There is an old saying that “nothing lasts forever”.  I can’t say that I fully agree with this sentiment.  There is one thing that perhaps does last forever.   That is love.

For anyone who has ever loved a dog there is a kind of silent empathy and understanding for what my husband and I have gone through today.    Our dear border collie Bea passed her final hours in the warm sunshine streaming through a window, on this otherwise very cold day.   After 16 1/2 years, Bea had finally run out of time.

There are people in this world who feel that grieving over the loss of a pet is silly.  For those people, I am truly sorry.   There is no bond more magical than that between man and dog.   Anyone who has shared their life with a four legged friend knows exactly what I mean.

Bea was my husband’s dog.  He got her as a puppy several years before he and I met.  He raised her and trained her himself and did a stellar job.   She became an outstanding American Kennel Club tracking dog.  He trained her to find lost people and indeed she did…she found him a wife!   It was at Bea’s tracking test that Alan and I met.  I too, once trained tracking border collies back in the days when they were not a common breed.  Ours was a match arranged by the Gods.

It is most unusual for a border collie to mature to the age of 16 1/2.  Our Bea had all the right ingredients to travel such a long journey.  She possessed a strong inner spirit, a spirit that sometimes didn’t serve her well.  But overall it did serve her well, as it takes a spirit like hers to hike mountains at age 14 and to live to see a time frame of well over a decade and a half.

We now feel the enormous hole she leaves behind…

Rest in peace, dear girl. Track on…

It is nearly impossible for me to convey my amazement in nature with mere words.  Just when I think I’ve seen about anything a person could see, a new miracle comes along and shows me how little I really know…

Two winters ago while taking a break at lunch time one day, I looked out the window of  or our hearth room and noticed a strange sight.  A good sized white tail buck had wandered haplessly into view.   He emerged from the dense woods, lumbering awkwardly forward  like a strange creature from a monster movie.  His large head and shoulders lurched upward and downward in a dramatic unnatural fashion.  As he came closer, I could see blood running down his right front leg, which had been snapped at the knee and now stuck out sideways in a grotesque, demented direction.  The flesh on different parts of his body had been torn open, creating great oozing wounds.   Closer inspection of him as he came ever closer revealed a broken jaw and fractured rear leg just below the stifle.  His eyes were shockish.  He had just been hit by a car, perhaps earlier that very morning.

I didn’t know this buck until that day.   He came right up to the house as they often do and loitered around, trying to find the courage to move along on his way.  Finally he lumbered off in that jerky monstrous walk, crossed the little dead end road in front of our house, actually jumped our neighbor’s wooden fence (on three legs) and drifted off into a dense stand of cedars.  I was sure that he was doomed.  Poor fellow…

How little I know.

The unfortunate broken buck not only did return to eat the acorns under our burr oak tree, but he became a regular here that winter.  Slowly, the bloody wounds began to heal.  But the broken bones of course remained broken and healed in strange unnatural positions.  It was always easy to recognize him even from a distance.  No one else moved in such an awkward fashion.

As the warm season came, my husband and I felt certain that infection would set in and Brave Heart  (a name well earned) would not live for much longer.   Again, how little I know.  Sure enough when the next December came, Brave Heart came with it as if blown in on a cold westerly breeze.  We could hardly believe our eyes.  Once again he was a regular sight out our windows all through the winter.

Another warm season came and went.  Our deer become nearly invisible as the lush greenery fills in the woods and some of the bucks relocate for the season.   With Autumn and winter comes better visibility.  Sure enough it is December and  today on cue, like an actor showing up with script in hand for his first scene of the season, Brave Heart appeared in our woods once again.  He can hardly walk, as the right front leg has become a useless appendage that seems to be more in the way than anything else.   But here he is…our unsinkable and brave spirited man.  He looks better this year than in the past, as the heavy rains have brought abundant food.  For an animal with limited mobility, this is an important factor in their survival.

(Below) A look at Brave Heart through our living room window.  He is in good weight this year.

Injuries cause unusual antler growth, usually on the side opposite the injury.  Because Brave Heart had sustained injuries on both sides of his body, his antlers are almost freakish, with tines sticking out in all directions.   Here he enjoys the seed pods from a locust tree (we refer to them as “banana skins”).  In this photo his broken lower jaw is evident.  Because the break is in front of the back grinding teeth, he is still able to chew, which is how he has survived all this time.

Because of the massive damage to Brave Heart’s body, he is socially repressed by all of the other deer in the area.  This may force his testosterone levels to be lower than other bucks.    Each winter Brave Heart is always the first to loose his antlers.    In fact, they drop long before the other bucks, even the young ones.     Below he is ambling through the woods towards the house.   His broken front leg is obvious from this angle.

Where Brave Heart goes when the warm breezes of spring arrive is anyone’s guess.  White tail deer have a way of emerging from seemingly nowhere and then vaporizing into thin air as a mode of transit.  This simply fascinates me about them.

It is impossible not to admire such a creature for his infallible will to live.  Indeed, Brave Heart has survived through yet another year.     I’m happy to say… “HOW LITTLE I KNOW“…

Welcome back, brave fellow…

On a COLD and sunny day last weekend, Alan and I decided to visit one of our favorite day trip places.  Squaw Creek is about a two hour drive north of Kansas City.  This marshland refuge hosts spectacular waterfowl migrations at different times of the year.  It is also the home of dozens of bald eagles in the winter.  You never know what you will find there.  That is one of the most interesting things about it.

As we had hoped, there were several dozen bald eagles there.  Most were sitting on the edge where ice meets water way out in the middle of the lake.  Tens of thousands of mallard ducks bobbed along in what was left of the unfrozen water.  The eagles posed like sentries, waiting for a mallard to make the wrong move.

Although I have very good camera equipment, I don’t have anything that can bring an eagle that is three football fields away up close.   So we enjoyed watching them through our binoculars.   There is nothing quite like watching a wild eagle fly…

As we continued our travel around the lake, we found a group of several hundred snow geese right along the shore.  I just couldn’t get over how beautiful the contrast was between the white of the geese and the dark, brilliantly blue color of the ice.

The following goose is still in the gray phase.  He will whiten into his winter feathers as the cold season progresses…