Ode to Shelby

I remember the day we got you in August 1997. You were the most timid of your siblings running around in the yard at the Humane Society. We received a call that a pack of border collie puppies had arrived and we dashed down to make our selection. We had been waiting for the notification from a friend who volunteered there for some time. I had your name picked out for at least two years before I convinced that other human we were living with at the time that we should get a puppy. I would call you Shelby, after the road sign off of I85 heading north towards North Carolina. Never expecting to have kids, I liked the name (for humans or animals) and figured I might use it for you. Plus, it had good “Southern twang potential” that I could call out the back door in a suitable Southern way…”Sssshhhhellllbyyyy.” Making a two syllable word into a four syllable word in good Southern style.

You were the shy one of the group. Barely made eye contact when I looked at you. Your siblings ran right up to us, but I resisted their advances and went to you, off on your own, eyes turned down and away toward anything but human eyes. My grandmother, who had worked in a veterinarian’s office for years was so right – “Choose the runt”, she said, “they make the best dogs.” And you have been the best dog.

Halloween parade - Shelby as "dog at work"

At a mere six weeks old you were simply a fuzz ball with bad breath and incredibly sharp puppy teeth. I took you to puppy school and soon learned that you had great potential and were pretty smart. I also learned that I was not destined to be the best dog trainer as I couldn’t bear the thought of you fearing me. I wanted us to be friends resulting in my never achieving “alpha” status and you pulling on your leash on walks for most of your life. But we worked most of the rest of it out. You came when I called developing a rather large vocabulary. At your peak you were capable of getting the exact toy I requested, “Go get ‘Bite the Man’” and you would specifically retrieve that toy. “Go get W” and you come trotting back with a plastic George W. Bush head in your mouth. “Last call” was your signal to go out one last time before turning in for the night.

You managed through “joint custody” for a time during what was one of the most difficult times in my life. You seemed to understand the pain I was in and would lay for hours by my side occasionally even licking away my tears. I’m not sure I would have made it without you.

Shelby and her friend Jerry

You loved walks, rides in the car and treats (what we called your dog biscuits). You had a weakness for squirrels and practically dislocated my shoulder on numerous occasions in hot pursuit. You had a love, hate, love relationship with cats  (and I, along with Jerry – my landlords’ cat, are happy you’ve ended on a positive note with that one). You like turkey and peanut butter (although not together). You can catch popcorn pieces tossed in the air. Your unfailing loyalty greets me whenever I return from travels to far off lands. You seem to have forgiven me for my long absences, almost instantly.

We have lived in four different homes, you and I, but have landed in dog paradise here on OldOaks Farms. For the last four and half years we have both been surrounded by goats, dogs, cats, horses, chickens and the most amazing landlords that have made us feel “at home” and loved (so much so that I really have little desire to move in to the house that I actually own!).

But now at 14 you are aging. The changes since I left in May seem dramatic. You can’t see very well nor can you hear much but very loud voices (the advantage is that you are no longer terrified of thunder or gunshot rounds!). Your gait is strained – short quick steps with the front legs and longer slower ones in back. You can no longer jump to lie on the bed and look out the window and you struggle to make it into your favorite chair to sleep (but you’re still managing that).

Shelby with her summer hair cut

It is a horrible burden and great responsibility to choose when it is time to relieve you from your pain. It is hard not to be selfish and keep you for as long as you’ll stay. Last night you wandered around the cottage endlessly in the dark as if you were lost. Doggy dementia? This morning when I brought the trash can to the curb you escorted me back to the house with a bouncy trot (at least for a brief moment). So…today is not the day. But it will come soon, a matter of months? weeks? days? And I will miss you like the desert misses the rain.

Things that go bump in the night

Lion Spoor

 The darkness is blinding. If I were to put my hand in front of my face I would see nothing. I can hear Paul’s breathing as he lies next to me on our bedroll in our tent somewhere in the middle of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve (CKGR). Even if I try, I cannot for the life of me see him. I hear rustling outside the tent. It sounds like footsteps. Inching closer and closer to the side of the tent. Now sniffing. I can’t see a thing but I can hear my heart beating. What is it out there in the darkness? I try not to move. 

It goes on like this for what seems like hours and when I wake in the morning the darkness and wind are gone and there’s not a trace of a thing having passed outside our tent except my wild imagination…

I love the noises you hear sleeping in the bush. On the above night, however, it was nothing but the wind. On other nights you can hear the call of lions, the cry of jackals, the whooping of hyenas, the barking of geckos or the “HO0-hooing” of owls. Some nights the silence is deafening. On a recent trip to the Kalahari we woke to find footprints of a lion coming down the road leading to our campsite, passing right outside the front of our tent, doing a careful inspection of the entire site, then retreating back out the road. We heard nothing. 

Senyati Watering Hole

Sometimes you get so spoiled being in the bush that when you re-enter “civilization” you’re almost annoyed by the presence of other humans. We had an especially rude reintroduction to human society at a recent stay outside of Chobe National Park. A normally quiet campsite, called Senyati, with an amazing watering hole that draws in tons of elephants was taken over and corrupted by a band of fifteen marauding Afrikaaners drinking and making a racket until the wee hours of the night. 

Sadly they conformed to all the negative stereotypes that anyone could ever dream up about this segment of society. They were loud, rude, drunk and belligerent. At one point I felt like going over to them and saying, “Hey, there are other people here you know!” which made me think this was probably a common sentiment of the vast majority of the population of South Africa during the days of Apartheid. When we went to talk to the management about trying to get them to quiet down a bit, they threatened him with violence if he came back again.

Not getting much sleep that night we were woken before dawn cracked by the same gang yelling in Afrikaans at full volume to each other from across their campsites. Paul sprang to his feet, quickly dressed and confronted them in hopes that our clients might get some much needed sleep (which they were inevitably unable to get the night before). When he went over and said, “Come on guys, really…do you need to yell at each other in the early morning hours?” One of them responded, “We’re farmers.” 

Well...I guess that explains it. Sometimes you have no control over things that go bump in the night (or in the early morning hours).