Tag Archives: Miller’s Marsh

Monday, the First of August

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The sky is brightening this morning on a fresh new month. August!

It seems I have spent much of the last several weeks complaining. Even when it wasn’t being typed out here (with italics to emphasize the severity of the complaint), it was going on in my head. First, all the “too”s: too tired, too busy, too overwhelmed, too many jobs, too little time. Then I moved on to all the disappointments, slights and insults.

One hot day, when my dogs refused to stop barking at other visitors at Fox Lake, I had to load them up and drive (whine) all the way down to Miller’s Marsh instead. It was only a couple miles farther; it was still peaceful and beautiful; the dogs were able to cool off; there were frogs in the shallow water, birds in the trees and waterlilies blooming…but I complained anyway.

I forget how good I have it, here in my little house on the Fox Lake Road. I say, “work is too hard,” “meat’s a little tough,” or “the car is awful dusty,” without thinking how fortunate I am to have all of these things. My Mom used to remind us, as she piled our plates with mounds of cooked peas (which we hated!) that children were starving in China. She was big on gratitude and appreciation.

It’s a matter of perspective. Mine needs a shift. I need to look at what’s right, rather than what’s wrong.

This Monday, the first day of August, is a good time to start.

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One week ago, I brought Darla home to Beaver Island. I didn’t want a second dog for my own sake, but rather to enrich the life of my little dog, Rosa Parks. I knew she could use more exercise; I felt she’d be happier with a dog that – being of the same species – would understand her better than a human could. One veterinarian explained to me that only another dog would have the same acute senses of smell and hearing, and so would be able to share their experience. It all seemed very sensible at the time.

Well, we are all getting used to each other. No matter about shared experience, it seems that both Darla and Rosa Parks think they’d prefer to be an only dog. They relate to me – the human – better than to the other dog; they both love me…but are still deciding whether they even like each other. They vie for attention whenever I’m around.

They do relate to one another, though. When one hears a sound, they both erupt into fits of mad barking. When one pees, the other one runs right over to pee on the same spot. Sometimes that goes on so long, I wonder where they continue to come up with the pee! When one finds an interesting smell, the other one rushes right over to investigate. When one needs to go outside, the other one follows.

Darla is obsessive about food. She is mild-mannered most of the time, but takes issue when edibles are in the picture. Rosa Parks is an instigator. She’ll bark to announce the invasion of a bird, snake or chipmunk, then sit back while Darla does the chasing. Together, when they are getting along, they seem intent on mischief. It’s as if they are a couple of teen-aged hoodlums, forming a gang.

At Miller’s Marsh they sat together on the shore, barking at a flock of geese in the water. At Iron Ore Bay, where the smell of fish is in the air, and the beach is covered with seaweed, they both developed acute deafness. Neither one could hear me call, when it was time to go. Yesterday, with Darla for back-up, Rosa ran right toward the road, intent on chasing a car. Rosa has never been a car-chaser!

Just like with children, a second one is not twice as difficult; it’s more like ten or twenty times harder. The whole dynamic changes. I think we’re going to be fine…eventually…but right now, we’re all still adjusting.

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