Morning sun, redbuds and sleeping dogs

Was up in the night about 0130. The silence was alarming. No dogs barking, a pretty unusual event at Elm Hollow Farm. It was a waxing Gibbous moon and I could see quite clearly around the farmhouse and from there, across and down to the barns from the wooden deck outside the bedroom French doors. I went down the stairs to the lower story in our basement rancher home and entered the garage which comprises about a third of the lower level and sits just under the master bedroom on the east side of the house. There was Gladys, one of our older Pyr’s, lying on her oversize dog bed just in front of the 2015 candy apple red metal flake Mustang convertible. I enjoy this vehicle very much, but it is a somewhat poor-by-comparison replacement for its predecessor. You see, we bought this car because my first car in the late sixties was that exact color and it, too, was a Ford; a 1956 Thunderbird rag top and the only other convertible I have ever owned. It was the car I took Nancy out in for the first time in 1970. Unlike the Mustang, that car had a bench seat, floor shifter, over-sized rear tires fitted by removing the rear wheel well skirts, a 312 V-8, 4-barrel Holly and I could tune it myself with a new set of points, distributor cap, plugs and a timing light in about one hour. Every time I look at my Mustang, I have a dopamine surge from the recalled memories of that T-Bird, that boy and the sixties when a young man with a boss car was a “king”.

Anyway, Gladys just looked up at me without moving. I negotiated around the ECO electric mower and petted her head as I tried to step around her but she gave me the “Pyr Paw” grab, catching my right lower leg then locking my right foot to the garage floor with her front paws. Clearly, I had not given her the appropriate amount of attention. I had lost concentration with a '60's instant recall, I suppose. After a lot more petting I was able to walk around the Mustang and found that Bonnie, the other older Pyr, was not at her position on the other side near the partially open overhead garage door. I walked out onto the covered concrete patio by the side door and investigated Duke’s kennel. Tonight had been an experiment to see how Duke would do out for the night. We have had him kenneled most of the time due to his wanderlust but had relented for the first time in months since his injury at the hand of an unknown human assailant last fall that had resulted in two surgeries and a prolonged stay at the University of Tennessee School of Veterinary Medicine hospital. He and Mr. Max are our younger male Pyr’s and we had taken to having only one out at a time to minimize their team sport of gallivanting. Now neither was to be seen and more concerning, heard. I took a walk in my robe and sandals around the gravel drive that circles our hillside home, but no sign of them. The property is 90 acres fenced so they have a lot to maneuver in especially up the mountain to the south behind us but sometimes it is through the barbed wire and off to the densely vegetated spring fed pond at the base of the mountain to the west…down a very steep embankment. Neither trip to either woods was I interested in making in the night, even with the moonlight, given the absence of dogs and the known proximity of bears, wolves, coyotes and the rare cougar. My wife tells me Sasquatch is also up on the mountain. No, not tonight; not in my robe and sandals. Either direction the boys can entertain themselves chasing turkey, coyotes and deer. I figured they were wandering but not seeing Bonnie was a bit alarming and so I walked down the drive past the horse barn. She often will set up on that eastern hillside in the new grove of fruit trees we planted a couple of years ago where she can see the heifers grazing in Elm Hollow and where she has a good view of lake, mountain, barn and chicken coop…she is a great livestock guard dog (LSGD). But no, not there. I returned to the house and looked out from the back porch again but saw no dogs. Nothing to do…back to bed.

I was up at dawn with just a hint of rosy pink lighting up the eastern top of the Clinch range. From the bedroom window I saw one of the Pyrs sleeping just above the chicken coops. Again, down to the garage and there was Gladys, still on her “tuffet”; but this time as I stepped onto the back-patio Duke came running to me from the side of the greenhouse where he had been asleep. I petted and treated him as I closed him into his kennel once more. He is more of a guard dog than a LSGD as he only seems to accept Nancy and me. Others beware, but for us, he is a teddy bear. This morning he snuggled around me so close, pressing against me while speaking with that high-pitched whine he uses for us when he is happy. He is huge, at least 140#; so big that when he jumps up and places his paws on my shoulders, he is face-to-face with me. As I walked to the sleeping dog seen earlier, I noted that it was Mr. Max. He had obviously had a very good workout overnight as he did not move as I approached and only rolled over on his back as I bent down to pet him. I could now hear Bonnie barking further down the drive. The sounds of her were coming from the midpoint of the hill as the drive turns northeast towards the lake in the hollow where our heifers are being pastured while our bulls are in with the cows. This is where the great elm stands that Nancy found after she bought the place in 2011 and the origin of the farm’s name. Well there was Bonnie, laying down but staring up barking into the woods above the gate that is the pasture entry through the electric fence surrounding the hollow and separating our cattle from the lake and the wooded mountain. I called to her and she relinquished her guard post, slowly walking up the road to me. We walked to the barn for morning chores and opened the chicken houses on our way back to the farmhouse. I could see that the peafowl remained on the roof; it was still dawn and not quite sun-up on the farm yet. Bonnie and Mr. Max came into the kitchen with me, both still tired from their nights work and travels respectively. I stepped out onto the back porch and watched the sun come over the mountain top and splash its rays of first light against the redbuds surrounding the house and the barns. I looked back into the house and the dogs had gone to sleep in front of the breakfast bar. All is quiet; all is well. Nancy is getting up and time for coffee.