The Never-ending Song

The American Indians had it correct.  They communed with the animals.  Perhaps because they lived so much closer to nature than the vast majority of people today they were better able to feel the common thread of  understanding between human and animal. The more researchers uncover about behavior, not only in mammals, but fish, birds and even insects, we are coming to acknowledge the amazing intelligence they  possess.   Intelligence is a word difficult to define as there are so many ways to identify or "prove" it's existence.  A creature who has the ability to use tools--and there are thousands of those including the insect population, creatures who can learn from others, communication--the list goes on.  People tend to say about the Border collie who has learned some amazing tricks that he is a very smart dog.  Is that what intelligence is? It is hard, at least for me, to differentiate between intelligence and inherited response.  When a creature very different fro

Which came first--the chicken or the egg?   Personally I think it was the chicken.  There are lots of miscon- ceptions about eggs. To begin with, my Mother rented a huge barn for a couple of years. She installed a large flock of Rhode Island Red hens and several handsome roosters.  The eggs we collected from the nests, while trying to avoid the protective roosters' advances, were taken to the cellar of our house.  Mother had a lamp and platform device she had assembled on which she placed the eggs, one at a time, and was able to see inside the shells to the interior content of the egg.  Most of the eggs were placed in enormous boxes lined with cardboard "egg cups".  Some were set aside for the family to eat.  I was too young to  understand what exactly Mother was seeing in those eggs which were selected.  But I knew the chosen ones were sold to a hatchery-which meant they were fertile.  I never realized that many people think hens do not lay eggs unless there is a ro

Previously I told the story of how my Dad's English shepherd waited in the storm at the broken fence where he left her until he came to release her.  Shep was a herding dog, trained and instinctively knowing the importance of staying where she was told to watch and wait. Kip was a Schipperke, a name which means" little captain". He was my 30th birthday present.  My third baby was allergic to dogs, so the family was without a dog at that time.  I had always had a dog and missed their presence very much.   My husband heard about a woman breeding Schipperkes who claimed they were a good choice for people with allergies.  The Schipperke is a big dog in a small dog body.  Almost cat-like in their attention to cleanliness.  They were bred  to live on ships. My husband purchased a 9 week old puppy for my birthday. He was a wonderful companion to my three small children. True to the advertising, Kip's presence in the household presented no problem with allergies.  He le

Stepping out of the back door of my farmhouse on a lovely summer morning I heard a banging, crashing racket coming from the barn in which my 2 year old stallion spent his nights.  Since Chal was usually a quiet. well behaved guy, this was an immediate cause for alarm.  I dashed down the lane and entered the walkway to Chal's stall. Looking over his gate I found the young colt lathered in sweat, eyes rolling, and a face full of porcupine quills. In the far corner of his stall huddled a large, fat porcupine.  He appeared to be uninjured--just grumpy.  I grabbed a lead rope and opened the stall gate, talking quietly to my poor, terrified horse.  I stroked his frothy wet neck, clipped the lead to his halter, and led him out of the barn to the corral. There I tied him to the railing.  I talked to him and rubbed the sweat from his neck with a rag I had stuffed in my jeans pocket, while checking the rest of his body for quills.  There did not appear to be any quills other than those on

During this time of above average temperatures (103 here yesterday with DP making it feel like 110) which most of the country seems to be experiencing, I decided thoughts of winter and snow might be appreciated.  Winter in Vermont is the way winter ought to be.  Deep snow which lasts.  Crisp, nose-pinching air, long sparkling icicles dangling from the eaves, and FUN. We had the perfect coasting hill on the farm.  Long enough and steep enough for a good trip down in the toboggan, with a bump about midway for thrills.  Large landing field with no fence or trees at the bottom where the sled coasted to a stop.   We also had some flat fields covered in deep snow.  I had a horse. I had trained Signal myself for riding.  Somewhere I came upon part of a driving harness.  It was not a work harness but rather a bridle with long reins and a circingle  with brass loops on top for the reins to run through keeping them high above the ground.  We did not have snow- mobiles then.  I do not think

Thinking my Mother was in need of a dog for company, I researched breeds and decided a Whippet filled the bill.  Medium size, short hair, gentle, affectionate and an easy keeper.  I purchased Tildie from a breeder where I had viewed both sire and dam.  Her registered name was Darby's Image Matilda--a large mouthful for the small brindle female 12 week old pup!  Thus she became Tildie.  I kept her until she was housebroken and knew basic obedience.  She walked quietly on a leash -which was important as my Mother was an older lady.  Then we went to visit Mother, my big surprise and me.  Mother was surprised all right.  First of all she did not want a dog and secondly she most assuredly did not want that "emaciated looking" one. I explained that Whippets are naturally shaped like that.  Tildie was actually a beautiful little specimen of her breed.   I returned home with Tildie.  She was a great little dog.  Her only bad habit was that she loved to chew.  She could be surrou

