A New Generation
Our ravine walks are never without pleasure taken from our exposure to the natural world, whatever the weather. Restoring needed equilibrium, making us feel more at one with ourselves. Never know who you'll meet, what you'll come across, the beauty and the drama you'll be exposed to in an ever-changing landscape, where, despite our familiarity with it, we never fail to discover something new and delightful to challenge and awaken our sensibilities.
Take yesterday; just as we were descending into the ravine to begin our roundabout, the piercing triumphant peal of a Pileated woodpecker nearby. And sure enough, there he was, on the cusp of taking flight, so we could watch as he launched then torpedoed his way through the tree tops soon vanishing from our perspective.
We most certainly are aware of his presence even without seeing him in red-headed person, from the constant pile-up of new chips we see under tree trunks throughout the ravine.
And we had another delightful encounter, this time with a pair of old ravine buddies whom we haven't seen for ages.
It was our custom to see and walk with them regularly when they accompanied their beloved old beagle Jack, now several years gone. With them was a very small clone of Jack, pulling strenuously on his leash, just as Jack used to do. A much smaller version, similar markings, much more nicely contoured; the difference between young and old.
And look here - Riley's met his match. For this little fellow, small for his breed and his age, is a barker, just like Riley. The difference being that Riley as an over-hormoned toy poodle snarls and barks at dogs as a territorial challenge. Making up for his minute size by his large belligerency.
Whereas the little beagle's bark is a challenge to play. Neither Button nor Riley will accommodate this puppy. The usual response of mature dogs to the overtures of puppies. Button walks haughtily on as befits a doyenne, and Riley hangs back uncertainly, a true first for him.
When Riley was a tiny sprite of a puppy his first sight of this dog's predecessor brought pure rapture to him as he sniffed and snuffled at him, then performed agile somersaults over the older dog before snuggling up alongside him in a performance of utter love-at-first-sight. The emotion-laden snuggles and acrobatics became a ritual each time they encountered one another.
Which appeared to have ingrained an appreciation of beagles as a trusted breed to our otherwise-suspicious little poodle, for they still are the sole breed he will approach with trust. Millicent and Harry are happy with their new Jack, but, Harry complains, he's just not Jack. There will never be another Jack, and they will continue to mourn him.
Harry will always regale the patient listener with stories about Jack's peculiarities, orneriness, partialities and performances, and we don't mind listening, even if we've heard them time and again. I've taken along a bag of unshelled roasted peanuts which I've been littering here and there for the squirrels and birds and raccoons. One falls astray and the little beagle pounces on it, chewing it whole with great gusto.
His proud parents beam, watching him avidly searching the ground for other manifestations of manna from above.
Take yesterday; just as we were descending into the ravine to begin our roundabout, the piercing triumphant peal of a Pileated woodpecker nearby. And sure enough, there he was, on the cusp of taking flight, so we could watch as he launched then torpedoed his way through the tree tops soon vanishing from our perspective.
We most certainly are aware of his presence even without seeing him in red-headed person, from the constant pile-up of new chips we see under tree trunks throughout the ravine.
And we had another delightful encounter, this time with a pair of old ravine buddies whom we haven't seen for ages.
It was our custom to see and walk with them regularly when they accompanied their beloved old beagle Jack, now several years gone. With them was a very small clone of Jack, pulling strenuously on his leash, just as Jack used to do. A much smaller version, similar markings, much more nicely contoured; the difference between young and old.
And look here - Riley's met his match. For this little fellow, small for his breed and his age, is a barker, just like Riley. The difference being that Riley as an over-hormoned toy poodle snarls and barks at dogs as a territorial challenge. Making up for his minute size by his large belligerency.
Whereas the little beagle's bark is a challenge to play. Neither Button nor Riley will accommodate this puppy. The usual response of mature dogs to the overtures of puppies. Button walks haughtily on as befits a doyenne, and Riley hangs back uncertainly, a true first for him.
When Riley was a tiny sprite of a puppy his first sight of this dog's predecessor brought pure rapture to him as he sniffed and snuffled at him, then performed agile somersaults over the older dog before snuggling up alongside him in a performance of utter love-at-first-sight. The emotion-laden snuggles and acrobatics became a ritual each time they encountered one another.
Which appeared to have ingrained an appreciation of beagles as a trusted breed to our otherwise-suspicious little poodle, for they still are the sole breed he will approach with trust. Millicent and Harry are happy with their new Jack, but, Harry complains, he's just not Jack. There will never be another Jack, and they will continue to mourn him.
Harry will always regale the patient listener with stories about Jack's peculiarities, orneriness, partialities and performances, and we don't mind listening, even if we've heard them time and again. I've taken along a bag of unshelled roasted peanuts which I've been littering here and there for the squirrels and birds and raccoons. One falls astray and the little beagle pounces on it, chewing it whole with great gusto.
His proud parents beam, watching him avidly searching the ground for other manifestations of manna from above.
Labels: Companions
posted by Pieface @ 10:59 AM
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