Susan Larson's Blog - Posts Tagged "love"
Book Signing for Eye of the Storm
The Eye of the Storm Equine Rescue held a benefit party in Stow today, and I went to do some book-signing. I got to meet the EOTS volunteers who had read my book and were recommending it to other horse-lovers, who bought copies of their own. One young customer said she could relate to the Sam story because her Dad was always saying she was 'going through a horse phase.' Yo, Dad,some people's horse phases last a very long time...
I did recommend that one lovely fresh-faced eleven-year old put off reading "Sam" until she's older, because it deals with family violence and parental abandonment. Her equally lovely mom, a teacher in the public schools, might relate to the bullying issues in the story, but I think eleven is too young and tender an age to tolerate the harshness that crops up here and there in "Sam."
I did recommend that one lovely fresh-faced eleven-year old put off reading "Sam" until she's older, because it deals with family violence and parental abandonment. Her equally lovely mom, a teacher in the public schools, might relate to the bullying issues in the story, but I think eleven is too young and tender an age to tolerate the harshness that crops up here and there in "Sam."
Sam in Eden
The Farm in 'Sam' is Paradise for the young dreamer Ruthie and also for her father, who yearns to break free of his deadening job in the city and live in the natural world. Eden is a gift that is given to us. Eden can be lost. Once lost, Eden becomes a place we must fight for, and pay for at great cost. Ruthie is given her Eden, with its blooming orchard, clear streams, shining heavens, and friendly animals that she names and loves. She also loses Eden, and is lost to herself. In the 'Sam' story I wanted to give each character a chance at re-gaining their dream of Eden. Will they pay the price? Read 'Sam' and you'll find out.
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Sam Changes his Mind
Sam sauntered down the barn lane like an old moo cow, his head bobbing between Evvie and me, his ears waggling back and forth in time with his strides. My heart was thumping about three beats per waggle. I led Sam close to the stave bench, then stood on it and slowly looped the reins over his neck.
Sam tensed up and rolled a spooky-blue left eye around to glare at me. He whuffed out hard through his nose as I undid the halter and lifted the crownpiece of the bridle up in front of his face…
“Hmpf!” he said, and flung his nose straight up. How could he? After I had been so nice to him.
“Should I smack him?” I asked Evvie.
“I dunno, is be being bad?”
Was he? Or was he just expecting to get yarned around? We stood there another minute. The nose stayed up, the eye stared at me. Finally I took the bridle down and reached out nice and slow with my empty hand. I stroked Sam’s neck.
“Don’t worry, Sam.” My voice was shaking. “I won’t yarn you around, ever. Ever. I promise.”
That eye glowered down at me and I looked up at it. I kept stroking his neck. It was as hard as stone. Another long minute went by.
The eye closed. Sam smacked his lips and made a sound like a sigh. Did I hear him say,
“Tsk. Oh, all right, if it means that much to you.” Sam lowered his head. I held up the bridle again and he took the bit. I eased the crown piece over his ears, off side, near side. Sam sighed again while I did up the buckles; then the eye opened and looked at me. Not glaring…
Sam lifted his nose up close to my face. He sniffed my hair and my mouth and touched my cheek with his whiskers. I sighed and shut my eyes…
Sam sauntered down the barn lane like an old moo cow, his head bobbing between Evvie and me, his ears waggling back and forth in time with his strides. My heart was thumping about three beats per waggle. I led Sam close to the stave bench, then stood on it and slowly looped the reins over his neck.
Sam tensed up and rolled a spooky-blue left eye around to glare at me. He whuffed out hard through his nose as I undid the halter and lifted the crownpiece of the bridle up in front of his face…
“Hmpf!” he said, and flung his nose straight up. How could he? After I had been so nice to him.
“Should I smack him?” I asked Evvie.
“I dunno, is be being bad?”
Was he? Or was he just expecting to get yarned around? We stood there another minute. The nose stayed up, the eye stared at me. Finally I took the bridle down and reached out nice and slow with my empty hand. I stroked Sam’s neck.
“Don’t worry, Sam.” My voice was shaking. “I won’t yarn you around, ever. Ever. I promise.”
That eye glowered down at me and I looked up at it. I kept stroking his neck. It was as hard as stone. Another long minute went by.
The eye closed. Sam smacked his lips and made a sound like a sigh. Did I hear him say,
“Tsk. Oh, all right, if it means that much to you.” Sam lowered his head. I held up the bridle again and he took the bit. I eased the crown piece over his ears, off side, near side. Sam sighed again while I did up the buckles; then the eye opened and looked at me. Not glaring…
Sam lifted his nose up close to my face. He sniffed my hair and my mouth and touched my cheek with his whiskers. I sighed and shut my eyes…
A Cure for Biophilia
My Secret Vice
I miss my dog. His name was Gandalf the Grey, and we loved each other. He went to Doggie Paradise in 1991. He was my last dog, because my increasingly severe allergic asthma does not permit me to have another one. This is very hard on me because I love the company of other mammals, except maybe shrews.
