Living on acreage takes a lot of work, and we've incorporated a big change to BootCreek Farm this past week.
We don't have many animals at this time, mostly chickens, but we have a good deal of acreage to maintain.
Our homestead is comprised of gentle rolling hills with a spring fed creek, open grassy areas, but the majority of our land is dense forest. That's because we live in the midst of the Big Thicket of Texas.
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| The grandkids love our backyard. |
First, I thought I better clear this up. My husband has had many blog-nicknames throughout my years of writing, going from Deputy Dave... to Sgt. Dave... and now to his last... Pappy.
Likewise, these days I've transformed into Lana-the-Nana. I still go by Lana, but answer to either. Who could've imagined this journey would've led me to writing as Nana?
Okay. Proceeding.
Since I've got a lot of catching up to do, I need to get through this next part. It's a heartache.
Nearly a year ago, on October 31, 2021, we lost our beloved Howdy, our full-blooded black tri-color Australian Shepherd. After twelve years of loyal friendship, fun, and perfect guarding, we had to say goodbye as he naturally passed away here at BootCreek.
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| Howdy brought us much joy. |
For me, Howdy brought increased safety, guarding me, diligently. When working outside in the yard, he would sit like a sentry, his back to mine as he watched my back, literally. Nothing got past him. He could sit for hours in guard mode, sharp eyes roaming the land as his ears remained folded back to listen for questionable noise.
A "working" breed, he'd encircle me to check all vantage points, always settling to watch the direction my eyes couldn't face. If I changed direction, so did he. An Aussie's instincts are uncanny.
When he began to weaken, he struggled to continue in his same way, and it was heartbreaking. His strength made it even more difficult to say goodbye as he faded day-by-day, refusing to give in. He didn't want to stop protecting those he loved.
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| Howdy's final days. |
Over his last two days with us, Pappy would pick him up as if his arms were a cushioned forklift, and he'd gently move him, offering him the highest dignity for as long as possible. He gave loving tenderness to his buddy, doing everything for him while always assuring in a soft voice, "I got you, Bud."
It reminded me of how I cared for my mother as she died, thinking it an honor. To love another on that level is a beautiful experience.
During the last two days of his life, Howdy couldn't move on his own any longer. I watched my husband extend heartfelt care to Howdy, and it squeezed my heart.
I tried to help with certain unpleasant tasks, but Pappy refused and firmly said, "Don't worry about any of this. I'm doing it for him."
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| A few years ago, I caught rare moments of Howdy allowing himself to be held. |
We had three grandchildren at our house the day Howdy died. Of all days, it was Halloween, a day when we had big plans with costumes ready for the Trunk or Treat that evening at our local church and had to wear a real mask of happiness, for the sake of the kids.
Some things you can't plan, reschedule, or dodge. We'd lived with Howdy's ups and downs, and we'd hoped he had a little more left in him to give the kids time to leave before he passed but apparently, he felt fulfilled enough with them here to let go.
Despite the life-changing transition occurring, I did my best to give the kids a "normal" day, even though they were confused about Howdy nearing the rainbow bridge.
Whether new life has arrived or one is departing, we must keep going.
On Howdy's last morning with us, Pappy carried him outside to lay him on the soft grass in the backyard, a perfect spot for him to watch the three grandkids... one of his favorite things to do. And then Pappy rounded the edge of the forest of our backyard to finish digging Howdy's grave and then he returned to the back deck to finish constructing Howdy's coffin.
Heavy-hearted tasks, indeed.
The sun shone bright as a cool breeze shook leaves loose, and they fluttered to the ground. The forest responded to the changing season with soothing sights and sounds.
Ah, all of life does have its seasons.
I stood on the back porch and watched the children encircle him. They sat on the grass next to Howdy and softly stroked him while telling him through tears how much they loved him... saying their goodbyes. I had my cell phone, and through my own tears, I captured the moment.
Later, after an early lunch, I settled the kids down for quiet time and then went outside to sit on the front porch by myself, thinking of how our lives were about to significantly change.
That last year of Howdy's life saw an evolution of him going downhill. He could no longer devote excessive energy toward all the things he'd once loved. Most days, he still walked around the acreage to mark his boundaries and to bark once or twice at whatever needed a reminder to stay away, likely coyote or fox.
It wasn't easy to watch him deteriorate. And now, I sat on the front porch trying to unravel churning emotions.
With loving action, Pappy carried Howdy out to the front porch and gently laid my boy on the floor of the porch next to me. By this point in his last day, he couldn't even lift his head. I cupped a hand against his head as his big brown eyes gazed up at me. I kept my hand on him, assuring him he wasn't alone. I was there.
My in-laws learned he was near the end, so they stopped by for a few minutes, each coming up to the porch to give Howdy their love.
My father-in-law pressed his 84-year-old hand to Howdy's head, "You did a fine job, old boy, a fine job."
My mother-in-law fought tears. They loved Howdy, too. It was a five-minute visit. Before departing, they both told me he'd been the best dog they'd ever known.
