Absence

Often, the absence of something is felt as tangibly as its presence.

Anyone who has ever lost a loved one—two-legged or four—knows this. The silence when returning home or the space in a room previously occupied by their being feels loud and hollow. The empty void as weighty as their once physical presence—leaving regret for ever having taken our time with them for granted.

This spring, the garden was filled with swallowtails, painted ladies and cabbage butterflies.

Now, there are none.

Two weeks ago, the hummingbirds were so busy drinking from the Agastache that this one ultimately decided to pull up a seat at the bar and rest while feeding despite the annoyance of my camera.

Since then, there have been none.

The garden is full of flowers that attract birds, bees, and butterflies.

The bees are plentiful and enjoying their solitary feast,

but the hummingbirds and butterflies are noticeably absent.

It was an unusually long, wet and cool spring but in the late two weeks, it has been unusually hot—record-setting hot. Hummingbirds must feed all day to sustain themselves, but they avoid the heat and seek shaded shelter.

If the nights are too warm, they cannot recharge. The result can cause malnutrition and exhaustion.

I prefer to hope that they have found another, more abundant source of nectar and tiny insects to feed their growing young somewhere—but the suddenness of their disappearance is disturbing.

Butterflies depend on a succession of blooms from spring to summer.

When they come too early, their life cycle is disturbed—potentially irreparably.

Have we altered our planet so significantly that even the havens we have created are inhospitable?

“You think you can fix everything, change everything. But there will come a day when things cannot be fixed. And, you know what, it will be a day just like today”. ~ American Indian elder, quoted by Kent Nerburn.

The garden is still beautiful, but it is not the same without the flying friends who usually accompany it.

It is quiet. Ultimately, the garden depends on the pollination these winged wonders provide to ensure its longevity. And not just the garden – our food supply. Without the bees and birds and butterflies, nature is in jeopardy.

What legacy do we leave in our wake?

“We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children.” ~American Indian proverb

Dear hummers and butterflies,

the flowers anxiously await your return…

as do I.

Taking the Hill

Originally, it was a mountain of tangled blackberries – home to snakes, thorns and the occasional bunny.

The brambles were replaced with raised blueberry beds – that fried in the summer heat and invited Bermuda grass, morning glory weeds and few blueberries.

Last fall, the bed frames were demolished to begin anew.

The vision was an extension of the adjacent California-themed garden.

The challenge: that bed sits near the top of the garden. When we get big winter rains, the water passes through and collects where the raised planters were until our clay soil will finally absorb it.

The solution: Mounds. Hills. Berms. Whatever you want to call them. They are raised high enough that the soil drains well.

Last fall, I brought in fresh soil and compost, covered them with cardboard, another layer of soil on top, and a final layer of mulch to let them “cook” over the winter, planting only those things that truly required fall planting. Maria and I created paths between the bed sections for weeding and planting access without compressing the soil.

And this spring, I filled the new beds to the brim with California natives and the Mediterranean standouts that I have long coveted.

The result exceeds my expectations already.

I know that I have installed more than the bed can handle long-term. But crowded beds ensure cooler roots in our hot, dry summers. And things can always be divided and moved in coming seasons.

The new beds are already bountiful and thriving in the conditions created for them.

Native Ceanothus, Poppy, Erysimum capitatum (“Western Wallflower”), California Fuchsia, Penstemon eatonii “Firecracker Penstemon,” Delta Sunflower, and Salvia spathacea  “Hummingbird Sage.”

Mediterranean garden favorites: Crape Myrtle, Cerinthe major, Verbascum, Lion’s Tail, Blue Fescue, Verbena, Gaura…

And a little happy Penstemon and Geum thrown in for good measure.

It’s not to say that the Bermuda grass and morning glory weeds have not attempted a comeback. But it is just so much more enjoyable to do battle with them when surrounded with this beauty.

Lesson: Never be afraid to start anew.

Like our friends Bodie, 14

and Summer, 15 –

both beginning new chapters in their glory years because kindhearted people believed that their best beauty was still within.

“There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. Yet that will be the beginning.” ~ Louis L’Amour

 

The Rules of Engagement

Most of our foster puppies promise to remember us always and then quickly forget when they find their forever homes. How do I know? Many come back for class or reunions. I may get a passing hello, but they are much more interested in playtime with the dogs than visiting with me.

