… Continued from “Whisker Reflections”
I made the choice to be homeschooled and did so seventh through ninth grade. Spending these days on the farm during homeschooling years got to be very lonely. One contributing factor to the loneliness was the isolation I felt from country living. Being educated at home had worn out its welcome. Once in a while, the quiet was like that person who makes you feel like conversing with them is a full-time job: exhausting because they never contribute to the subject by putting a word in edgewise. You just want to shake them to evoke some kind of reaction. I just wanted to “shake up” the country, make some noise, and hopefully whatever reaction I received would make me feel less lonely, or at least give me something else to occupy my mind. So, naturally, I did what every kid does, and I badgered my parents until they allowed me to have my own dog. Eventually, I picked out a West Highland White Terrier and I affectionately called her “Blossom“.
During all the years that she lived on the farm and remained in my care as master, Blossom had pretty much free roaming privileges. The secret to her constant presence was to call her back inside before the sun had set and the darkness of night had cast its spell on her little dog heart. Once it was dark, there was pretty much no chance of her responding to my calls. Therefore, it was imperative that I put forth the effort to make sure she was inside at the appropriate time. Otherwise, a long night filled with the barks of a terrier ensued.
One year, in the summertime, I was bathing Blossom outside in a kiddie pool. That was not an unusual task. Unfortunately, before I had the chance to fasten her collar containing her I.D. tag, she took off running as fast as her little legs could move. She never came back and I never saw her again.
I’ve often thought of my little Blossom. She was little but had the heart of a warrior. I guess one could say she had “little dog syndrome”. Many years have passed since that summer afternoon. I’ll never know what happened to her. Not knowing has been the worst feeling I’ve had since that day. If I could at least know that a nice family had found and rescued her. At least then the sadness that I occasionally still feel would soften.
My family, back home in rural Pennsylvania, has three dogs. There are Molly and Abby, yellow and chocolate labs who happen to be sisters, and Maddie, a golden retriever-lab mix. My husband and I have a senior Maltese that we adopted from Philadelphia. His name is Skoobie Dew Zion.
To be continued…