It's been two-and-a-half months since my dog, Sadie, died; this morning, for the first time since her death, I was able to watch a few of the many You-Tube videos I made of her while she was alive.
It's surprising how quickly a deceased friend's appearance blurs... did Sadie really look like that? I had forgotten how much energy she had, too. Iris loves to play fetch; she'll chase a ball all day long if you want to throw it. But there's nowhere near the energy that Sadie had.
Of course I moved Iris in as soon as Sadie was gone, and that probably had blurred the edges of my memories a bit.
I couldn't watch too many of the videos because Iris saw and heard Sadie on the monitor and got all excited, barking and growling; I was afraid she'd wake Cliff up, and he doesn't get enough sleep as it is. I'll have to watch my Sadie videos when Cliff's not sleeping.
Speaking of Cliff, he recently bought a box blade from a cousin. Since gullies are washed in our driveway every time there's a hard rain, he didn't have to wait long for a chance to use it.
Cliff probably spends as much time on one tractor or another than most genuine farmers. He is obsessed with tractors; I'm just glad there is something he enjoys so much. I'm thankful both of us are still able to enjoy life and ride our motorcycle and just watch the seasons change.
I'm in this sort of reflective mood because of a phone conversation I tried to have Sunday evening. We have a friend who is looking for a bucket milker for a few cows he's milking. I thought about some other old friends, Bud and Dona, who used a bucket milker to milk their one cow many years ago; maybe they'd like to sell it.
Dona had a stroke and is now in a nursing home; I had heard that their daughter was staying with Bud in his home. I called (the same number they had thirty years ago) and the daughter answered. I told her who I was and asked to speak to Bud.
She put him on the phone, but it was hopeless. He was off somewhere in his own little world, and unable to make any sense at all.
"Who's there with you?" I asked.
"Oh, Dona is here."
I knew she wasn't; I managed to get him to put the daughter back on the phone and told her what I wanted.
What a shocker, that a couple about ten years older than Cliff and me, have come to this. Dona, in fact, was younger than I am now when she had the stroke.
I have no more words at this moment.