Grandpa was taking me fishing.  We gathered his fishing tackle and a small pole for me. He sent me out with an empty soup can to find some worms for bait. We had not had much rain lately.  Worms were scarce and the ones I did find were skinny little things.  Grandpa did not do any fly fishing that I knew of.  Grandpa always fished from the boat anchored in a quiet bay.  He was content to sit for hours  listening to the bird song, watching the clouds drifting overhead, his line tossed out a ways from the boat and allowed to drift slowly along beneath the water's surface.  Catching a few fish just added to the fun. Grandpa's cabin was on a small lake.  Most of the fish he caught were perch or bluegills (sunnies to some).  Once in a while he would hook a Northern pike--a real fighter, - Not worth much for food as they were so full of tiny bones.   Using the sad bunch of worms I had gathered, putting two or three on the hook at a time  in order to make anything worth a fish'

Not sure just how old I was-probably around 8 when, after the incident at the wharf when my sister fell in, Grandpa decided it was time I learned to swim.  With the water wings firmly attached, I stepped into the shallow water near the shore.  Then under Grandpa's direction, I waded out to about waist deep.  Grandpa was right beside me.  He placed his hand beneath my tummy and told me to lie down on the water.  Then as he held me and walked along next to me, he told me to kick my feet and make my cupped hands go back and forth like a dog trotting.  After a few sessions he quietly slipped his hand from under me.  Of course the water wings held me up.  I stopped splashing, but Grandpa said I must keep going because one day I might not have the wings on. I became so adept at the dog paddle that I would venture into the lake alone and paddle around.  (Always with the wings, and never in depth over my head.) When I taught my children to swim, I taught them to float first.  I don't

Grandpa Smith enjoyed fishing.  He had a small aluminum rowboat which had an outboard motor that he could lift easily on and off the boat.  He kept the engine in the basement of the camp-never left it on the boat unless he was right there with it.  I did not know much, if anything, about horsepower back then.  Now, recalling the ease with which Grandpa carried that motor, I think it must not have been a very powerful one. However, it scooted that little boat across the water, leaving a tiny wake and delighting me with spray in my face.  Grandpa would load his fishing pole, tackle box and a red can of gasoline into the boat, which was tied to the wharf.  Then he would bring  out the motor and place it on the back of the boat.    He attached some hoses from can to motor.  Lifting me under the arms, he set me onto a wooden crossboard seat in the middle of the boat. (Yes-I had my life jacket on). He sat in back, yanked on the cord which brought the little motor spluttering to life.  As w

We started talking about grandparents yesterday.  Don't know how it came up.  Maybe when one gal noticed the pictures on my bookcase of my great grandsons, Thor, 10 and Finn, 6. Bright, handsome, little blondes. It sounds as though I was luckier than the average kid, having the grandparents that I did.  My sister Patty and I had both sets-maternal and paternal grandparents.  The Sarson ones favored Patty, while the Smith ones were my champions.   Grandma Smith was a victim of rheumatoid arthritis.  I never knew her to be able to walk.  Her hands, too, were curled.  She never complained about anything.  I never saw her cry. Her Boston Terrier, Teddy, was always by her side.  Teddy loved chewing gum.  He never swallowed it--just kept chewing until either he was tired of it or perhaps it had no more flavor, then he spit it out over by his water bowl.  He never left a sticky glob anywhere else for someone to step on. Grandpa had a camp which he had built on a small lake  not too ve

Summer has arrived in full swing.  Although I am no longer able to pack a tent in the boat and head out to an island in Lake George, this time of year brings back the memories of those times. My husband and I made our first trip in a very small boat we called the Nautilus due to it's tendency to dive nose first beneath the water when you tried to go forward with any speed.  We also had a very small canvas tent-just room to lay out two sleeping bags side by side on the floor.  Being newbies, we also set our cardboard box containing the food inside the tent. Somewhere in the depth of night I awoke to a rustling sound.  The food box was near my head, so I reached up thinking to catch my husband in his quest for a midnight snack.  What I felt was fur.  Then a cold nose.  When I lifted the cover of my sleeping bag thinking to crawl out, the furry creature crawled  in beside me and curled up next to my hip.  There came a faint, very distinctive odor from the fur-bearer's body.  SKU