An exception: Baby Sara – now named Jessie. You may recall from a past post, Jessie is the offspring of a Golden mom and a dad of many colors.

She was born and reared feral in a field until a woman living nearby could win mom’s trust. Since Jessie would not leave mom’s side, she had to choice but to be caught too – but unhappily so.

Our volunteers worked hard to socialize her enough for her to come home with us where my Yogi and Jackson completed the job.

She was adopted by a wonderful family and their Lab, Harper. Jessie helped to fill an empty spot in all of their hearts after the loss of their other dog.

Harper is very protective of her new sister. So much so, that if they are in class together, Harper spends all of her time keeping the other dogs away from Jessie. It was not a good example for Jessie, and was not providing the socialization she needed, so Jessie takes her classes solo now. When she spots me…she comes running into my arms and will not settle into class until our greeting is completed with belly rubs and kisses.

She is a little dog who thinks she is a big dog – until she gets rolled a couple of times in play and then she retreats to a corner. So she was delighted to make a new friend this weekend at school: Gracie.

Gracie is a four-month old Golden who—despite towering over Jessie—is also a little leery of the bigger dogs.

They are well matched: Even with those little legs, Jessie can outrun Gracie – but Gracie uses her height…

and weight…to her advantage when she catches up.

Still, Jessie was clearly laying down the rules of engagement.

Dogs are excellent teachers.

Jessie: That’s too ruff…I’m not playing with you until you calm down.

Gracie: Ah come on….

Gracie: You can’t resist me…

Jessie: Nope. Not working.

Gracie: What if I say I’m sorry?

Gracie: What if I am adorable???

Jessie: OK, we can be friends again. Just watch yourself!

It’s so wonderful to watch her grow and blossom.

Her mama would be really proud. I sure am.

All Dogs Go To Heaven

If April showers bring May flowers, what do May deluges bring?

It is the third week of May, and I am sitting in my house in a wool sweater and fleece jacket because I will be damned if I will turn on the heat at this point in the year!

Like the rest of the country, we have been hit with really bizarre weather. I cannot complain, however, because ours is in the form of cooler temperatures and significant rainfall – something we gladly accept as we head into another hot, dry summer (I think!).

It caused the cancellation of our much-anticipated annual Reunion Picnic when adopters and their dogs are reunited with the volunteers who helped them on their journeys home.

It is amazing to see so many faces spanning well over a decade in time. Some are young and wild; some sugar-faced and happy to rest in the shade. This year, however, they would have been sitting in a downpour, so we will have to look for another date.

Thankfully, the weather was beautiful for our new event two weeks ago – a memorial service in the garden: All Dogs Go to Heaven.

It was timed to match the garden’s first bloom. A heat wave the week before had me scrambling, but all survived and the garden looked magnificent—most especially the roses. There is nothing like the first bloom of the season.

People hung cards from the trees with photos and notes to the dogs they had loved and lost.

As the sun lowered in the sky, we lit candles, said a prayer, enjoyed great food and shared the company and stories of old friends and new brought together by a shared love of dogs.

I am not one for public displays of emotion, but I admit to welling up walking through the garden filled with photos of so many of our very special dogs—including our sanctuary dogs.

It was a physical manifestation of what I try to capture in this blog, thankfully documented by a professional photographer who donates his services, Mike Long. I stole a few to share with you. The full album is here.

As night fell, those that wished to placed their cards and photos in the fire pit. The ashes will be placed in the garden with a marker as a permanent reminder of the memories we shared together.

In anticipation of the rain this week, I did do some cutting back of the already over-burdened roses—particularly the Iceberg Roses in the White Garden that Ina has (once again) accused me of over-feeding and watering.

In my defense – the heat wave week was the first time I watered the garden all this wet spring – and they didn’t get any special feedings. They are, however, pruned by Ina – so guess who I blame for their exuberance!?!

I thought the rain might squash the newly planted Delta Sunflowers,

or drown the Dahlias that were just popping up.

Instead they seem to be thriving.

I’ll be curious to see how the California natives and drought-tolerants survive the pond created in the front beds.

How strange to worry about too much water for once! A small glimpse into our climate-changed future. Who knows? Maybe I will be able grow some of my east coast favorites soon.

Holding On To The Things You Love

Somewhere between work, volunteering, and changes to how WordPress manages the Reader and sharing, I ran out of blogging steam. Or maybe just words.

