observations during a day off

The dogs outside woke me up this morning. It's my day off so I didn't stir when Elena jumped down from the top bunk at 7:15. Emerging from my double layer of blankets two hours later, I shuffle to the living room to get a glimpse of today's weather. Leaning my forehead against the sliding glass door I make three observations: it's cold (maybe 45), it's cloudy, and it's wet and threatens to get wetter. Damn. Today was going to be the day that I go explore the acreage across the street, but part of the plan was to take lots of magnificent scenery shots and go swimming in the pond - both activities being less than ideal in the current circumstances. So instead of storing a pack with which to go hiking for the day, I arm myself with a sandwich and an extra blanket from the closet. I tuck myself in, call the two labs to cuddle with me on the couch (Elsie to my left, Ruger to my right), and eat and read Desert Solitaire (Edward Abbey) while Manchester Orchestra plays in my headphones. Bliss.

The silence here is stunning. If I take my headphones off the only sounds I hear are Ruger's nasally breathing and the wind outside. There's the occasional declaration of self by one of the horses or burros as well of course. It's amazing how much sounds can take on a far greater significance when they are rare. For example, when I hear a vehicle coming down the road, I stop what I'm doing and turn to stare. As Termo-Grasshopper Road isn't exactly the most convenient of bypasses, it's not odd to think that vehicles traveling down it might have business here. Those that do turn into our driveway provoke further questions as one never ends up here by happenstance. Those vehicles that don't turn in also raise questions, such as why on earth did that semi choose this way to get to Route 139?

The chatter of the dogs also take on greater significance. Their eruption in unanimous howls and barks...

Sorry, had to break for half an hour. Ruger decided to drape his great big bear-like front half across my lap and honestly, what option do you really have at that point other than to give his head and chest a good scratching? As my world today is dictated not by an agenda but simply the hours of daylight, loving on an old dog can quickly become a top, and time-consuming, priority. Now that the balances are restored - my bear-like black lab sleeping to my left and my petite yellow lab snoosing to my right, I can resume. The eruption of the kenneled dogs into unanimouls howls and barks suggest one of two things: Barbara is either entering her house, or leaving it. The dogs therefore become the siren for the two major points in the day: the beginning of the workday and the end of the lunch hour. When they burst into a clamor of border collie voices at about 830 am and 1 pm we know the sound of the ranch truck engine starting up will soon follow, and it's thus time to pull our work boots back on.

The animals dictate the course of our days a lot that way. If I leave my door open, Elsie wanders in around 530 or 6 am to inform me she needs to go out and I have a couple more hours of early morning silence to soak up before the day begins. At 815/830 the dogs outside let me know it's time to get to work. At 1 pm they let me know it's time to get back to work. And late in the day, the horses obligingly let me know it's getting close to suppertime by all wandering down to the front gate and standing and staring at the hay in the field until we finally load it up and bring it to them. Then the day ends. Again, bliss.