Beside the Stream

I’m in Vermont for five days, and Bob and Sam have no problem but the dog falls apart.  When I’m gone she spends her days moaning under my bed, mourning my absence until I return.   Bob suspects that someday she’ll expire from overexcitement at the airport.  

Bernese mountain dogs are farm dogs that understand property management the way bird dogs understand pointing.  The females bond with one person that they use as their reference point, and they do whatever they’re told; Jessie hasn’t needed a leash or collar for years.  She keeps deer, bear and turkeys out of the gardens, she makes it safe for me to hike alone, and she is ardent in her devotion.

“When a dog isn’t on task,” announced Sam, “it’s only job is to conserve energy.”   If he’s right that explains Jessie’s behavior: without the object of her affection she has no task, so the only thing left for her to do is to sleep. 

I have a friend with an African Grey Parrot.  He’s a nice parrot with lots of tricks, and devoted to his owner.  But when my friend travels, the parrot plucks the feathers from his chest.  By the end of a long trip the parrot looks so sad and abused that he’d make a good PETA exhibit.  That small grey bird  and my big dog have more in common than you’d think.