Dog Days of Summer

It was sunny out. I watched the corn sway gently as I enjoyed a bit of after lunch freedom in my garden. I was almost laughing with glee at how many beautiful green shiny peppers I had collected from the plants that were thriving despite the weeds trying to choke them out. I carried them to the house and added them to the stack on the counter. 

It was a Monday. My mind was swirling with nostalgia as I recollected the memories of the past year in our barn. I couldn't believe it had been a year already. 

My tireless husband was in the field again mowing alfalfa. 

I think I have a love hate relationship with alfalfa.

Just as my brain hopped on the " I spent too long in the garden, better head back to the farm, I have so much to do this afternoon, wow it's hot today" train of thought, it collided with another one.

Where is Bandit? 

I called for him twice before I realized that that faint barking I had been hearing in the distance was in fact not the neighbors dog. It was mine.

Now let me give you a little background. 

Bandit does not bark.

In fact when I picked him out as a puppy, it was the fact that he was under the tree, chewing on a stick alone instead of in the heap of puppy, crazy, teething ball of mania with his brothers and sisters that made me pick his little sweet self up and take him home with me.

He's one of those dogs that is so good it almost makes you love them more than you can stand it.

So when I realized it was Bandit barking in the middle of the corn field, AND the fact that he wouldn't come to me when I called for him, I automatically assumed he was hurt/trapped/ fallen into a black hole etc.

So into the corn I went.

I don't know if any of you have experience trying to walk in a field of 10 ft tall corn but I don't recommend it.

After a while I just resorted to my hands and knees and finally made a desperate phone call to my husband in the alfalfa field for assistance. 

Now I'll let you in on another secret.

Do not call a farmer out of a field unless it is an emergency.

I had decided it was an emergency.

My phone had bad service amidst the corn so when I heard the truck pull up I shook a stalk to signal.

Scott seems to have learned some trick for walking in corn that I didn't know because within minutes he had located Bandit.

But it turns out that instead of being physically unable to come, my sweet little, never do anything wrong doggie had just been ignoring me.

And all for a groundhog.

Now my face was red because I was hot, and mad...and my hair was full dirt. 

I didn't ask about the fate of the groundhog since the blood on Bandits face told most of the story.

It was just as we were getting ready to leave to go back to the dairy that I felt a little guilty for yelling at him so I went over to tell him I would be home soon.

And that's when I realized that the little rascal hadn't killed the groundhog.

The blood on his face was because Bandit didn't win the fight, but the groundhog did.

So an hour later we were at the vet, having Bandit's face stitched up because he had received a rather significant high five to the face from a groundhogs claw.

Sigh.

Don't worry, he's recovering just fine.

The cat is his self appointed nurse.

But other than what I now refer to as the "groundhog incident", things have been running pretty smoothly.

I have a resident hummingbird in the backyard.

And the chickens are laying lots of eggs!!

We've had a few relaxing campfires.

Ritz the cat is the barn guard of the month.

She's just a ball of fun.

The cows are enjoying their time relaxing under the fans.

And August is showing us her usual unexpected beauty.

And of course we always take time to be a little silly

And celebrate life

 Bandit is still after that groundhog.

And you can probably find us in the field, making hay while the sun shines.

“The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.” 
― Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting