(part 3)
I kept the
mini-farm for a while. Dot was gone, but
we still had one pig, a steer, several chickens, rabbits and pigeons, and Brandy. As days turned into weeks and weeks into
months, the upkeep of the farm became almost overwhelming. Some days I hardly knew where to begin.
In many ways, Brandy took Carmon’s death the
hardest. She had loved him without
condition in the way of dogs and simply did not understand why he didn’t come
home. In those first few weeks following
his death, Brandy would wait on the back porch, as was her custom. When Sess returned from school in the Tonka
truck, Brandy would race out to meet him on the road, her tail wagging so hard
that she seemed to be wagging her entire backside.
As soon as Sess stopped in the driveway, she would run
around the truck two or three times then sit on her haunches in front of him
and bark once. Sess would say, “Dad’s
not here, Brandy,” and she would return to the porch and lie down, her head
resting on her outstretched front paws. Those first few weeks, she spent hours, just staring at the places he used to stand and looking for him down the road.
By mid-September, Brandy would run to the end of the
driveway when the Tonka truck returned, then stand at the door waiting
for Sess to get out. She would raise her
eyes to look at him, but did not bark.
By October, she merely stood on the porch, then, sighing, laid back
down. By November, when the Tonka
truck would arrive home, Brandy would raise her head to look for just a
moment. By December, she only raised her
eyes.
To make
things worse, she was eating very little.
I made her favorite dog nog, the kids would try to encourage her
to eat, but nothing worked. On Christmas
morning, the next-door-neighbor found her on the porch, curled up in the spot
where she always waited for Carmon. She
had died of a broken heart.
~ ~ ~
Brandy’s
death was a turning point. We buried her
under the white peach tree. With the
dog’s death, I realized in a way I hadn’t before that Carmon was truly gone,
and with him went the pioneering spirit that kept his dream alive. A neighbor took the pig and the steer to the
butcher for me. I gave away the
chickens, the rabbits, and even the pigeons – although they kept flying
home. A few short years later, I sold
the farm.
It’s been a
different life for us all in the thirty years that he’s been gone, more
predictable in many ways, and more mundane.
I no longer awaken to frogs in my bathtub and rubber snakes in the
sink. My small back patio stays
remarkably clean and there are no pet stains on the carpet. I eat far less meat and what I do eat comes
wrapped in plastic from the neighborhood supermarket. But in the quiet moments, I remember Carmon.
For months
after his death, I felt such emptiness that I couldn’t even see the world
around me. It was as if a light had gone
out of my life. Then one morning in the early spring, as I
was driving to work, I became aware of a heavenly fragrance wafting through the
open car windows. As I looked about me,
I realized that I was driving by a grove of orange trees in full blossom.
Suddenly, the sky was a truer blue, the trees, a deeper green; the very air so
charged with beauty that it took my breath away. At that moment, a roadrunner skirted the tall
grass at the edge of the road, then disappeared into the grove of trees. 
©
Gebara Education, 2001. No portion of this book may be copied by any method
without the express written permission of the author
Picture of autumn leaves from www.freebigpictures.com
Picture of dog in field from www.123rf.com
Picture of egg nog from www.sodahead.com
Picture of peach tree by Van Gogh from multiple sources
Picture of orange blossoms from www.richradiantrealcom
Picture of road runner from www.brookfieldzoo.org
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