Bush Procession

Sue and I hadn’t walked more than a couple neighbors’ yards from her house this morning, when we came upon a nice-sized euonymus bush in a plastic pot on someone’s lawn extension.  Sue said she’d go get her car and collect the euonymus for her daughter.  Sue had already talked to Angela, who’d put the bush out, and knew Angela wanted to rehome it.

     So we went back to Sue’s, and returned with the car.  We lifted the plant into the back of the van, and turned around to take it to Sue’s.  She decided to leave the back of the van open for the two-house trip home, on this beastly hot, humid day.  We hadn’t made it past one house when she glanced in the rearview mirror and reported that all four kiddies in Angela’s daycare, who had watched us put the plant in the car, were now running toward us on the sidewalk, waving their arms.

     “The plant came out,” Sue explained, pulling over.  By this time, a bush procession was underway.  Angela had grabbed one of the handles on the plant pot, and was towing the euonymus along the sidewalk, with the little guys hustling along in a row behind her, intent on helping it move safely to Sue’s yard.  Angela and the plant, which was bigger than any of the children, went first.  The tots in their colorful clothes and tiny shoes and big sunhats followed closely.  Their expressions of concentration showed how serious their mission was.  That procession was so cute that Sue and I had trouble thinking coherently for a moment.

     When the plant arrived at its destination, we stopped to thank the children for noticing the plant was in trouble and for helping it.  They chatted with us a while, of this and that, in the way of children and the way of chatting.  Then one little girl looked down, holding out the skirt of her orange-flowered dress, and said quietly, “I miss my mommy.”

     “It’s hard to be away from your parents all day, isn’t it?” Angela responded.

     “Yes,” I said.  It is.

     “You know what?” Angela asked her charges.  “Barb’s in her house now, and Ozzie’s back where he belongs”—Barb being another neighbor and Ozzie being Angela’s little child-loving dog—“so I think that, if you wanted, you could run all the way to the orange mailbox.”

     The girl in the flowered dress took off down the sidewalk, gathering speed as she went.  A moment later, another tot followed.  The whole kiddie cohort ended up running, but with a pause between each two children.  It was as if there were a string from one child to the next, and the string needed to be a bit taut to pull the next child into motion on the train.  And they were off to their next adventure, whatever that might turn out to be.

     Our friend Rhonda’s puppy finds life an unending and wonderful adventure.  She’s also had her first grooming already, and next month she’ll be in her first dog show.  The breeder very much wanted the dog, who is gorgeous, to enter the show, so pup and Rhonda have been practicing dog-show skills.  Those, Rhonda tells me, include Nigella’s being well behaved in the company of other dogs, being willing to have a stranger examine her, including opening her mouth, and standing and moving in ways that best show off what a comely lass she is.

     So, has Rhonda settled on a call name for the puppy?  Yes, she has.  Rhonda wanted an old-fashioned name and, as the dog is an English cocker, Rhonda felt the name should reflect that heritage.  She chose Nigella.

     “I think of Nigel as an English name, and Nigella’s the female version of Nigel.  Besides, I really like the idea of calling her Ni, for short.”  Ni rhymes with hi.

     “Does she respond to her name yet?” I asked Rhonda.

     “She responds to just about anything,” Rhonda answered.  Nigella’s a happy puppy.  She makes Rhonda happy, too.

     Autumn is coming soon.  The edges of some of the leaves on some maples are already coloring up, with more to follow.  Searching for color on trees had me looking upward when the dog and I were almost home from our walk yesterday.  Which is why I happened to see the goldfinches flying into flying into Frank and Elaine’s crimson king maple.  The birds’ brilliant yellow against the deep purple of the foliage caused me a sharp intake of breath.  No color change yet on that maple’s leaves, just a flash of summer colors at their peak. 

30 August 2024