Animal Activities #73

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Barnaby wasn't really a farm dog at all. At least not in the traditional sense. Where the other border collies along the ridge spent their mornings in serious stare-down competitions with ornery sheep, Barnaby found ample more entertainment examining the moisture content of the clover leaves. Barnaby was a golden retriever mix whose ears drooped like buttered pancakes and who devoted his entire being to the pure, unadulterated concept of meandering.

Each morning when the pasture gates were opened, the same procession occurred. Barnaby’s self-assigned and entirely unofficial duties as Ambassador of the Valley commenced. He’d set off down the dusty path at a steady rhythm that his wagging tail mirrored perfectly.

To begin he called in upon the mice who resided in the stone wall. He did not attempt to catch them. He only nudged an especially delectable looking twig to the opening and then after a moment to notice a couple of little white whiskers twitching in the gap he would skip to the apple orchard.

He ate none of them. Even the resentful crows would leave him alone after his presence there was established, merely shifting higher up the branches to caw what could be heard as anything but good morning. He spent several peaceful moments sharing a few seconds at the creek while a little whitetail deer and he both lapped at the water before they departed, leaving a temporary disturbed reflection behind them.

When the sky was streaked orange and violet, and Barnaby’s paws were covered in mud and his fur quite resembled a birds nest, he would bound up to the back door, with a satisfied sigh, curl upon the rug and await tomorrow.

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