Posted tagged ‘fences’

“The momentum of the mind can be vexingly, involuntarily capricious.”

August 12, 2013

The weather and I have much in common today as neither one of us is at all content. The day is cloudy then sunny then cloudy again. It is as if Mother Nature is trying to figure out what best fits her mood. I too don’t quite know what to do. I have this antsy feeling of needing to do something, but I don’t know what. It isn’t the travel bug: I know those symptoms all too well. Driving home from breakfast I checked out houses and yards as if I hadn’t seen them before and looking, I think, for something out of the ordinary, something new to satisfy my strange mood. I noticed many different sorts of fences. My least favorite was the white vinyl picket. That doesn’t seem to belong here and is one I would discount as a good neighbor. One house had a Williamsburg bird house attached on the front. I hadn’t noticed that before even though I’ve driven by that house countless times. The Yarmouth Garden ladies were working on the side road medians planting and rearranging flowers. Theirs are always the prettiest medians. I’m not a fan of seashell pieces as a border between the yard and the road. They become choked with weeds and their essence is lost. I noticed some house fronts are bare: a door and two windows: no ornamentation, no shutters and nothing to catch the eye. They are the plain Janes who never draw attention to themselves. I wonder about the people who live in those houses. I think of them as unimaginative, their closets filled with interchangeable clothes of bland colors. They buy yellow cheese in individual cellophane wrappers. Their bread is always white.

Even the river was quiet this morning. No one was fishing, and I didn’t see a single boat. The water was calm; no white caps broke the monotony. I waited in a line of cars to turn at four corners, each with its own stop sign. Every driver was polite. No one rushed through taking someone else’s turn.

I came home to a quiet street and a quiet house. All three pets are sleeping and Gracie isn’t even snoring. I will be hard-pressed to find anything to satisfy my mood today as I’m not even sure what it is. I am not a fan of days like today.

“The gift which I am sending you is called a dog, and is in fact the most precious and valuable possession of mankind”

May 24, 2012

The day is brighter than the last few and the sun is just biding its time behind a cloud. It’s expected a bit later. It’s a long sleeve day which I found out when I investigated Gracie’s intruder bark. She was standing on the rail by the deck stairs, and the hair on her back was raised from her neck to her tail, never a good sign. I looked but saw nothing. It must have been the rabbit which just stands and stares at the dog. While Gracie was standing on the rail, I noticed the border along the side of the rail is in pieces held together by only a single wire; the bamboo has seen its last. I got her inside before she leapt that rail. This time she’d have hurt herself as the rail borders the holly bush. I put wire across the spot for the meantime as I do have a woven screen I bought yesterday. While I was attaching the wire, I noticed a spot near the driveway where she’s started digging under the fence. I put a board across it. Gracie is an escape artist, and when she’s on the run, she’s quick and won’t come to me. Neighbors come out, and she goes right to them. My yard is huge but obviously Gracie prefers the wider world.

When I was a kid, there were no leash laws. Dogs roamed. I never saw one hit by a car as the dogs were wary on the streets and car smart, and I think the cars were slower on local roads back then. Duke, our boxer, was quite the traveler. He’d follow us to school or follow the neighbors to their school. My father would yell for him, Duke would turn around to acknowledge he’d heard my father, then he’d keep going. My father got so angry he’d jump in the car to get the dog. My mother had a different  strategy. She’d hold out a piece of bologna and call Duke. He’d come and eat the bologna leaving a small piece in my mother’s hand then he’d run on his way. Duke and his son Sam were notorious for prowling the neighborhoods. Sam was my aunt’s dog, the aunt who gave us Duke, and he lived three or four blocks away. The two would meet up and travel together. They looked fierce but Sam was the gentlest of dogs. Duke was stubborn and protective. They scared people.

We moved to the cape and their days of roaming together were over. I swear the entire town let out a sigh of relief.

“The gift which I am sending you is called a dog, and is in fact the most precious and valuable possession of mankind”

May 24, 2012

The day is brighter than the last few and the sun is just biding its time behind a cloud. It’s expected a bit later. It’s a long sleeve day which I found out when I investigated Gracie’s intruder bark. She was standing on the rail by the deck stairs, and the hair on her back was raised from her neck to her tail, never a good sign. I looked but saw nothing. It must have been the rabbit which just stands and stares at the dog. While Gracie was standing on the rail, I noticed the border along the side of the rail is in pieces held together by only a single wire; the bamboo has seen its last. I got her inside before she leapt that rail. This time she’d have hurt herself as the rail borders the holly bush. I put wire across the spot for the meantime as I do have a woven screen I bought yesterday. While I was attaching the wire, I noticed a spot near the driveway where she’s started digging under the fence. I put a board across it. Gracie is an escape artist, and when she’s on the run, she’s quick and won’t come to me. Neighbors come out, and she goes right to them. My yard is huge but obviously Gracie prefers the wider world.

When I was a kid, there were no leash laws. Dogs roamed. I never saw one hit by a car as the dogs were wary on the streets and car smart, and I think the cars were slower on local roads back then. Duke, our boxer, was quite the traveler. He’d follow us to school or follow the neighbors to their school. My father would yell for him, Duke would turn around to acknowledge he’d heard my father, then he’d keep going. My father got so angry he’d jump in the car to get the dog. My mother had a different  strategy. She’d hold out a piece of bologna and call Duke. He’d come and eat the bologna leaving a small piece in my mother’s hand then he’d run on his way. Duke and his son Sam were notorious for prowling the neighborhoods. Sam was my aunt’s dog, the aunt who gave us Duke, and he lived three or four blocks away. The two would meet up and travel together. They looked fierce but Sam was the gentlest of dogs. Duke was stubborn and protective. They scared people.

We moved to the cape and their days of roaming together were over. I swear the entire town let out a sigh of relief.