Now alone on the porch with Howdy, I noted that he never whimpered nor whined. If he were in pain, he refused to show it. His eyes wore an expression of resignation, as if he knew the curtains of life were drawing to a close. We shared many long moments of gazing at each other... I purposefully let loving thoughts flow from me to him during those quiet times.
Shepherds can get something similar to MS when they reach ten-plus years of age. The veterinarian believed this was Howdy's diagnosis. He lived two years with on and off symptoms of declining health, but there were surprising days when he would wake up to bounce around as vibrant as a puppy, and we'd have wide smiles full of surprise and joy.
Conversely, there were devastating days came when he couldn't walk, but we'd pray the next day would find him running around like normal. We quickly learned that any athletic moments would likely lead to bad days, so we had to put away the tennis balls and keep him distracted from overdoing it. Anyone who has had an athletic bred dog understands what it means to hide all the balls around the house. It's not good.
No matter, his rebounds were inspiring.
On the porch that last day, I fought a primal urge to plead with God for another rebound. I wanted to believe this wasn't the end, but my heart knew otherwise. I sensed we had mere hours or minutes left with him.
Instead, I followed a more powerful urge to express my gratitude to God for giving us generous time with one of His precious creations. We'd enjoyed more than a marvelous decade with him.
I thanked Howdy for his life of loyalty. I had yearned for such loyalty, and he gifted it to me.
So, we spent our last moments together on the porch with love.
I bent down and told him, "I love you. I'll always love you."
I told him I was grateful to him for keeping me safe all the years of his life.
I assured him that he would remain an unrivaled companion. My most stoic and loyal guardian.
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| Howdy at the lake at the back of our acreage. |
Through tears, I told him that I considered him one of my children, but he'd oddly surpassed me in age to become a wise old one. For many years he'd been extremely athletic, far exceeding our expectations with endless energy, agility, and strength. Howdy lived a vivacious life, and now his face showed strands of white hair to mark bygone youth. I dreaded goodbye.
After a good while outside, Pappy walked out to the porch, wanting to bring Howdy back inside since the air was cooling fast. I got up and went to our bedroom to lay down with the kids who had all miraculously fallen into a deep sleep. Yes, we needed a nap to get through this day of enormous challenges.
Less than ten minutes after I'd squeezed into a small spot on the king-sized bed with the sleeping kids, Pappy opened the bedroom door, took a few steps toward me, anguish marking his face as he mouthed, "He's gone."
The shock of hearing what you'd expected to hear is unexplainable. That second of time cannot be anticipated thoroughly enough to buffer you from the pain of loss.
I rose from the bed and went to see and bury our boy as the children slept with sweet innocence, protected from seeing the worst of our grief consuming us.
There were many years when it was just me and Howdy at home together in the suburbs of Greater Houston. The kids had gone off to college, Pappy still worked in law enforcement and wasn't yet able to retire, and my business life had slowed. During those years, Howdy kept me company, and I did the same for him... using a wall in our living room to throw a hard ball and he'd catch it on the rebound with powerful accuracy.
I used a scrubbable paint for that wall, and it worked beautifully for both of us between ball-playing stints outdoors. My dad LOVED that wall.
On cold days, I worked at my desk and he laid across my feet, keeping me warm and comforted. I always felt him leaning against me.
And then Sgt. Dave retired to become a full-time Pappy when we moved to our acreage to build our home. When that happened, Howdy must've decided Pappy now needed his undivided attention, so he stayed near him throughout each day. If Pappy went outside, Howdy went outside. If Pappy worked on our acreage, Howdy tagged along to watch his back.
But if I went outside, Howdy never let me go alone. If I headed outdoors, I became Howdy's first-choice because he needed to do sentry duty. A visible short battle would wage within him as I headed for the back door. His head would swivel toward Pappy and then toward me. No matter how worn out or comfortable he might've been, he always elected to get up, to follow me, and stay by my side as I pittered around outside or weeded the garden.
Having a dedicated guardian at your side provides a level of comfort that cannot be beat. We live in the middle of a forest, yet I never worried with Howdy by my side.
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| I loved Howdy's hugs. |
All of us appreciated his proactive guarding. Both of my son-in-laws have been the recipients of Howdy's warning nips to stop playing the part of a monster chasing the kids while growling, "I'm going to get you."
Well, the "monsters" didn't get the kids because Howdy got the monsters first.
These two good fathers were never angered over Howdy's guard duties because they respected the fact that he acted on behalf of the children, not afraid of grown men charging after the children. And he could've full-out attacked the men, but he'd simply run up and nip as a test to see if he could detour their behavior. If not, there's no doubt that he would've gone in for a full effort to protect the kids.
We always knew that if ANYTHING or ANYONE came out of the woods with an intent to attack or drag away a child, Howdy would immediately go into action to protect them. He was a formidable guard. He had the capacity to make split decisions on his own and go into action. That is a priceless trait to have in a faithful friend.
Having a formidable looking dog is great, but having a dog who watches, judges, decides, and acts to protect his own is a priceless trait, indeed.
Losing Howdy hurt, but I was comforted by the thought of him and my father being together. My Dad died the year before Howdy. They sure adored each other.
