Last year just about this time I got a hankering for another Border Collie. A female, I decided. And I would name her Ruby, after Ruby Pease, who is an early ancestor who lived in CT in the 1700’s. A charming thought. Why not? It felt like a nice way to honor her, and make my past an even more vital part of my present. I thought she might like that. About a week later my friend Marsha emailed me saying, “Guess what? That breeder up in Oregon is looking for a home for the sister of our Cooper. Her name is Reba.” Gulp. Close enough for folk music, as they used to say in the 60’s. That was fast! I downloaded her photos. Shoot. I was in love. She was exactly what I was looking for. Sweet and gentle and smart.

I would like to portray what ensued as really straightforward. It wasn’t exactly a direct path, but after a couple of swerves in the road where I actually considered MOVING so I could have her, things fell into their natural place and moved ahead smoothly and the next thing I knew the breeder was volunteering to drive her down to us. Very very nice. She arrived at night in a truck driven by a tall lanky drink of water [have I been watching John Wayne over the holidays or what?], an interesting woman, stylish with feminine charms in boots and jeans and a wide, easy smile. Ruby (nee Reba) was tucked in back and was ever so ready to disembark and find her way to her new life. Mind you she was moving from a wildly different lifestyle and design. She had been herding sheep for the previous year or so. She’d been tapped as “the one” in her litter. Her paper trail went readily back to Scotland to a line of excellent sheepherders and trial dogs. It was considered her destiny to continue this skill stateside. But, alas, if truth be told, she hated the sheep and the herding. Should no one have been listening (which they were) she bit the sheep to make her point. “Sometimes God has other plans for a Border Collie, Reba,” her breeder confided she had told her little dog, sad that her vision had not come to reality. And so she came to us in the dark of that evening, right at Christmas.

In excited anticipation, I had prepared for her coming. It truly was like a new baby, even though she was two. I bought the biggest kennel I could find and a new soft big pink blanket. When I’d shared this with the breeder she had ensured me the dog would “be too hot.” Reba/Ruby had up until this time spent her time out of doors, mostly in a kennel, with only occasional forays Inside, and even then, under strict supervision. Things were about to change. Bigtime.

We brought her into the kitchen on a lead. What would Conner think?? Happily,
he loved her instantly. He seemed to know she was one of his own breed, someone who would understand him, and he was right. It is a lovely thing to have companion animals who are on the same wavelength with very much in common. It creates flow. We should take note. Communication between them is effortless. They enjoy the same activities. They are playful together and take delight in each other’s company. They share nicely. They respect each other’s boundaries, support each other’s needs. If Ruby cannot find a ball for me to throw, Conner will pounce on one to help her. If she loses her ball in the woods, he will point it out. If she jumps over his head, he regards this as natural. He adores her and thinks she is the cat’s pajamas. (Where *did* that expression come from??) And I agree.

When she first came and I saw her size I was nearly appalled she had been working herds of sheep. So little. So dainty. So cute, I thought. Then I discovered one morning she had dragged her kiddie pool (she swims!) containing probably a hundred pounds of water half way across the yard. Oh, yes. With her teeth. I told a friend if I ever fall in the snow and can’t get up, this wee thing will drag me to safety. She is one tough thing, immune to bumps, to getting knocked about in play. She is fast, loyal, intelligent and good. And she can pull herself in and quiet herself in a heartbeat. She is inordinately affectionate and dear. All I’d hoped for and more. I live in continual gratitude for what her being, her mind, heart and energy have brought to our family. We feel rounded out now, more balanced. The pack is full and we are happy. And so is she.

Posted on December 25th, 2007 by Kathryn
Filed under: Animals | 10 Comments »

If truth be revealed, and you might well have suspected this by now, I am not
exactly your typical gardener. I am, afterall, my Grandmother’s daughter.
[See above.] Oh, I’m not above being seen with no makeup in my flannel pajama bottoms and a [cashmere, cough, cough] sweater with a [ditto] scarf wrapped around my neck very early mornings out front, picking up what the wind brought in the night before–my neighbors’ leaves, most likely–or stooping down to edge the lawn, or trimming the old lavender bush that endures out front, or pruning roses, and what-not. And my neighbors will testify to this. Yes, in her pajama bottoms. Hair tousled from the night before. So what? They really do not care. It’s that kinda town. But I do. And I can assure you that following this muddy foray I am immediately, and I do mean immediately, headed for a hot bath and soak, and hair styling and careful grooming and a solid Ralph Lauren look for the day.

And this brings me to the gardener’s soul and what Santa might be thinking
of putting in the gardener’s stocking to balance out all that hoeing and digging
and nailsplitting dirt. A girl needs balance.

First of all, I’m going to say right now, and I’m sure there will be people who find this very strange, but if my nails are done (as in properly and professionally manicured) I find they can endure the rigors of the garden much better. It’s simply protection. And I don’t mean those fake nails. Forgetaboutit.
I mean a simple basecoat. A nice color. (I like red, especially dark red.) And
then a topcoat. But what about gloves, you say, right? I bet I have good company when I say, “I don’t like to wear gloves. I like my hands in the dirt.”
We are complex creatures, and things don’t always add up as, well, consistent.
I do wear gloves if whatever I’m going to put my hands into is gooey or
I might get hurt. I have tons of gloves for every occasion. So Santa might
be inspired by above to give his gardening friend a gift certificate to a good
manicurist and some nice gloves. Now we’ve covered every eventuality.

While we are on nails I have to say that I’ve discovered that if I religiously
drink green tea every single day, which I do, my nails stay really strong.
Thought I’d throw that in…

OK, we have done our nails. How about that long luxurious bath we need after some deep shoveling and clearing away debris? I personally have a little corner of the bathtub where I have at least a dozen tiny bottles of oils lined up and
each bath gets a different few drops of whatever suits my mood and needs at
the time. Mornings are apt to get geranium oil or rosewood oil. Evening baths will almost assuredly be doused with lavender oil as it lends for good sleeping.
My other standards are eucalyptus (use with the rare cold), and rosemary.

Since it is Christmas a bit of indulgence is in order and now is the time to definitely bring out the bathsalts. And don’t forget a nice pumice stone for those dry feet and a loofah or a good long-handled body brush to get the circulation going! A wide variety of all the above mentioned products can readily be found at any good health food store, and all would be most likely be welcomed on Christmas morning. (Leave a list on the frig door??)

OK, you are fresh from the bath and now you need to lather yourself down
with a rich body lotion. I keep about four or five on hand and, again, use the
scents that appeal at the moment. These winter months I’m enjoying particularly
coconut and a wonderful blend I’ve found locally called Hawaiian Ginger and my new favorite, Harvest Pear. Yum. None of these things go on my face. The only cream that goes on my face is [here come the brands, and no, no one sent them to me for a blog tour, but I wouldn’t mind it if someone from their companies sent me a little gift certificate! Hey!] Dr. Hauschka’s Rose Cream, my secret weapon. Now you know. And as long as I’m mentioning names, you must have Burt’s Bees Coconut Foot Creme for your feet, Burt’s Bees Almond Milk for your hands, and lastly Burt’s Bees Beeswax Lip Balm for your luscious lips. Ah, heaven.

Tired? Lie down, Mama, and put a nice scented eye pillow over your eyes and
take a little power nap. You deserve it. Haven’t you been thinking of everyone
else for the last two weeks?

Now see if you can get Santa to give you a nice foot massage to wrap things up.
Enjoy.

Love and blessings,
Kathryn

Posted on December 11th, 2007 by Kathryn
Filed under: People at Play | 1 Comment »