Watchdog

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

We've had many dogs over the years: the lover, the touch-me-not, the little but mighty pistol. We've loved them all, and the differences in their personalities have always amazed me, though perhaps I should have understood. After all, people have different personalities. Why would it be any different with our four-footed family?

Kitty is probably the most beautiful dog we have known. Her fur is a sleek shiny black, so smooth that dirt and farm debris slide right off. Her ears are the softest imaginable. I never want to stop running them through my fingers. Her brown, almost orange, markings perfectly compliment her black coat, and run from her cheeks, along her chest, down the inside of her legs, and dot each of her toes, but I think that it is her eyes that truly define her beauty. Their color perfectly matches her orange brown fur, and the light with which they shine captures her personality. Kitty sees everything. Her quick mind knows exactly where everything is, and exactly where everything is supposed to be.

Each morning, while Greg and I do the animal chores, Kitty makes her rounds, first to the pigeon coop, then to the rabbit hutch and on to the goat yard. She goes nose to nose with the goats through the fence. Satisfied that all is well with the uphill animals, she then joins me down the hill by the pasture. She first greets the cattle by the fence before I let them into their feed paddock. She then greets the horses on their way to their feed trough, and finally she and our sheep touch their noses through the fence. Only once her pasture rounds are complete does she head off to see what goodies she can dig up from the compost pile.

This is her routine, every single day. She makes her rounds and assures herself that everything is right where it belongs and that all is well with her world, until, that is, the fiber optic fellows brought their trucks, mini backhoe, tunneling machine, and huge spools of orange optic lines down the creek valley road. Oh, my! This was not the proper order of things.

Kitty barked, and barked, and barked some more. She danced around the workers when they stepped down from their trucks, and then she danced around their machinery. I knew that it would be difficult for them to do what they needed to do with a barking dog bouncing all around them. They assured me that she was no problem, but I thought it would be best to return with her up the hill to the cabin. 

She did not agree with me. She bounced away from me. I couldn't get near enough to snap on her leash. Finally, one of the fiber optic fellows knelt down. She danced over to him and as he rubbed her, I snapped on her leash. I was able to lead her away, but she kept looking over her shoulder and then up at me, as if to say "This is not the way things should be. We really ought to stay here and keep a close eye on this situation." 

Back at the house, Kitty went from window to window, intently watching the activity down by the road. The crew told us that their work will continue for several days, during which I will intently keep my eye on our dog. Perhaps, by the time they are finished laying the cable along our stretch of road, Kitty will think that they do belong and that they are no longer cause to bark and dance. We shall see.

I must admit, though, that Kitty is quite right. We love our off-grid life. No telephone or electric wires run from pole to pole down our stretch of the creek road. It strikes me odd when we head up town and I see poles and wires criss-crossing everything, everywhere.

For this reason, I am thankful that the fiber optic fellows are running the lines underground. I’m glad that we won’t be able to see them and will soon forget that they are there. I am curious though, why the powers-that-be decided to run the lines two miles down a one lane road to our off-grid world. Maybe someday, some future creek valley resident, might choose to hook up to high-speed internet. We are content to live without.

I join our watchdog by the window. We both keep an eye on the activity down by the road. I run her ears through my fingers. We agree that we wouldn’t change our life for any other.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.