…
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Mom, Dad, Grandpa Land, and Aunt Dot ready to drive WEST. Indianapolis, 1967.
In the last 21 years, I’ve driven back and forth between Indiana and Montana over 40 times (I lost count). To give my Iditarod presentations, Borage, Jigs, and I traveled over 30,000 miles a year by car, ricocheting from state to state like a steel marble in a pinball machine. When it was time to go, it never took me long to gather a few belongings (that’s all that fits in a Toyota Rav with 2 to 4 dogs), and pack the vehicle. When I departed from my parents’ house (which was often — I loved spending time at home), my dad would appear in the driveway with a bottle of windex and paper towels. He carefully washed the inside and outside of the glass, backing up to search for missed streaks. It took forever to get out of the driveway. We took photos. Both Mom and Dad petted each of my dogs… and kissed them… and said, “Behave yourself. Listen to your mother…” My mom always cried (even if I’d be back in a few days), insisting on not just one hug but several. Dad stood back and waited for his embrace. To the both of them, I said, “I love you.”
Mom, Borage, Jigs (he’s in the car), and I leaving for 2 weeks of talks in Texas.
Nowadays, leaving is hard. I dread pulling out of the driveway knowing that if I look back over my shoulder neither of them will be there. No one will be standing on the blacktop waving goodbye, not moving until my car fades from sight.
People often say, “I hate good-byes…” But when I think of all the love wrapped up in a parting — whether a brief or lifelong separation — I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything. Whenever I have a chance, I will say, “Good-bye…” No matter where they’re headed, I want to send my loved ones off like they’re boarding a giant ship and heading out onto unknown waters. And, like my parents taught me, I’ll wave until their vessel disappears.
Mom telling Borage to BEHAVE
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A magnet stuck to the bottom of my refrigerator door says: “It’s all fun and games until somebody ends up in a cone.” When my friend, Brenda, and I spotted this Truth next to a photo of a terrier haloed by the giant white “cone of shame,” we both laughed. In my world, this scene is all too familiar. I, literally, own 13 e-collars (FYI… it’s never a good idea to spay or neuter 13 crazy sled dogs all on the same day… but that’s another story). Sadly, my 25-lb. German Jagd Terrier, Jigs, has ended up in the “cone of shame” more times than all of my sled dogs combined. “You need this…” Brenda said, pulling the magnet off the counter display at the bookstore and handing it to the cashier. “Hang it really low on the frig… so The Terri-orist can see it.”
I’m always amazed how one small (adorable) dog can throw such a big wrench in my plans. Jigs is known for making poor choices — he’s a terrier, he can’t help it — and I have to watch him.
This last Monday as I was preparing to leave Indy for Montana the next morning — doing laundry and gathering camping gear and loading my car while visiting with Brenda — I left Jigs and Chloe and Lolo in my 3/4 acre backyard. Jigs turned 12 years old in March so sometimes I forget that my little gray-muzzled man can turn into a steel-eyed predator at any moment. Just as I was walking Brenda to her car, we saw a snarling tornado of fur and teeth moving across the grass. I recognized bits and pieces of Jigs and Chloe and Lolo in the twisted mess. Thankfully, Brenda and I were right there. As always I went straight for the terrier, snatching the wiry beast from the pile (please, SERIOUSLY, do not try this at home), and carrying him — still squirming and growling — back to the garage by his scruff.
“What the heck was that about?” I asked Brenda, as she looked over Chloe and Lolo for wounds. I did the same with Jigs, finding several punctures on his back leg. Jigs usually starts things, but then ends up the only dog wearing “the cone of shame.” I wish he’d learn, I always think after a scuffle. Dog fights evoke terror. For an hour, my heart pounded in my head, my hands trembled. I worry for those I love.
A plump, drool-drenched squirrel found in the yard answered our questions. Without a speaking witness, it’s difficult to know who caught the rodent; all three of the dogs are skilled hunters (lucky me). It’s a dog’s nature to want something so pungent, warm, bloody. My dogs are animals — I know this. I must remind myself to treat them that way. But sometimes they’re so cute I forget…
I decided to postpone my trip for a day to make sure Jigs did not need vet care. One hole about the width of a pencil could have taken a stitch… or not. I gave Jigs a painkiller, some antibiotics, and we plopped down on the couch. He slept in a ball on my lap as I read, checked emails. That’s when I experienced the second shock of the day. A message in my Inbox read: GOOD NEWS FROM THE IOWA STATE MFA PROGRAM! I was asked to contact you right away because we have good news for you. We are able to make you an admission and TA offer to join the MFA Creative Writing and the Environment program at Iowa State after all…
For the second time that day, my heart surged in my chest, my hands shook — but this time for positive reasons. I postponed my departure date for several more days. So much to consider…
String of Dogs 