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| Dad and Howdy in a joyful greeting. |
It's nearly been one year since we lost Howdy, and I'm a mess as I write this post because we've added a male puppy to our home.
We could NEVER replace Howdy, but living on all this land means we need a good male dog. Their marking of territory sends a clear sign to predators that this area is spoken for, and if you cross this boundary, you subject yourself to the one protecting it.
In all the years out here with Howdy, he kept the coyotes at bay, and the fox didn't find it so easy to trespass, and any wild dogs stayed clear of our property.
In the near year Howdy has been gone, we've seen all the above encroach onto our land to the point they are now coming closer and closer to the house, more frequently.
In fact, one day, I was outside and found myself eye-to-eye with a coyote about sixty feet away in my backyard. It wasn't afraid, but I was unarmed. I managed to get to back onto the porch and get inside to retrieve the rifle. Back outside, I had enough time to get into position to shoot as it finally bolted.
Then came a series of wandering feral dogs. We've seen strange dogs a handful of times out here, a rarity. A couple of times they were lost pets whose owners did show up to retrieve them, but when you have a strong male dog with good boundary marking, other dogs stay clear.
I truly thought we'd never get another male dog. We have two gals right now. The oldest is about ten years old. Gracie has strong behaviors that passed on to a puppy, and she learned many of her habits from Howdy, so her methods are partly an extension of his. I know the new puppy can learn much of the same with added training.
The best part about this puppy is that he comes from my oldest daughter's house. Her full-blooded Australian Shepherd had an unexpected tryst with a Weimaraner neighbor, and voila, sturdy puppies. Eight to be exact.
I didn't want another dog, so I avoided my oldest daughter as if she were the plague itself. This has become a family joke. I hoped Heather would find all the puppies their forever homes. And of course, I did see her several times during this timeframe, and the grandkids even came to our house for extended visits during those weeks, but I didn't want little temptations of all sorts in my face -- urging me to take home a puppy.
My patience didn't outlast anyone.
The fur-babies are no longer babies, but are now a couple of months old. My daughter's favorite remained one of the last to be claimed because she KNEW in her heart that he belonged to us, and apparently my husband and our daughter had formed a secret alliance of wills, conspiring to get the designated puppy over here.
Pappy and I are in a group text with our daughters, and Heather continually sent pictures and videos over the last couple of months to especially highlight this one puppy. I stayed strong. Sometimes watching the videos of the romping puppy with just one eye trained on the screen of my cell phone.
Nope.
And then we were home at BootCreek Farm one day when the thing we'd never had happen in all our years here did happen. Near the end of July, a trespasser showed up during the middle of the day, around 2pm in the afternoon.
With multiple surveillance cameras trained upon the grounds with multiple indoor cameras pointed outdoors, along with other monitoring methods, we caught the trespasser's approach. This person breezed past multiple no-trespassing signs to meander through the forest -- our land -- toward our house. Most surprising, the trespasser walked right by the front steps of our house, and then turned to walk toward our BACK porch.
But, the trespasser took the time to approach one of the cameras, intending to steal it... and with hands on it... looked up and noticed more cameras capturing their actions. Did that stop the trespasser? No.
A documented meth addict has little incentive to stop them from deeds that might lead to another batch of drugs.
It took less than five seconds from the first notification of the trespasser's presence for us to fly into action, ready to respond and self-defend. Before the trespasser climbed the steps of our wrap-around porch, we were armed.
We are the Nana and Pappy a thief wouldn't want to encounter.
It definitely wasn't a smart move to approach our house. I'll tell the entire story later, but this person did end up in jail.
On that day, our two female dogs cut loose while inside the house with us, but Howdy would've been a different story, if he'd been here. Howdy would've provided another layer of safety in a potentially bad situation.
So, yep, we got the largest fellow of the liter, a robust little one.
When you live in the country, you are probably well prepared for such an occasion, likely better than the average person. Country people must be ready and able to confront and combat ill-intentioned individuals, out of necessity. Law enforcement doesn't have rapid response times in rural settings, but countryfolk usually have at least one strong, trained male dog ready to assist in guarding their property.
After this encounter, I did some hard thinking. We had considered moving this last year, maybe to Galveston, but with an unfavorable economy inviting inflation with soaring prices of basic essentials, we also watched local crime stats rise. This made the prospect of seaside living more precarious. And then we had other reasons to rethink moving.
Our property offers abundant fish and game with a spring-fed creek and lake. We don't have a vegetable garden this year, but for most of our life together, we've grown many of our own vegetables. Living in the country gives us a cushion against hard times. And our house is the place family and friends can come to, if the need arises.
Staying in the house-of-perpetual-construction means we needed another large, male dog. That's a mighty long commitment.
The responsibility of having dogs is not something we take lightly, and my heart has struggled with this decision. I'm not one to let love in or out of my heart so easily.
This puppy will receive a lot of love and training. I look forward to resuming my vegetable gardening and other tasks around the house without having a rangy coyote sneak up on me, but I whispered to Boots, "You've got mighty big paws to fill."
He's trying.
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