I have an incurable case of Biophilia: that itch to reach out and pat something furred, feathered or scaled. I have exchanged kisses with a friendly wolf, hung with a fruit bat, scratched a tapir’s itchy back, persuaded a wren to perch on my finger as I escorted him from my house; and– oh, enchanting childhood moment!– had my face washed by the tongue of an orphan fawn.
On the domestic side I have cuddled with the usual suspects: dogs horses, cows, goats, chickens, cats, and one fancy rat. The rat peed on me a lot. It’s what they do. But we stayed friends.
But right now it is dogs I miss. Or Dog. The bounding joy, the endless good nature of Dog; the eye contact that says “It’s you and me, 4 Evah, darling dear!”
Dogs have this wacky willingness to go along with whatever whim we might entertain. Walkies? Anytime! Pick up that thing and bring it to you? Sure! Bunch up those woolly critters and put them in that pen? You betcha! Guide you around obstacles? No prob! Let’s play!
When that terrible longing for Dog engulfs me, I go to one of the best Walkie spots in my town, where there are vast public hayfields and orchards, with a pretty river running alongside. I go and pretend to walk and birdwatch there, feeling vaguely creepy, like a pedophile lurking outside a kindergarten, because I am really there for the dogs. Yes. I hit on other people’s dogs.
Yesterday’s bag: two fox-colored Pomeranians, a lissome Doberman still in possession of his ears and tail, several wet Labs, and a standard poodle who barked an initial challenge, then sat on my feet leaning against me as I fondled his ears and chatted about dogs with his owner.
I watch dogs play with each other, or chase down their tattered Frisbees, in the sunny meadows. I ask their moms and dads if its OK to greet their pets. If yes, I scratch their, hips, ruffle their ears, and look into their bright eyes while they look right back into mine. And my heart is satisfied.
Thus do I deal with my Biophilia. No, “Biophilia” sounds to much like a disease; let’s use the Anglo Saxon word. It’s love. Thank you, dog parents, for loaning me a bit of the total goodness of Dog. When I put my hand on somebody else’s dog I am changed down to the toes; I feel their love, and that bond between creatures, and with the world. Dogs make me proud to be a mammal. “It’s you and me for this moment, darling dear.” As the nice English gentleman said, “Only connect.”
I miss my dog. His name was Gandalf the Grey, and we loved each other. He went to Doggie Paradise in 1991. He was my last dog, because my increasingly severe allergic asthma does not permit me to have another one. This is very hard on me because I love the company of other mammals, except maybe shrews.
I have an incurable case of Biophilia: that itch to reach out and pat something furred, feathered or scaled. I have exchanged kisses with a friendly wolf, hung with a fruit bat, scratched a tapir’s itchy back, persuaded a wren to perch on my finger as I escorted him from my house; and– oh, enchanting childhood moment!– had my face washed by the tongue of an orphan fawn.
On the domestic side I have cuddled with the usual suspects: dogs horses, cows, goats, chickens, cats, and one fancy rat. The rat peed on me a lot. It’s what they do. But we stayed friends.
But right now it is dogs I miss. Or Dog. The bounding joy, the endless good nature of Dog; the eye contact that says “It’s you and me, 4 Evah, darling dear!”
Dogs have this wacky willingness to go along with whatever whim we might entertain. Walkies? Anytime! Pick up that thing and bring it to you? Sure! Bunch up those woolly critters and put them in that pen? You betcha! Guide you around obstacles? No prob! Let’s play!
When that terrible longing for Dog engulfs me, I go to one of the best Walkie spots in my town, where there are vast public hayfields and orchards, with a pretty river running alongside. I go and pretend to walk and birdwatch there, feeling vaguely creepy, like a pedophile lurking outside a kindergarten, because I am really there for the dogs. Yes. I hit on other people’s dogs.
Yesterday’s bag: two fox-colored Pomeranians, a lissome Doberman still in possession of his ears and tail, several wet Labs, and a standard poodle who barked an initial challenge, then sat on my feet leaning against me as I fondled his ears and chatted about dogs with his owner.
I watch dogs play with each other, or chase down their tattered Frisbees, in the sunny meadows. I ask their moms and dads if its OK to greet their pets. If yes, I scratch their, hips, ruffle their ears, and look into their bright eyes while they look right back into mine. And my heart is satisfied.
Thus do I deal with my Biophilia. No, “Biophilia” sounds to much like a disease; let’s use the Anglo Saxon word. It’s love. Thank you, dog parents, for loaning me a bit of the total goodness of Dog. When I put my hand on somebody else’s dog I am changed down to the toes; I feel their love, and that bond between creatures, and with the world. Dogs make me proud to be a mammal. “It’s you and me for this moment, darling dear.” As the nice English gentleman said, “Only connect.”
