Hungover, Jolene Meets The Weather of Her People

The leftovers are gone, the pie plates back in the cupboard, and Parental Peas, Parker and Penny, have headed back to Texas. If you ask Jolene, it’s tragic news. She would’ve been fine if they had stayed forever. They spoke her language. They played her games.

We took a hike while the Peas were here. They moved out in front with their human. Jolene, pulling like a percheron, wanted to be with them. But I couldn’t walk that fast on the uneven trail, my balance still not 100% after the hearing loss. Jolene was missing the fun, and I felt old. Undeterred, Jolene dared all hikers we passed to stop. She lured them with her bright-eyed wiggle-sit. Having no tail, it was her best come-hither.

Mister and I crossed the country coast-to-coast, never once looking for company on walks. I was glad he hadn’t come along. Flaunting herself at strangers would have undone him. Mister doesn’t condone PDAs. He’s tried to be more open-minded. He says, she makes it look glamorous, but Mister can only be Mister. Raise your hand if you’re a horsewoman who can relate.

Parker is a bubbly extrovert, larger than life, funny and friendly. He is a greeter to all, an eloquent communicator, and an ambassador for the breed. But it was Penny I fell in love with when we met a couple of years ago. She is whip-smart but held her own counsel. All instinct and big thoughts. She wouldn’t come near me, which I totally respect. Mister agrees that pandering to strangers is (don’t tell Parker) for saps. Penny and Mister know someone has to watch for danger. 

Truth is that Penny is the temperament-twin of a dog I had 35 years ago. Her name was Spam, back before that word had a second meaning. A cattle dog who nipped baby-talkers. I miss her. She was me in a dog suit. I wrote about her in Stable Relation. And I thought I recognized part of her in Penny.

When I saw the first photos of a certain half-pint pup, I had hopes. Jolene has all the smarts, but carries her jovial father’s blood. Mister and I will just have to deal with her cheerful good nature. Some days it’s hard. Just being honest. I could tell the partying had been wearing on Mister. He’s kind of a bookish fellow. 

The Peas left before the sun was up. Hugs all around, it’s always bittersweet to see dear ones off. Mister sat behind me, and I held Jolene. She didn’t want them to go, but she didn’t want to go with them either. She wants all of us all the time. 

Jolene waited for the Peas to return all day, went out to check, and came back in to sit beside me at my desk. She gave me the eye, asking me to scratch her neck. This dog, who has done nothing but ask for my total attention for the last eight months, is still asking. And I’m still giving her the same answer. I stop and acknowledge her every time because the way she looks at me always warms my heart. I have no task more important than this warmth. Then she checked the yard a few more times, and came back a few more times. Mister slept through all of it.

We have a Vallhund hangover. Jolene knows it’s just me and Mister now, and to be fair, we are a little slow and dull-witted. Mister says the appropriate term is introverted. He’s right. The word fits me like horsehair and dog spit. Mister says, let it all hang out. He is a bookish old hippie.

The temps didn’t get out of the teens for the next three days. The first hard freeze always makes you think it’s never been this cold before. It has, but we got soft over the summer. No playing fetch in this screeching wind. They went out, used the facilities barely off the deck. Then hurried back in. Mister was cold through to his skin. Although Jolene felt much colder to the touch, that’s only on the surface. When she was a tiny puppy, she had a few black spikes growing on her neck that looked like mole hairs. Now, those coarse black hairs cover her entire back, over her wooly undercoat. The insulated, nearly waterproof coat of her North Dog ancestors. Winter is summer to her. Oh, jeez, whined Mister. 

The hangover continued. Jolene probably dreamed of the Peas driving into the dark faraway. Maybe Mister dreamed of us driving to Starbucks for a pup-cup. And I pondered my parents, 30 years gone from this life. I’m not like my mother, although her jawline appears daily in my mirror. Probably more of my father in me, but he was a man damaged by life before we met. Is it possible to be reverse-inspired by another’s regrets? Can any child ever know their parents beyond that title? If they’d taken another path and I’d been born to a different home, would I still recognize a part of them in me? 

I knew some of my horses’ parents. Dodger had a big family, a famous bloodline, and they were some of the finest people I’ve known. I rode the Andalusian stallion who sired two of my horses. He was majestic. As close to royalty as can be. And I recognize these horses in my client’s horses. 

I haven’t usually known my dogs’ parents, but every breed has similarities to every other breed. Don’t we all have a little chihuahua in us? Beyond that, my dogs, cats, horses, etc., seem related to each other, as well. An Infinity Farm multi-species breed. I notice that the barns that hire me all seem to have an individual personality or culture. Some serious and stuffy, others comfortable as a pair of old boots. Maybe each of us creates a culture that our animals live in. 

Finally, the cold snap eased, and we got our first snow of the year. Jolene’s first snow ever. She always stays out in the rain, especially if there’s thunder. But how does this white stuff just sit there? Mister isn’t the outdoorsy type, being primarily a literary dog. He keeps mentioning this as if it’s an AKC listing. When snow gets deep, he won’t zoom. His chest gets a chill. Jolene should complain. It takes even less accumulation for her to get a rude surprise on her backside. Now the temps are in the twenties. almost balmy. Jolene baited Mister into bitey-face, which worked for minutes before he went back inside.

I’m still pondering family. Like these snowflakes, we are all different when compared to each other, but piled together, we have staying power. At some point, we all launched from our birth families, and all we found were others just like us, even the ones who look different. We share the same life dramas. I know I sound trite, but the world is scaring me right now. 

Mister nods. He says half the reason Jolene is who she is comes from his being different. Point counterpoint. It’s the prairie that defines the mountain, he says.

He’s right again. I love his curmudgeonly quirkiness. Jolene snuggles her icy backside into Mister’s belly. In turn, he sleeps with his head on my lap sometimes. Mister counter surfs, and Jolene has been crunching ice all day. Our individuality stays intact as we wear each other’s rough spots smooth.

Mister didn’t need to worry. Jolene says we were her family all along, even if we don’t look like her. Mister is catching up on his rest, which he claims is a sport as good as any. Jolene stays outside alone in the cold, waiting for me to finish in the barn. Waiting for me, especially if it’s dark. When I’m close enough for eye contact, she gives a little wiggle-sit. If her heart warms, even a fraction of mine… Namaste. 

(It’s his name and his mane.)

[Part 28. Read all the episodes of Jolene’s Story here.]

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