Fresh inspiration abounds, but not everyone wants to read the stories I might share. The self-imposed push for happy stories feels less authentic and gradually, probably less relevant to readers, as well. Blogs are time-consuming beasts, and when you feel like no one is listening, it is easy to become discouraged.

Along the way, I also absorbed the duty of dog photography for the rescue. Not the storytelling kind; photos for inclusion in their bios to help them on their way home. It’s a joy that can start to feel like a grind, turning something I love doing into something that feels more like work. But I was reminded this week of why I started this blog in the first place, and the importance of documenting the dogs’ faces and stories – regardless of who might be visiting.

A friend had taken home a dog five years ago. Bentley developed seizures and cancer and was lost to her too soon. The only photo she had of him was taken on the day they said goodbye.

This was before we photographed every single dog at the rescue. Many go home before they ever make the website where photos are required. Now, a photo accompanies each dog’s electronic file. Not the kind of mugshots you get at a shelter. A portrait. Or the best portrait possible.

There was nothing of Bentley in our archives but I found him easily in my blog. Then I went back to my original photo files and was able to provide my friend with more captures from a much happier time. It was the way she wanted to remember him.

I began this blog to document the restoration of a rescued garden and the rescued dogs who travel through it. The garden is grown,

but the dogs keep coming. Each face and story is unique and worth knowing.

This blog is my way of saying: You were here. You were loved. And you were helped on your journey to the best of our ability. Most importantly, you are remembered. Even on weeks when I cannot find words.

In keeping with this thought, I bring you Napoleon.

He went home last fall as a permanent foster dog. That means that Homeward Bound will ensure his medical care for life. Important, because he has inoperable masses in bad places. As far as he and his people are concerned, he is adopted. It is amazing what their TLC has done giving him fresh life always marked by a goofy smile.

And while he still looks amazing, I saw changes in him this weekend when he visited. So I thought I should capture him and place a current photo here where he can always be found and remembered.


“Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you never want to lose.” ~ From the television show, The Wonder Years

And that is all the motivation I need.

A Garden Is Not a Place

“A garden is not a place: it is a passage, a passion.

We don’t know where we’re going;

to pass through is enough;

to pass through is to remain.” ~ Octavio Paz

I am never alone in the garden. When all have left and I have it to myself, I am still surrounded by the memories of all that remain.

From Feral to Family: River

I first met him on an early spring morning. Arriving before the feeders to tend to Daisy and her puppies, I happened to look down the shoot that runs between two large dog yards. In the walkway was a pacing, nervous black dog who looked ready to bolt.

He had been living feral on the river for who knows how long. It took animal control a month to catch him. When lures failed, they resorted to a catch pole. It ensures safe handling for the human, but it is certainly traumatic for the dog.

He would have been impossible to keep at a shelter. Teeth bared in utter terror, he would not let anyone near. Thankfully, he came to us. He was having nothing to do with a collar or leash after the catch pole. So he was lured into an outside enclosure within a large yard for the night. Or so we thought. He had worked the door clasp until he found his way out of the enclosure and leapt over the eight-foot fence. Clever one. Fortunately, he picked the wrong side of the yard and landed in the shoot instead of onto the fenced property where he certainly would have repeated his dash to freedom. In the narrow passage, he couldn’t get enough distance and speed to hoist himself over. He was waiting for someone to come along, not notice him there, and open the gate so he could shoot past them to make his escape. Instead, we cornered him with x-pens and walked him back into the enclosure. This time, with a lock. I don’t think he ever forgot or forgave me.

We named him River. You could see the fear in his face.

It took weeks to get a collar and leash on him and many more to get him into the kennels.

Thankfully, the weather was fine. During this time, he made a tight group of human friends who very gradually earned his trust. He never counted me among them. But it doesn’t stop my appreciation for this magnificent boy.

He made dog friends. That too, took a little time but he craved canine companionship – and one in particular: another of our rescues, a dog named Roo.


One look…and the games were on!

If there was water and mud, so much the better!

With gnashed teeth and snorts, it sounded like warriors doing battle. But they delighted in each other’s play while Roo and others showed River, by example, that humans were OK.

Had he ever been in a home? Would he feel comfortable or claustrophobic? Would he escape when given the first chance? We knew nothing about him.

