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| Interspecial Rendezvous |
I woke up in a bad mood this morning. I just feel sour and grumpy. I don’t like feeling this way, and I’m grateful that this isn’t my ‘normal.’ Maybe the change of weather from cold & sunny to cold & rainy has factored into my dismal mood. Maybe I didn’t eat well yesterday or spend enough time outside. Maybe I haven’t been using my time wisely, have too much office work built up . . . or maybe my moon is in the wrong house! No matter how this nasty mood got started, it’s with me now.
My dog is never in a bad mood. She begins her day by hearing subtle waking signals from me and jumps into readiness at the side of the bed. She knows the next thing that will happen . . . I’ll throw my groggy arm over the side and she’ll get the first of many tummy rubs. She wears the same smile every morning that communicates pure delight. It’s a new day, what’s not to love?
I envy Callie’s little border collie’s disposition--always positive and willing. She’ll jump into action the very second I show any signal that we’re going to do something, anything! I get up to make a cup of tea and she’s right there . . . “Tea, cool!” I put on my coat and she is ecstatic, even if it’s just to take the garbage out . . . “Garbage, even better!” Everything I do, wherever I go, Callie is right there. I’m her human, and god knows, as well as dogs, that we humans need canine sponsors. I am very fortunate to have such an upbeat, smart, sweet, trusting, loyal, fun pup at my side.
I suspected that Callie was intelligent from the moment we began our partnership. It’s the breed, she’s a border collie. It didn’t take long for her to exceed my initial perception of her capacities. Callie is always alert to her environment. When I am not tuned into a potential problem that she grasps, she guides me with eye movement, head pointing, body posture, and quiet utterances that sound like a person trying to speak with their mouth tied shut.
At times, when my daughter has an extra long work day I dog sit her two wiener dogs, Beau and Rosco. At my house they are confined to the kitchen/utility room where a baby gate restrains them from entering the rest of the house. Every now and then crafty little Beau finds a way into the living room. On the rare occasion that I don’t see him and put him back where he belongs, Callie does. She is known to come directly into my vision, get my attention, and ‘talk.’ Then she directs her eyes to the offender. If I, being a little slower, don’t understand immediately, she patiently goes through the whole routine until a wake up and put Beau back behind the gate.
Callie’s watchfulness has never been more apparent to me than it was one night several weeks ago . . . I had been in the living room watching a movie. When it was over I got up, turned down the heat, turned off the lights and went into the bedroom. Callie stayed outside the door in the hallway. I called her in, and she didn't budge. This isn't usual at all. I shut the door, waited a few minutes and asked her in again. Still, she stayed in the hallway. It was only then I noticed I had forgotten to blow out the candles I normally light in the evenings. I went over and blew them out. When I did she ran inside the bedroom and flopped down into her bed.
It was a fortunate day for me when I saw Callie’s picture online. She was up for adoption in a shelter in British Columbia, having been rescued from a sheep farm near Whistler. Although her history is a bit sketchy, I do know that she had been cast out of favor when at just a year old she was assessed unfit for work on the farm. However, most of what I have learned about her history came from her.
When I picked Callie up at the shelter she was hiding under a table, several pounds underweight, shaking, and clearly terrified. In spite of the extraordinary efforts of many good people who worked at the shelter she remained completely mistrusting of people and her surroundings. Several workers had gotten her different foods to coax her into eating, and had taken her home in an effort to show her kindness. She was young, malnourished, and frightened. The manager of the shelter advised me to give her time, and let her come to me. It was good advice.
Over the months that followed Callie gradually began to accept her new life. Although it would be a couple of years before trust would overrule the painful memories of her former life, her progress was steady. In small increments she learned to accept that bad things would not happen. Initially, she would cower and watch our feet walking into the house. Doorways weren’t the only problem for her. She would not accept food from our hands. It would be many months before she timidly took a piece of chicken from my hand. Any quick movement of my legs or arms would send her running downstairs to the bottom step she claimed as her ‘safe’ place. There she would sooth herself, sometimes for hours.
Callie shed the bulk of her fears one by one over the months of consistent loving care. Although there are still some traces of her early wounding, today, years later, she is a robust, bright companion. Sometimes she’s even a bit cocky, and I must admit that I love it! She’s the dog in charge, and she knows it. Truthfully, I don’t know what my life would be like without her. Some might think I saved her . . . it was really the other way around.
I woke up grumpy, as a human does. After taking her out for her first job of the day--to retrieve that frisbee, I feel a little better. Watching her run full out across the lawn, grab the frisbee out of the air in what looks like an effortless, graceful leap is only topped by the smile on her face when she puts it back into my hand. Her eyes say, “Again!” Again, it is. Her exuberance has brightened my mood, and I’m not as prickly as I was just a little while ago . . . All I needed was a little touch of my border collie.
That’s what this artist is thinking about today . . .
About the painting . . . The inspiration for "Interspecial Rendezvous" came from a time when I had a remarkable relationship with a crow I fondly called Joe. His frequent appearances on my back porch were uncannily in synch with my moments of revelation and insight . . . So much so that over time I began to trust his input in my life. Even members of my family would take notice when Joe landed . . . A fortuitous signal from a winged messenger that I do not walk alone.