Beautiful boy ...

When I first met her, she was 15. Her mother was one of the leaders of the 4H club I first assisted with, and of which I ultimately became a co-leader. The friendship I forged with her mother was to become one of the most important in my life. Her mother and I used to joke about staying "just one more year" as 4H leaders because the kids became our friends, and we just wanted to see how each story ended. Sarah was one of my favorite people from the beginning. And now she's a mother herself.

I got to meet her son, Michael last night, and I had the pleasure of watching her with him. The story's not over, but it's so incredible to see the next chapter unfolding.


And I had the pleasure of holding him, feeling his breathing change as he stopped crying, and finally gave in to sleep. What a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.


Little boy, you picked your parents wisely. Welcome to your life. May it be a long and happy one.

"Stone cold gorgeous..."

This is the pup everyone wants. Shepherd pups go from painfully cute to painfully gawky,ultimately leading to the painful perfection of what is, to the fancier's eye, the most magnificent of all dogs - a mature, male shepherd. Stone was (at least in pictures - I've yet to meet this guy in person) one of the most incredibly adorable babies I've ever seen.

Now into that odd period of three to six months of age, when male German Shepherds can try on some of the strangest suits in the Canine closet, he's still, to my eye, one of the most uniquely gorgeous guys I've ever seen.

Still want him? I think he's handsome. In fact, I love him, and would love to have the chance to watch him change and grow, and see him become all of the potential that that head, and that expression, and that intelligence in those eyes promises. That blue color stops me in my tracks initially, but its beautiful in its own right, and lends Stone a certain powerfully unique impact to the eye. I see enough of Hudson's head there to trust that this youngster's going to be a stop-ya-in-your-tracks sort of impressive GSD when he grows up.

Tomorrow's gonna be, tomorrow's gonna be another day...

Valentine's Day. Just another Tuesday. Tomorrow's Mom's 80th birthday. More reflection, I'm sure. Time for that then. Now, it's time for bed. I'll blog tomorrow. Peg's not the world's worst blogger.

Let it snow ...

It's snowing. We've had a couple of flurries since the beginning of January, but no significant snow at all since early December. To judge by the coverage on television, this is an EVENT. I'm sitting here with Crow, sipping a cup of coffee. Well, I'm sipping a cup of coffee. She's curled up beside me, completely content after a romp in the snow, and satisfied that the No Fly Zone has been cleared of intruders. I don't have the heart to tell her that the results of her efforts are temporary. The chickadee scouts announce her departure as soon as she turns her head. By the time she's completely turned away, they're all back at the feeders. The first picture shows the birds at the feeders; the second shows the area immediately after having been cleared by my two Enforcers of the Rules (note how they divide and conquer.)


























Crow continues to be Crow. Even out in the snow, while Hudson is off romping by himself, throwing himself into aerial 180s, snatching up huge mouthsful of snow and tossing them into the air like snowballs so he can catch them, she is right beside me, wondering what we're going to do next. As irritating as it is to have to stop before every shovelful of snow to ask her to please move, it is also deeply, deeply gratifying to look down and see her beautiful face looking up at me, always questioning "what's next, Mom?" Whatever I do, I never do it alone, for from Crow's perspective, everything we do, we do together.

If the power stays on, I'll actually enjoy this storm. I have everything I need. I did my grocery shopping on Thursday evening. I bought dog food last weekend. Yesterday, on the way home from the barn, I stopped at Hoffman's Feed in Long Valley and bought supplies of parrot and cockatiel food. Then I stopped at Pet Valu (why would any company choose to misspell a word to form a name? Have they no pride?) and picked up my favorite wild bird seed mix. I filled the feeders when I got home. This morning, the Blackcapped Chickadees, Nuthatches, Junkos, Cardinals, and even the Starlings made me glad I did. When the Hairy Woodpecker appeared for a short while, my sense of having "done something good" tripled.

There's a quiet in the town this morning that lends, for some reason, a sense of timelessness. Somewhere, among the papers I was given by the woman from whom I bought this house, there's a picture looking down Main Street, taken on a snowy morning in the early days of the 20th century. I'll have to dig it out and scan it. Looking out the front door from my kitchen this morning, looking down Main Street I find it would seem just as reasonable to suddenly see a horse-drawn sleigh coming toward me as it does to see one of the town's large trucks pushing a snow plow.

This will do for a February morning. I'll take this quiet, this sudden cancelation of plans. Mom will be 80 on Wednesday. Mark and Joannie and I were going to bring her a birthday party today. It will wait.

Though there is certainly someone with whom I'd love to share a morning like this, I find I am fine with being here by myself with my dogs and my birds. The coffee is hot. The first of the shoveling is done. I have some knitting I've been working on. There is a book on my nightstand for which I've had little time or energy. I've heard it said it takes four seasons in a house to make it a home. It may be that I am three seasons through to finally making this my home.