A BAD DOG TRIES, BUT FAILS, TO BE GOOD

Autumn Leaves

IT'S COOL AND OVERCAST IN BIRDLAND. In short, a perfect Autumn day. The Hackberry trees in our yard shed brown leaves that gather in the driveway, and soon I will rake them up for the deep litter bedding in the chicken coop. So far, not much color in our yard or in the woods beyond the fields—just the green is not so brilliantly emerald as it was in summer. I did see a sugar maple in town yesterday that had half turned a bright pink-orange. That is, one side of the tree had turned, the other side was still green.

Cullen, the good dog.

I sit on the porch to enjoy the breeze, bundled up as I am. The cat just came out from under the ornamental quince to join me. Ursula barks from the line on the other side of the house. She, the bad dog, is on probation, but I will let her off in a minute. She is sneaky, that one. She knows she is not to go into the chicken coop and steal food, so she waits patiently on the walk up to the kitchen door until we go inside. We watch from a window—sometimes the window in the kitchen door, sometimes over the kitchen sink. She watches the window until we go away. She even waits there a minute more, steadily gazing at the window.

I am but an innocent dog.

When she thinks she is in the clear, she v-e-r-y c-a-s-u-a-l-l-y moseys toward the coop. She takes a circuitous route, behind the garage. But sometimes we are still watching from the window with our coffee, and when I see her come around the other side to go into the door of the coop, I will knock loudly on the window. Then she will run back to her station on the cobblestone walkway and scrutinize again the kitchen door. "Who me?" she asks with her innocent gaze? "I was just, you know, visiting with my little feathered friends."

This morning, though, the knock did not call her back because I had just put out a pile of compost for the chickens to scratch and gather. Is there anything tastier than orange peels, apple cores, egg shells and coffee grounds? All that deliciousness is just too much for a bad dog trying to be good. I had to run out yelling, "No, No No!" And still she gobbled as fast as she could. What could I do but catch her (easy to do when she stands with her head down, gorging as fast as she can) and put her on the line for a while.

She is getting used to the line. Cullen doesn't mind it, and we put him there after his meals for a while, so he doesn't run off following the deer and come back full of prickles and cockleburs. He takes it in stride and lies in the driveway watching for whatever comes around the corner and down the hill. But Ursula used to fret quite a lot. So mournful was her cry that we would not leave her on the line too long. So anxious was she that we could not leave her unattended or she would tangle herself in the bushes. But now she takes it in stride. Her barking this morning is just because Jim has come out in his white truck to check the soybeans. Are they dry enough to harvest? We both watch him, I from the porch, Ursula from the driveway. He walks down the grass waterway a bit and over to the beans and bends over them, feeling, I suppose for dryness. Then he hops back in his truck and drives away. Will he be back today with the combine? Will the rain that seems to be gathering in the low clouds to the west hold off? (And will I gamble, and hang my laundry out anyway despite the lack of sunshine and warmth? Probably. It should be done with the wash cycle by now.)

Ursula has settled back down, and I can see her in my mind’s eye, lifting her nose to the breeze, letting the wind lift her black fur a little. I'll go in a minute and let her loose from the line, but for now I'm going to sit here just a little longer, looking off into the bronzed fields and enjoy the morning.

Sit in Beauty; Lie in Peace; Blessed Be

Mary Lucille Hays lives in Birdland near White Heath. If you’re missing your weekly dose of Birdland Letters in the News Gazette, you can still read them every week in the Piatt County Journal Republican and at www.letterfrombirdland.blogspot.com. Consider subscribing to support your small-town newspaper. You can follow Birdland on Instagram and Twitter @BirdlandLetters. Mary can be reached at letterfrombirdland@gmail.com or via snail mail care of this newspaper.

LETTER TO BIRDLAND

 By Ursula

SOMETHING IS GOING ON. She went to bed as soon as we put the chickens in. Now that I know what She wants, I can be very helpful. She wants me to watch very carefully and wait, making sure all of those goofy birds go in. Sometimes they get right up to the door, but then lose heart, silly birds. Then I have to chase them around the coop again, only slowly, slowly. She walks behind me, speaking softly. We are a good team. But then She went straight to bed. Something is going on.

They were putting things in the car. The young one, too. Last time this happened They went away. I went back and forth, back and forth, trying to tell them with my eyes, “Don't go away.” Last time the one who came gave me food and pats, but I was worried. They were gone a long time.

He is cooking. It smells good, and maybe He will go out and leave the meat. I will lie here and pretend to sleep, but I am watching. It smells good. Why is he cooking after dark? Are they leaving again?

Now they are all sleeping. And the food is way up high in a box where I can't reach it. What is going on?!?

 She is up. Turning on lights. She goes from room to room, turning on lights. I think she is angry. No, frustrated. She wants them to do something. Finally they understand. Why are they getting up in the dark? They go back and forth, carrying things to the car. They open the back where I sit sometimes! I jump up! I jump up! I am a good dog! They go back inside, but the door is still open. Guys? Guys? Where are you going?

THE GROUND GOES UP
TO THE SKY!

 We are all in the car! I am going! It is dark and I sleep. I sleep. The car goes. It goes. The light comes and we go. I see cars chasing us. I see color and light and cars. She comes and puts the nose leash on me. It's not my favorite thing, but walking is my favorite thing. Walking and nose leash. Water. Smells. Dogs!! We go in the car, we go on a walk. One time He and The Young Ones went inside. She and I stayed out. She found an apple tree. I found a puddle in a sea of cement. It was more water than we've had at home in awhile. I lay down in it and had a good soak. He came out and we sat by a tree while She went in and got the young ones.

I AM A VERY GOOD DOG!

 Now we all get out! No leash! More people who smell good. I get pats. We go on a big walk with no leash! Trees! The ground goes straight up to the sky! A big puddle that rushes. I go in. I smell fish, frogs, birds, so many good things. We go inside and no one is watching. I smell meat. I can reach it. So much meat! I stand up, just to smell. It is good meat! So good. I see another one! Oh. Uh-oh. I am a bad dog! Bad dog! She is angry? Disappointed. Embarrassed! They cut up the meat I left and make shishkebabs instead. I am so sleepy! I sleep. I sleep.

EAT IN BEAUTY;
RUN IN PEACE;
BLESSED BE!

It is day and He gets up, but she sleeps. I wait for Her. When She gets up, I bark. Hurry up! Hurry up! She pours my food and says, “wait.” I wait. I am a good dog. She says, “Ok,” and I eat. I follow Her outside and we go down the trail. So many morning noises. I see a big chicken. And another. I run. They cross the trail with smaller chickens. She says, “wait.” I want to get them for the coop, but I wait. I am a good dog. I am a very good dog.