Farm Fresh Blog

Yesterday Other Half went to my old farm to pick up some things. Because I simply could not bear to go over there, he dropped me off at my mom's place. Through the window, I could see workmen laboring, but I tried not to focus on what they were doing, and what precious something was being destroyed.

Later Other Half cautiously ventured "I wasn't going to tell you this, but I figured you'd want to know. Those workmen were in the garden beside the house and were stomping all over the dogs' graves."

It stung for a moment, and I didn't answer him. Then I took a second to think about it.

Alice and Frio wouldn't mind. They loved people.  Pippy would politely step aside, she was shy. Katy hated strangers and would growl. She would be the annoying itch at the base of their backs. Penny would bark and wag her tail, charming but harmless. And my beloved Navarre wasn't even there any more. 

 His bones still lay in the cold ground, but that dog is in my soul . . .

. . . and on my back.

The dearest of people, Sue in Wyoming, turned the precious hair that I painstakingly combed from that dog over a span of 12 years, into a beautiful sweater jacket, an earwarmer, and fingerless gloves.

 YES! This is my dog!

When the package bearing the jacket and gloves arrived last week, I was in tears as the mail lady handed it over the counter. By the time I opened it in the truck, I was bawling. Blue Heeler was beside himself with hysteria. "What is IN that box that has Mom so upset?!!"  I assured him that these were happy tears.

My dog and I were together again.  He was keeping me warm once more.

I thank God for people like Sue.  She is an Old Soul who understands this world so much better than I do. I could feel the love in that box. The sweater and gloves were wrapped inside a beautiful pillow case. She sent me Butterfingers for the hard days, and photos of her dogs and family so I could put faces with names. And to Blue Heeler's delight, she sent tennis balls - lots of tennis balls!  This was a care package for everyone!

So even as the sting of workmen stomping over my graves chafed, the knowledge that Navarre was in my soul and on my back was a warm salve.

Thank you, Sue.