So a group of foster friends took him out for day trips and sleepovers. It helped us to see that River was finally ready to accept love and find happiness living the life of a beloved family dog.

And so, after a year, it was finally River’s day. While we were preparing to post him to the website, one of our volunteers scooped him up instead.

The best part? This very special dog will visit often and stay connected to our Homeward Bound family – not to mention, Roo.

From feral to family. Made possible by an incredible group of volunteers and supporters without whose help we would not be able to give a dog like River all the time he needed to be ready for home.

Happy life, sweet boy. Well done, team!

Additional photo contributions courtesy of Rob Kessel.

A Promise for Life

There are no promises made to the plant members of the Homeward Bound Memorial Garden. We get everyone off to the right start and visit twice a week, but beyond that, they are on their own.

If they can’t cut the clay soil, low water, and valley heat and cold then we just acknowledge that it was not meant to be and part friends.

If they are bossy and bully their neighbors, they will find themselves kicked to the curb. Everyone has to place nice here or be banished.

The dogs of Homeward Bound are a completely different story.

When a dog enters our program, we make a promise to them of food, shelter, care and help in finding a forever home that is matched to their needs. For those that cannot be adopted due to special needs, we provide sanctuary. Our promise is for life. If, for any reason, the dog cannot remain in its adoptive home, we require that it be returned to Homeward Bound. None of our dogs should be passed around or, heaven forbid, left in a shelter.

And so it was that Bodie rejoined us at the age of 15. He had been adopted 14 years ago as Shadow. His human dad is also in his golden years and now needs as much help as Bodie who was unable to walk. Dad was headed to assisted living, so Bodie was welcomed back by us.

Bodie was unsure of how he got to this place again – and not too happy about it, at first. He was either unable or unwilling to stand and went to great pains to even prop himself in a sitting position. But what a smile this boy has!

A trip to the vet and a week later, Bodie is a different dog. He scored the coveted ‘office dog’ spot where he is surrounded by company all day. By the end of the week, this dog that would not move was going for walks!

He has perfected the “please take me out” look. While most dogs get one or two walks between feedings, I spotted Bodie out four times on Saturday – each time with a different walker.

He has some lumps and bumps that we will keep an eye on, but at 15, we are mainly focused on finding the perfect home where a retired boy can rest his head and be spoiled rotten. And when we do, Homeward Bound will see to his medical needs for all the days of his life.

A promise made. A promise kept.

Don’t tell the garden plants. They’ll be jealous.

Blossoming

The gardening is waking up. After a long, wet winter and many false starts, there are signs everywhere signaling spring’s arrival.

But the bulbs and trees are not alone in their blossoming.

Sara is an adorable little black and white hot-dog of a puppy born in a field to her Golden mom. First noticed around Thanksgiving last year, a kindly neighbor began leaving out food for mom and her dwindling litter of pups. After several months, only Sara remained. She learned to stay close to mom and to be wary of everything. Survival instincts: finely-honed.

Mom started warming up to the neighbor woman. She had been someone’s dog once, and while distrustful at first, she took a chance in hopes of finding comfort and safety. When mom and baby could finally be caught, both were brought to Homeward Bound.

Initially, both were terrified. Mom started coming around after a bit, but baby Sara would not leave mama’s side. Our volunteers did an amazing job of coaxing them out of their shells, spending time with them and making them feel safe. One even fell asleep petting them in their kennel. Human touch is an amazing healer.

Baby Sara is somewhere between 5 and 6 months old. She stayed with mom long past the point when most pups strike out on their own. Mama was beyond ready to spread her wings and find her own future with a waiting family.

So baby Sara came home with me to spend some time at Camp Yogi and begin to learn about the world through the eyes of her foster friends.

It just about ripped my heart out to separate Sara from her mom, but we all knew it was the best thing for both.

There was some crying and whining, but she attached quickly to our dogs and to my husband and me. The hardest part was not coddling her. She didn’t need protection any more, she needed to gain confidence. She got together time and alone time. She got playtime and quiet time. She took to potty training like a pro, jumped into the bed like she owned it, and leapt right into our hearts. She was blossoming: playful and joyful and growing in her independence every day.

This weekend, she met a family of adults and their 18-month-old Lab, Harper. They had all been grieving the loss of their senior dog; Harper was feeling lost. Shy at first, we left Harper and baby Sara in the yard together and watched from afar. Baby immediately started following Harper around and Harper seemed glad for her company. The match was made. Baby left with a smile on her face and didn’t even turn back to say goodbye. On the ride home, she snuggled close to Harper. And the happy updates have been flowing ever since.

