The Suki

 January 2021 Suki, a wild-eyed English pointer came to be a Smith.

House breaking, recall, manners, all EVENTUALLY understood.  Chewing and digging, not so much. 

I'm on my second set of living room furniture, second guest bed mattress, countless duvets, pillows.  Suki... incorrigible.

She even tried to chop a tree down.  

Nothing was enough to quiet her wild side.  Run her all you want.  She can do 26 miles in 3 hours, by herself!  Some of the GPS logs boggle the mind.

The Terminator, nonstop hunting machine.  She could follow the birds in the barn for hours.

Then an hour nap and she'd be ready to rip again. 

The most gentle little soul in the world to us...

...yet so self-destructive to herself.

In the span of two weeks, she was bitten by a venomous snake and then tore her back open running around the yard. Two sleepless nights at the vet school.  

The heat has been atrocious for weeks and I haven't been letting the dogs out except early morning and evenings.  I dragged out Cole's pool and spent a few night supervising.  Satisfied that Suki, with her sutures, avoided the pool altogether, I left them unattended while I was at work.

Around 8:30 PM, I couldn't shake a bad feeling, I left the barn and went home to check on them.  Three German Shorthair pointers and Fergus playing in the pool and Suki floating among them.  She hated water, I still don't know why she would've jumped in.  It's shallow enough for even the shortest one to stand, but the boys play rough...  I performed CPR, she had a heartbeat so I performed chest compressions while driving 100 mph to vet's house, then felt her slip away.

I have yet to forgive myself for failing her, not only that night, but by not cracking the code to the reasons for her destructive behavior.  The most beautiful, lithe as a friend described her, sweetest dog I've ever owned, slipped between my fingers.  

Maybe she's up there driving St. Peter crazy by chewing up his pearly gates, maybe not.  I hope she has found serenity.  One in a million girl. 

Confessions

 If parents say they love all their children equally, they're lying. 

I lack flesh and blood kids, but I do have creatures for whom I'd eagerly commit murder. Or in the least, have completely ended relationships over.

I can't wait to get home to these faces every night.  Days off... these are the ones I want to spend all my time with.

photo credit Bri Mitchell

Ditto for the ponies.  If you're lucky, it's a 30 year commitment.  For all y'all who suggested I divest myself of my horses, don't be looking for a Christmas card this year.

My little Axel will soon be 30, which mean I've spent over 10,000 days being with him every single day. On average, kids stay at home for roughly 7,000 days, think about that.  When I rescued him, Angus, Fletcher and Jones, I meant it.  

I was in my early 20s when I pulled a seriously injured Appaloosa off a trailer headed to the kill pens.  I plan to be in my sixties when I bury him. End of story.

Cole.

photo credit Mark Rikard

Cole was my soulmate.  Dax was meant to be his doppelganger. 

A Festivus pole is the only Christmas tree to survive Dax.

Alas, he turned out to be the spawn of Satan; yet I love him like only the mother of Beelzebub can : voraciously. Micah came along next.  I knew the moment I cradled him that he was mine. He's named after the great endurance runner, Caballo Blanco, whose real name was Micah True.  Kind, loyal, dependable, he suffers the part of best child well.  All the others get the attention, the time, the encouragement. I've missed his birthday two years in a row.    

Every once and again, I take him alone to run errands and dream we never go back.  We take what cash is in my wallet and we make a run for Wyoming.

So, if you're being a snot to your parents, do know they fantasize about leaving your capricious, demanding, special needs asses behind on a regular basis.  Be smart, act extra nice if you come home and mom and dad's cars are still in the driveway.