Ace and I spend a lot of time outside during the summer. He loves to run around after birds and I love to relax, take music baths, and get some sun.
Yesterday started like any normal afternoon.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014:
“We Don’t Eat” by James Vincent McMorrow was hypnotizing my heavy lids. My eyelids wanted to droop with every soothing song lyric. I felt the warmth of the sun’s rays on my cheeks. I should have applied more SPF, but I figured it was three in the afternoon so I’d somewhat safe from the sun’s fire. My kindle felt heavy in my lap – the Fifty Shades of Gray trilogy was waiting patiently for the second book to be finished. Here and there I would hear a twig snap or leaves ruffle in the woods, so I knew Ace was enjoying himself exploring in the woods.
I was drifting in and out of sleep when I heard a dreadful noise from the woods. It was a shriek that caused my eyes to pop open and my neck to stare into leaves’ home.
The hair on my arms stood upright, like little soldiers, standing at attention. I knew it was not a sound Ace could make, but fear still overcame me. Ace is my special, little guy. He gets me through tough spots, he understands when I need a snuggle, and he always knows when to make me laugh. I can’t imagine him being hurt.
I also knew there were all kinds of wildlife in our woods. Before we finished the fence, we had deer use the side of our house and backyard as a hub to get from one woods to another. There were constant tracks throughout the winter, and we even saw a group of them running together from the front of our house, along the side of our house, and to the woods in the back. Big turkeys have also made their home in the thicket. There were many times Tony would be cutting the lawn, and would see a big Tom walking near him in the protection of the woods – making sure Tony didn’t step out of line.
“ACE!”
I called out to him. Normally, he would come sprinting from any opening he found; his tongue hanging out, tail wagging, and would greet me with a kiss. However, today, I saw no movement, and I couldn’t hear anymore snapping twigs.
“ACE!”
I yelled again. I got up from the patio and began walking hesitantly towards the back of the yard where the woods spread out it’s arms; casting darkness, a gloominess, even in broad daylight.
I noticed that I had been holding my breath since I had first called out to Ace. My steps were weak, and I gripped my iPhone in my right hand. What is my iPhone going to do to help? My breaths, now ragged, but more frequent, were helping me take quicker steps to the back path Ace normally dips and dives into when he’s on a scent.
Before I got to the path, a movement in the corner of my eye made me stop walking. I moved closer to the edge of the woods, and noticed him.
I felt my body relax. He was in one piece, not harmed. Why had I thought any different? He’s a strong, hunting dog; being in the woods after a scent is what he is breed to do.
But a new fear crept into my mind; what has done? What made that horrible sound?
Tony had recently killed a snake in the front of our yard – literally one of the animals that scares me the most – and my first thought was that Ace had killed a second one. Do they make that sort of noise? There’s no way I heard a snake scream.
I tiptoed closer to the edge of the woods to see what Ace had his paw over. Gray fur moved in the slight breeze that had escaped the ruffling leaves.
I spun on my heels and ran to the patio. I had the heebie-jeebies and couldn’t shake them. I text tony the following:
Gross. Ace will probably get rabies from trying to eat a rat or some sort of rodent. I didn’t think of Ace as a skilled hunter, so I justified the only way for him to catch something as quick as a rat or mouse is that it has to be sick.
I stared at my phone for Tony’s response, but got nothing. I am not sure what Tony would be able to tell me, anyway? Calm down? Tell me what to do next? This isn’t a big deal, I breathed, dogs do this sort of thing all the time. I’ll have the vet check him out when he goes in for his yearly examine to be safe. I have to get him out of the woods so I can dispose of the little rodent. I don’t want any other problems or to see it shred from Ace having some of his own fun.
Standing on the patio, debating what to do next, I heard a panting noise, very close, behind me. I turned around slowly. Ace was sitting behind me, wagging his tail. Was he smiling? I peeked behind him; there was his kill. He had brought it to show me. I looked closer. It was no rat, mouse, or snake. It was a little rabbit, probably a baby, judging from how small it was. As grossed out as I still was, a slow smile spread across my face.
Here is my little guy, with no hunting training what-so-ever, and he has done exactly what he is supposed to do. He made a kill and brought it gently to his master’s feet. He was proud to show me what he had done. He was waiting for his praise.
“Good boy,” I said softly, bending down to stroke the top of his head. He moved his head under my hand and leaned into every positive touch.
I felt another feeling welling up inside my chest. Pride? Watching Ace lean into every stroke of fur and look at my face for approval, the feeling in my chest grew. Yes, it’s pride. I’m proud of my buddy and his ability to do what nature has created him to do.
Ace continues to teach me life lessons. He has filled in so many, thread-like openings in my heart, caused by my diagnosis. My heart grows with each new experience we have together. I can’t imagine my life without his gentle soul.
Many adventures to follow! xo