first tracks

 

Oliver barrels through the snow.

There’s nothing more fun to watch than a happy dog playing in fresh snow. With his long legs and seemingly waterproof coat, Ollie is in dog heaven on days like this; as a bonus, he’s discovered that by loudly barking in the vicinity of the feeders, he can startle a flock of birds into flight and then joyously “chase” them as they scatter, a game he’ll repeat over and over (thank heavens we don’t have close neighbors). It’s been a cold, wet, noisy, happy morning.

Under the thistle-seed feeder.

While I wouldn’t pretend to know what birds are thinking, they sure don’t seem to care that Ollie plays with them this way, and he has never tried to catch one–he just likes to watch them fly. With brambles and shrubs nearby to the feeders, there’s a place for the birds to escape, so their flight paths become a visual pattern against the clean snow.

We keep another feeder right outside the kitchen door, a cause of great excitement when the occasional squirrel invades. I loved seeing that when Oliver pointed at birds this morning, his foot didn’t make it over the snow (we got at least ten inches). In my newly empty nest, without that festive chaos of messy boots and sleds and wet outerwear strewn around the house, I’m finding that the real blessing of a snow day is the opportunity–almost a requirement–to gaze outside and actually attend to what I see. I may not bark at the birds like Oliver, but I’ll follow his lead and watch them.

 

the snow begins

Real snow at last! This is the first real accumulation of the season, and everyone at school was ready for a true snow day (we’ve had some “faux snow” days already). As of 6 p.m., it was 18 degrees on Red Hill, and an hour later, about two inches have fallen. My digital and film cameras are ready and waiting…let the snow pictures begin!

another dog story

Possible Tom sighting: The nice lady at Nelson County’s animal control office just called our house and said she saw a large black-and-tan dog trotting north alongside Route 29 near the Albemarle County line. Terry and Evan are heading down there in the truck (I’m at school, supposedly writing comments). I’m not overly optimistic…but it seems possible that Tom is trying to head home.

UPDATE: Evan and I visited and/or spoke to both Nelson County shelters today, and we are confident that Tom hasn’t been seen at either place. So we can set aside our fears about having lost him through the shelters, but we also are pretty sure that whoever picked him up has kept him. I was able to get some more details from the folks at the local store, so we know that it was somebody from Lovingston driving a white Toyota pickup with a camper shell. We also know the guy bought Tom a sausage biscuit….no wonder he stayed in the truck! We left flyers in several spots along Rte 29 today and will return to Lovingston, hopefully tomorrow, to continue spreading the word.

Tom is the best dog we’ve ever had. We adopted him at a “vegetarian festival” that features adoptions from several local shelters; he was six weeks old, from Fluvanna County, and he was Evan’s 6th birthday present. Evan sang to him in the car all the way home; mopped up the mess when his new puppy was carsick; helped housebreak him; grew up with him; trained for the middle-school football team by running with him; and still shares his bed with this 100-pound furball each night.

Eight years later, Tom’s one of those “great dogs” that everybody loves. Big, smart, and unbelievably friendly, he’s had the habit for several years of taking an annual walkabout. When Charlie did the same thing last spring, we panicked–Charlie’s fearful and anxious, not the type to take off with strangers–but when Tom does it, we roll our eyes, say “here we go again,” call the SPCA, and print up some “lost dog” flyers. Some kind stranger has always stopped for the beautiful big dog on the side of the road, and ever-optimistic, Tom hops into the car or truck, perhaps hoping for a ride back home. (NOTE TO WOULD-BE KIND STRANGERS: don’t pick up stray dogs! they know how to get home!) We keep tags on him with his name and our phone number, and we’ve always gotten a phone call after a day or two. When we noticed a few weeks ago that he’d managed to lose his tags, we added “new tags” to the long family to-do list. But we weren’t smart enough to deal with it right away. A day or two before Thanksgiving, Tom came back from a walk and took off up the mountain with the other dogs, chasing some squirrel or deer; the other two came back, but Tom didn’t. We notified the local SPCA…and waited…and meantime posted our usual flyers in the local stores and the North Garden post office.

Someone at the closest country store had seen him. A man from Nelson County (south of here) had picked up Tom and stopped by the store, leaving his name and phone number. Nobody at the store could find the number a few days later when we went in to ask. Terry put up a flyer–in every store between here and Lovingston along route 29, and on several intersection signposts–and again we waited and hoped. Tonight, a good 12 days after the dog disappeared, somebody called from the store. An employee “just remembered” that whoever picked up Tom said that he would take him to the Nelson County shelter if nobody claimed him. If we’d gotten this news last week, we would have known where to go and what to do. But at 7:30 on a Saturday night, we’re pretty stuck. I left messages by both phone and e-mail for the two shelters in Nelson County; I scoured their websites, but no dog like Tom is posted. Am shocked that more information has actually created more despair. Big male dogs are the least “adoptable” pets, and Tom is 8 years old (most adopters want puppies or young dogs, in my observation). We are praying that we can get to the shelters in time.

Our other male dog Charlie is genuinely depressed, lying around the house barely lifting his head. And as I usually do when faced with worry or loss, I turn to my pictures. I’m hoping that by posting some images of him in his habitat, with his family, perhaps somebody will see and recognize him, and it’ll help somebody find us and bring him home. Tom loves this place–the house, the seasons, the quarry, the lake. You literally can see that he loves it. Meantime, we pray. C’mon home, buddy.