A Dog’s Life

Posted: October 15, 2020 in Culture, Idealism, Idle Nonsense
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From my earliest memories growing up, my large, Catholic family kept a series of pets. Most of the time it was a dog, only one at a time, usually a German shepherd. Later on, it was a cat. The pet belonged to no one in particular but to the family as a whole. And because this was before leash laws became commonplace, the dogs had plenty of exercise and range off-leash. As an adult, I’ve never had a dog but often wanted one. What I understand as a nonnegotiable commitment to a dog is not really possible for me. Moreover, I have never lived in a location amenable to the needs of a dog. Yet in my condo building, many of my neighbors keep rather large dogs, who are dutifully trundled outside to a small, enclosed space where they can be let off leash for 10 to 20 minutes every morning and evening to pee and poop (owners often face-planted in their phones during these intervals). Whether the dogs are eventually taken to a park or dog run to socialize with other animals or just be free to roam and play is unknown to me. I don’t witness it.

In rather stark contrast, I was fortunate to spend most of a recent weekend visiting Winged Elm Farm operated by fellow blogger The South Roane Agrarian (a superlative blogger, host, and chef, BTW), and the very first impression upon arrival was being greeted by his three dogs. Rather than being hemmed in by the city and limited by their master’s availability and willingness to grant outdoor time, these amiable dogs were free to move around and be dogs independent of the master. All of their time during my visit was spent outdoors. Of course, they were also tuned in, vigilant to all goings on around the farm and hyper-vigilant to any possibility of food or affection offered by one of the humans. They were introduced to me as “mostly useless,” which was unexpected because, to my way of thinking, all pets are essentially useless (as distinguished from useful or productive). That’s part of their charm. However, it was relayed that the oldest of three had been quite useful in her day corralling farm animal as they were moved from pasture to pasture. Alas, age and infirmity has made her less useful except for a reputed intimidation factor other farm animals still respect. Another dog was described as moderately useful as a ratter. The third enjoyed no encomium and had a habit (slightly unnerving to me) of standing with its muscled body pressed against my legs whenever possible. All three ventured without hesitation or apparent complaint into the rain that persisted most of the weekend.

Aside. With surprisingly superfluous regularity (maybe not so surprising in hindsight), nouns were accompanied by the modifier farm: farm dogs, farm animals, farm truck, farm tools and implements, farm life, etc. Eggs and veggies were farm fresh. Meat and fish were farm sourced, or as was jokingly admitted with respect to the crawfish etouffee we enjoyed for dinner, farm sourced but maybe not this farm.

Further aside. The farm was described as organic, meaning chemicals and unnatural fertilizers are not used and animals are mostly grass fed rather than raised in feed lots or stuck in crates. Indeed, chickens had access to the yard, goats sheep has access to pastures and barns, and pigs had access to the woods where they searched the understory relentlessly for anything remotely edible. The organic quality was reinforced as we sampled directly from the garden and orchards. Each farm product seemed to have a bit of dirt on it, which I ingested without first washing.

On the whole, these dogs enjoy a life on the farm most of us would envy. Their rootedness and sense of belonging to the farm, notwithstanding the occasional, cherished ride in the farm truck, is a condition few of us humans can claim. For instance, my own family, raised in the heart of the American Midwest, has now scattered to all four coasts/boundaries (East, West, North, and South), leaving only one behind in the center. Home may be where we hang our hats, but we don’t belong anywhere in particular anymore, and it’s difficult to say convincingly that any of us belong to that same family from my childhood, either. We live in flux, moving from place to place in search of opportunity, reforming many of our social attachments with each move, some of us forming new families in the process. Of course, this characterization fails to describe all Americans. Many stay their entire lives within, say, 100 miles of their birthplace and keep vital connections with an extended family all situated within one small region. Still, I can’t help but to admire the life provided to those dogs, something now denied to many of us humans.

Comments
  1. Brutus,
    We were glad to host you and appreciated your insights; such as this thoughtful perspective on the dogs in all of our lives (and on our farm). People keeping pets, particularly in the city, in such numbers is a relatively new thing. Dogs with the run of a farm can be a joyful sight to behold. I, in my less charitable moods, am inclined to assign useful, mostly useless, or useless, to the people I know. The old farmer’s chestnut, “useless as teats on a boar” has been known to pass these lips.

    I’m also glad you survived the “grazing” tour of the edibles on the farm. That has always been one of my particular pleasures, dining al fresco as I work the gardens or orchards.

    Thanks for the kind comments on the farm and the cooking.

    Cheers,
    Brian

    PS You stole my next blog post, the homeless.
    PPS Those were sheep, not goats. You are not the first city dweller to make that error.

    • Brutus says:

      I’m embarrassed. Now I remember clearly you said they were sheep. Fixed (sorta). Told you I needed an editor.

      Regarding stolen blog posts, I’m confident you can slap something together far superior to my own rumination regarding the eroded sense of belonging. I’d say you and yours are among those lucky ones who don’t suffer from that affliction of the modern age.

  2. […] BTW readers (and I meant to put this in my “reading this weekend” notes), Brutus wrote a nice piece this week on dogs and a visit to our farm. Do check it out.: https://brutus.wordpress.com/2020/10/15/a-dogs-life/ […]

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