Porch sitting

 Porches used to be a required part of every house, whether you dwelt in the suburbs or far out in the country.  The farm house where I grew up had a huge front porch, so big we had cots out there and loved sleeping on the porch on warm summer nights.

The little cottage where I lived in No. Carolina before coming here to Joseph's Dream had a big front porch too.  A swing at each end, several chairs and a full sized picnic table. No screens, just waist high white railing-topped posts.  On one end the porch was secreted in a group of flowering trees.  At the other end, a large Dogwood tree where the Mockingbirds often sat and conversed with each other and even me.  The front of the porch was adorned with Azaleas.  This time of year that old sharecropper's cottage was postcard pretty.  Purple Finches often built their nests just inside on the eave.  Little green lizards were  seen sitting on the railing, and once a bold little chap took over the swing.  When I spoke to him he blew out his red throat balloon.  Always amazing to me how these very small creatures seemed to look me right in the eye.  How could they know an eye in what must have been a gargantuan beast in front of them?  

When I moved to the south, my Australian Shepherd, Heather, came with me.  Heather loved the porch.  She wanted to sit out there even when chores called me back inside.  So I had a gate made for the entryway at the steps so Heather could stay out there in safety as long as she wished.  Porch sitting by oneself can be enjoyable.  With company, it is delightful.  Heather was excellent company.  We watched bunnies cavorting on the lawn in the evening, deer tip-toeing along the edges of the fields, the grumpy old opossum, who lived beneath the porch ambling out as dark fell to see if any unwary mice might be about.  Heather was a quiet dog.  Never barking.  On a few occasions where she sensed a threat, she growled.  

Heather died, as all dogs and living things must.  I soon adopted Daisy, the Border Collie of my book, One Dog Night.  Sadly porch sitting was not something Daisy found at all of interest to her.  Even when my son came over and we sat out there in the dusk, Daisy preferred to remain inside sprawled out in her recliner in the den.  

Then came Hannah, the Brittany who was an old dog when I adopted her.  The porch here is very small, hardly more than a flat strip of cement with a roof.  The scenery is quite different then my country home.  We face the parking lot.  However, beyond  that is a wooded hill with birds and, if you watch carefully, a deer passing through.  Hannah would have none of it.  She felt the porch was simply something she crossed on her way to potty plot.

Now there is Edgar.  At last, once more I have a porch sitting companion.  Edgar would spend his entire day and evening on the porch.  I wheel out.  He makes a quick tour of the lawn, checking the flower bed for sign that the drifting tom cat had passed by, and then stretches out on the warm cement in the sun. His red/orange fur glows.  After a time he wants back inside, but only long enough to slurp up a cool drink of water, then back to the door.  If I am not quick to pick up his leash and join him, he sings.  He is so interested in everything that moves.  He has learned not to bark.  His little nose works overtime.  His  ears are perked.  No one would guess to see him that those pretty ears hear nothing.  He sees every movement from passing car to tiniest insect.  He enjoys every scent the breeze brings to his damp nostrils.  And I am once again discovering the peace and beauty of porch sitting, thanks to Edgar.