Dogs

By CHRISTINE TAILER
HCP columnist

It amazes me how much these two creatures have become a part of our lives. It would be hard to imagine our creek world without them.

As I stepped out of bed this morning, I negotiated my way past one large, sleek, sleeping body. He stretched as I passed by, but did not budge from his warm spot on the loft floor.

At the bottom of the steps sat the other one. She was looking out of the window at the turn in the stairs. She leaned into me as I passed by.

I ran my hand down her forehead, between her eyes, and along her nose. She looked up at me, tilted her head just so, as if to ask me what I would make for breakfast, and then resumed her watch out the window.

They sat by the table, a dog distance back, as we lingered and drank the last of our morning coffee.

Their manners and patience have always amazed me. They then sat, on my command, before I gave them their own dog breakfast of dried food.

They ate while Greg and I got ready to go outside and do the chores.

Greg takes care of the chickens and goats while I take care of the rabbits. It is our routine, and it is the dogs’ routine to follow us about, stopping by the goat yard to rub noses with the goats through the fence. They then race out past the orchard, down to the far end of the field, and then race back, past the beehives.

This morning, when Greg let the chickens out of their coop, the dogs stopped their running and paused to watch the feathered delights half run and half fly along the ground up to the goat yard.

The flurry of feathers seemed to waken some primal instinct deep inside their doggish brains, but they did not act.

They just watched, heads cocked to the side, wondering if maybe today was the day that we would not notice if they engaged in just a short chicken chase. We all kept a watchful eye on each other.

Greg then scattered some cracked corn for the chickens.

The flock gathered around him and pecked up the scattered treat.

The dogs calmly walked over and began to lap up a bit of the corn.

I wondered if they really enjoyed the corn, or simply enjoyed being among the feathered fowl.

For the moment, the large black dogs and fat, multi-colored chickens seemed to happily co-exist.

Chores done, we headed down to the creek for a walk.

The snow had almost melted away, but what looked like tufts of white icing remained scattered across the fields on the shady side of rocks and clumps of mud.

The dogs raced ahead, mud splattering up on their undersides, as they ran across the fields.
And as expected, at their favorite creek swimming spot, they made their way down to the clear running water.

I could only imagine how cold it must feel, and they did not linger long, but they stood chest deep, and lapped up the water before them.

Curiously, they waited to shake off until they were back by our sides, as though they had saved us a doggish creek gift.

For the rest of the walk they stayed fairly close, returning to our sides for an occasional petting.

It seems that I sweep the cabin floor quite often these days. Muddy dog feet are always tracking the outside in, but I would not have it any other way.

I just knelt down to hug one of the sleeping creatures by my feet. His coat is sleek and shiny and feels ever so soft to my touch. I buried my nose in his neck. He smelled of crisp winter creek and good clean earth with just a touch of pine that he picked up from the side yard.

His partner saw me loving him, and lazily stretched, and came over to lie by my other side. I am surrounded by sleek, adoring warmth.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.