My newlywed son and his bride are still settling into their home here in the countryside. Every day they savor the sunrise over the pond and the wildlife that takes their presence in stride. Red-shouldered hawks sail in and out of the trees. White-tailed deer creep to the edge of the yard at night, their eyes glowing in the firelight from the backyard pit.
One day, my son said: “I think we have a raccoon. Or a possum. Something is getting into our trash every night and scattering it all over the yard.”
“What will you do?” I asked.
“For now, just watch and see if we can figure out what it is.”
So it was that as my son and my daughter-in-law were sitting by the firepit one crisp evening, they heard the telletale rattle of plastic from the trashcan.
The creature had arrived.
My boy and his bride strained their eyes, trying to make it out.
Small. Not gray. Not a possum.
A bit of brown, a patch of white…not a raccoon.
They finally got a good look at the wild thing:
A dog.
A beagle, to be precise.
With a great deal of coaxing, the skittish scavenger finally crept over to them on its belly.
Covered in layers of greasy residue, wearing a monstrous shock collar that had left a bald place on its neck, the little dog slithered over and submitted himself to his new family, who loved him from that very first moment. They bathed him, fed him, cut away the collar and pitched it, took him to the vet, made every effort to find the owner (no chip). They give him meds to rid him of heartworms.
His name? Buddy. That’s what they called out to him, the night he was hiding in the brush, deciding if he could trust them or not.
They have learned that they have to keep the dog food secured or he’ll bust into it when they’re gone…the scavenger days are too recent, plus, beagles are known to gorge themselves.
Buddy seems to have learned, though. that his days of insecurity are over.
He’s made himself at home:
He’s even made a new friend that he utterly adores:
Dennis the dachshund has been most gracious toward his new sibling…he just won’t be outdone for attention, as you can see.
I’ll say it for my husband, for my boy and his wife, for their two cats, two guinea pigs, and hammy little dachshund: There’s one more thing to love and cherish here in our neck of the woods.
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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge
Last Friday, in preparation for the advancing winter storm, our school system dismissed three hours early.
This gift, so to speak, would take an unexpected and exponential turn.
Driving along brine-dusted backroads many thoughts crowded my mind…concerns about work, about people in my life who are facing battles…all I really wanted was to get home, to rest, to feel hopeful for a little snow, as we’d gone over a thousand days without any measurable snowfall. My granddaughter Micah, age three, has only seen flurries on a mountain vacation. She’s never made a snowman.
It’s hard to remember exactly what my thoughts were as I rounded the bend where a patch of woods borders a field:
I glimpse the body of the deer by the roadside. Bright pink innards exposed, the only shock of color in the entire brown-gray landscape… when suddenly there are wings extended wide, curled at the ages…
Buzzard, says my brain. I see them all the time. But in that instant, a flash of white.
An eagle. An eagle. An eagle. Rising on its mighty wings, barely three feet away.
Oh oh oh.
I don’t know how I know, I just do: it’s not really flying away.
I’ve already passed, so I stop the car to look in the rearview mirror.
It’s still there. Plain as day, back at the carcass.
Only one thing to do…
I drive a short distance for the first safe place to turn around. Happens to be a tiny church tucked into the woods. I pull onto its driveway – broken concrete, in need of repair – and call my husband while circling round:
You won’t belive what I just saw – an eagleby the road! Eating a deer!
Wow…you better keep your eyes on the road. Be careful.
That’s just it, though. I WAS keeping my eyes on the road.
I am still keeping my eyes on the road, going back…
It’s still there.
I know I can’t get too close or it will fly again.
No other cars are coming down the road in either direction, so I get a short video:
Apologies for the erratic movement…
The video doesn’t capture the magnificence of the bird, and I wish I could have recorded it taking flight, the incredible majesty and grace of it, like some kind of winged dancer… I had to move on before someone came around the bend and found me stopped in their path.
I took the next road on the left…
The name of it, on a green street sign: Glory Road.
One more time I passed the field, slowly. One more time I saw the eagle, just as a school bus came along behind me…I had to keep going, but could see, in a quick rearview mirror check, that the bus had slowed. Not because of me; there was plenty of distance between us. Not to make a drop-off, either.
I am sure that bus was full of children who, like me, paused to see the eagle for a moment, so close, so huge, rising on its glorious wings.
Right there in sight of Glory Road.
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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Writing Challenge
Note: Eagles primarily eat fish. In winter, when fish are harder to come by, eagles will eat roadkill. I almost entitled this post “Provision.”
lit bits and pieces 