A lot of effort goes into planning for spring blooms.

You watch and wait, hoping it will pay off. When it does, it makes your heart soar.

Happy life, little Sara…the brightest flower of spring.

And Then There Were…Four?

And then there were…four?!?

Three weeks ago, I brought home the three tiny tots I showed you recently: little Rose, heartbreaker Ty, and tomboy Nutmeg (aka Meggie).

They are the reason I have been absent. They were tinier than they should have been with liquid poo, poor appetites and throwing up. Poor little babies did not feel good.

We typically suspect some kind of parasite and began treatment. At the same time, I started to gradually transition them from the canned food that they arrived with to our puppy kibble. You always want to transition dogs to new food slowly to avoid upset tummies and icky poo (like it could get worse!). They showed a little improvement, but the gains should have been faster on the meds and their fecal samples came up clear. At only three pounds, the situation was particularly concerning for little Rose.

And then: the recall notice. The Science Diet canned puppy food that accompanied them had been recalled for excessive vitamin D. The symptoms: everything they were experiencing. The gradual transition went out the window and the canned food went in the trash. They immediately began feeling and eating better. A week later, they had nearly doubled in weight.

Which was a very good thing.

Because they needed all the heft and energy they could muster for the newest arrival: 9 week old Anna.

I received the photo of her curled up alone in the corner of a pen looking pathetic with the message: “She wants to come and play.”

There once was a time when I was forbidden to take home more than two puppies because they worried it would be too much. I guess those days are done.

Camp Yogi is a maze of puppy pens and gates. Our stone floors are a lifesaver, especially given the bladder infection that Anna arrived with (all better now).

Yogi is the absolute most patient puppy teacher ever,

and my husband is a saint. Truth be told, he loves them. At least twice a day he lays down with them and allows himself to be trampled, toppled and mauled. It is their favorite activity.

Meanwhile, I have learned that you can get a lot done when you go to bed at midnight and get up at 5AM. P.S. Chasing after puppies while trying to get your work done cures nighttime insomnia.

Despite the size difference, they play well together. Every once in a while the three gang up on the one just to show them the power of tiny tots.

But everyone gives as good as they get, and at the end of every brawl, you will find them curled up together.

People say “I’m so jealous.” But when offered the opportunity to foster little ones, they usually vanish. The truth is that puppies are a lot of work.

They wreck havoc on your home and schedule, sleep is scarce, and the laundry is endless! In the summer, I am OK with them being at the rescue because they have so much room to run and play in their huge puppy yard. But in the cold and wet of winter, there’s no place I would rather they be.

These weeks are critical in their socialization. The first 3-4 months of a puppy’s life lays the foundation for their growing up ahead. So their time together, with us, and with our older dogs helps to set them up for success in safety and comfort.

Little Meg is home. Anna was scooped up today. And while our other two little Golden imposters may need a little extra help to get home from a big dog rescue, before I know it, they will be gone and our house will be quiet (and a bit sad) again.

I never saw myself as a little dog person.

But a good heart is a good heart.

There is a reason why we say that rescued is our favorite breed.

All In A Day

All in a day…

A motley duo transformed and made as beautiful on the outside as they are within.

A one year old boy is surrendered, and then reclaimed because his people could not be without him with the understanding that a dog is a member or the family and a promise is a promise. Kids (human or canine) take time to grow up. Patience, perseverance and consistency are the keys. You get out what you put in.

Three Golden girls were spared a life of puppy-making and will, instead, enjoy a life of love and play.

A good Samaritan went out of his way (and wallet) to convince a neglectful and abusive owners to sell him the dog they left chained in the yard.

Before bringing him to us, he took the unbelievably trusting and forgiving Labby boy to the river and showed him that good people do care.

Three grateful Goldens saved from the streets (or worse) traveled more than 6,000 miles to begin a new life.

Three masquerading teeny tiny tots made their way to our Golden Retriever rescue (and my foster home)

because our favorite breed is rescued.

And one hundred and twenty roses were pruned and prepped for a new season thanks to the best-ever gardening crew (only a few are captured here).

Countless little miracles – all in a day.
Find your passion and jump in. Even the muddy water is fine.