Weekend mornings it sounds like the 4th of July. The gunshots echoing around the hills. I make sure Bud is in the house before feeding the sheep and donkeys.
There are marks on the back door, where when we first got Bud, he tried to claw his way into the house when he heard gunshots. Little warrior that he is, he has no tolerance for the sound of gun being fired.
It is Hunting Season once again. As the weeks go by there is less hunting that goes on in the woods around the farm.
But these first few weekends I stay out of the woods.
It’s been a while since I walked on McMillan Road with the dogs. But Fate and Zinnia both know it well. Jon and I trained all our dogs to walk on the dirt road with us since they were puppies. (all except Bud, who we got as a two year old and whose terrier instincts to follow whatever scent he picks up we can’t train him out of).
The few cars that use the road go slow enough for us to hear them so we can call the dogs to the side of the road. There they sit until the car or truck goes by. Often we know each other, but even if we don’t they usually slow down and wave on the way.
Fate runs a straight line on the road, sniffing and squatting to mark certain spots. She left her scent where a deer, perhaps running from a hunter, left the triangle indent of her hoof, in the hard packed dirt road.
Zinnia is less interested in leaving her scent than finding a puddle to splash through or any kind of animals feces to snack on.
This afternoon there was the quiet of the end of a holiday weekend. There were no hunters and no cars for us to stop for.
Just the hush of the wind through the bare trees and the evening song of the birds who roost in them.