The dog hurt his knee while running around wildly, leaping, and barking at the dogs next door (who spend their time barking yo mama jokes at him until he can’t take it anymore). Now he’s supposed to be resting while he heals. Only he doesn’t know that. He thinks I’ve gone lame, and not in an orthopedic way. Every morning, he’s ready for the usual three-to-four-mile walk. Every morning, we stick close to home.
“What the?” the dog inquires, via thought bubble. “You’re limping and in pain,” I answer. “That’s right,” he says, “and if I’m good for the long haul, so are you, slacker!” (Trash talk—the influence of the dogs next door.)
At home, he picks up Lamb Chop, a favorite squeaky toy, and invites me to play. We do the tug-of-war thing, then I grab Lamb Chop. So far, so good. Only, instead of throwing it as far as I can through the house for him to go careening off after, I hand it back to him. The dog tells me that’s not how the game goes, and tries again. Same result. By now, he’s thought-bubbling yo mama jokes of his own.
I tried to explain to the vet that this dog does not understand about rest or have any inclination, ever, to take life easy. The dog is manic. A day without leaping is a day without—well, without mail delivery, that’s for sure. The vet just repeated the instruction for rest, which is fine for him. He doesn’t have to listen to the jokes.
We no longer hear the Brood X cicadas singing. The absence is, temporarily, as striking as their song was, an intensity missing from that frequency in the sound spectrum. It feels the way your house does after a long, wonderful visit from friends or family who live far away: when they pack up and leave, the house feels empty. It will be all right. Your life will return to normal. But your dear ones’ presence enriched your lives, and you don’t know when you’ll see them again.
I was thinking about this while working in the garden, listening to the low drone of bees in the flowers. It’s pleasant background noise. I’m glad they enjoy what the garden has to offer. There was a ticked-off robin chipping at me from next door, too; he kept it up the whole time I was out there. Then the Carolina wrens arrived, a pair of them, and the male had a lot to say. He provided a running commentary as the two of them searched the driveway for tasty bits, as if foraging were a sporting event. There were even timeouts, when the two of them flew off to sit in the smoke tree, flashes of reddish-brown on the wing. Then they’d land on the driveway again, she with her tail up while she fed, he with this tail down as her poured out his intense, liquid song.
A killdeer family along Nixon Road filled me with joy this week. I had lost hope for them when their nest at the construction site disappeared under a mountain of dirt. But there they were, despite the odds–mama, papa, and babies. I tried to count the hatchlings, but they’re so well camouflaged that I couldn’t do it. Unless they moved, they were invisible. One of the parents tried to lead me away from the family, so I didn’t stay long. They were a wonder to behold.
A couple of children who live near us provided uproarious entertainment when I was out working in the garden again. They’re in the range of five years old, brother and sister, active kids who love to play outdoors. That day featured a game of chase, little sister on her bike chasing big brother on foot. She was faster, but he could leap curbs with ease and run across grass. “I’m gonna get you!” she’d shriek, handlebar streamers flying. He led her a merry chase, holding a stick in the air like a pennant. Round and round the court they went, attentively supervised by daddy on his own bike, and they laughed and laughed and laughed.
We had neighbors over for dinner last night. We ate outside, the temperature perfect, the atmosphere relaxed. We’re long-time friends, easy with each other. We did a fair amount of laughing ourselves, and chatted well into the evening, covering subjects that ranged as far afield as King Edmund Ironsides, son of Aethelred the Unready. And when our guests went home, we didn’t have to wonder when we’d see them again. It is our great and lasting pleasure that they live next door.
From a dog who just won’t quit to the sights and sounds and people of the neighborhood, this was a week of intensities. Some were intense via absence—the dog missing his long walks, the cicadas going dark after weeks of song. Some were surprises, like the wren visitors and the killdeer family that survived upheaval. Whoops of children’s hilarity wove themselves into a human family’s memories, and the ease of long-time friendship strengthened neighbors’ bonds.
Life can be intensely sweet.
24 June 2021