I came out to pull the sheets off the bed in the bus mid-morning and found the rig gleaming inside and out. Phil, our driver, had been busy. I looked around the corner of the bus to see him applying black polish to the last pair of massive tires. Inside, the bed had been made, the floors mopped and the windows cleaned. He’s the perfect example of the tough-on-the-outside-soft-on-the-inside kind of man: He looked unhappy at my compliment on his housekeeping, but pleased that I’d stepped up to wash the sheets.
The crew is wonderful. Phil and Jimmy (our tour manager) are long-time professionals, unflappable problem-solvers who know everything about life on the road. They’re my long-haul companions, since Dr. Becker usually finds it more comfortable to ride with the assistant tour manager, Chris, in the support vehicle. Phil is also protective of me, telling me where I can safely walk McKenzie after dark in the cities we’ve visited, and once grabbing me to keep me from falling down the stairs of the bus when I did one of my classic two-left-feet maneuvers. They’ve also been very tolerant of having a dog on board, perhaps because in their years of working with rock bands and TV stars they’ve seen more troublesome tour companions than a well-mannered middle-aged retriever.
This is a slow three days for everyone but Dr. Becker. For me, staying in one state (we head to KC tomorrow after our events) has given me time to feel the keen ache of missing my home and my family. Including, of course, the other dogs, Teh Big Orange Kitteh, ducks Bernadette and ABBA and my small flock of chickens.
The cat and the ducks and the chickens are just fine with my house-sitter looking after them (and the garden I planted before I left Sacramento). The dogs are fine, too, but I really miss them most. And one of them I’ll be missing forever.
Just after I left Texas, Mary and I decided that Woody would stay with her now — he’s not coming back with me after the tour. She wanted him to come back to Texas before, but I just couldn’t part with him. What changed was me seeing Woody back on the ranch with my own eyes. From the moment we pulled up and I let Woody out of the car it was obvious that he felt he was home. Over the next few days on the ranch, I couldn’t help but see how much happier he was there. I knew Mary would bring the matter up again, and she did, but this time I had to admit what I knew to be true: Woody is ranch dog, a hunting dog, and he belongs in Texas with her. I thought a lot about Liz’s hard decision with Archer after Paul’s death, and knew that I, too, had to make a hard decision to do what was right for the dog.
She’ll have been on the ranch for more than four months when the tour is over, with no fewer than three trainers working with her. Mary laid out a plan to give Faith’s life some structure (she was, um, a little spoiled), a lot of exercise, basic obedience and some foundation field training. When I visited just before the bus tour started, I couldn’t believe how far she’d come. This last month, Mary has had a woman she’s mentoring working daily with Faith, and my two-year-old retriever is really blooming now.
Debbie Kinas may be learning about dog-training from Mary, but she’s no novice when it comes to handling animals. A lifelong rural resident, she’s a ranch-sitter based in Giddings, TX, and when I met her she was talking about her plans to grow her business. I’d known that getting time away was almost impossible for farmers and ranchers (animal care, after all, is a 24/7 responsibility); Debbie said some of her clients hadn’t been able to take time away from their ranches for years before she started her business. She has experience with all kinds of animals — when Mary goes away, for example, Debbie cares for the cattle and cats as well as the dogs, and is capable of caring for everything on four legs. (She also has a sideline that’s more about passion than profit: She works with a low-cost spay-neuter clinic to get ranch dogs and cats picked up, altered and returned home.)
I met her when I was visiting the ranch, and I liked her a lot. She’s quiet and a little shy, but clearly competent and hard-working. (If you’re near Giddings, TX, and can use her help, e-mail her here.) She keeps me updated on Faith’s progress.
“Faith loves the one-on-one attention,” she says. “She is attentive and wants to please, and is food-motivated in training.”
I know I’ll be taking home a much better companion than the one who flew to Texas a few months ago, thanks to the attention a trio of Texas trainers who helped my spoiled hell-puppy to grow up. FayBee the BayBee no more: She will now be FAITH — and I’ve always had faith indeed in her potential.
Which leaves darling Drewbie. More on him tomorrow after Susan gives me her latest update and a picture. Drew and Susan’s collie have been hanging out with her husband while Susan has been out of town. The guys have had a great time, I’m told!
Yesterday in Chicago, my friend Marilyn came to the book-signing with one of her flat-coats, Bobby. She also invited her friend, Bette, who brought along her dog, Skye, an 11-year-old Sheltie who bore more than a passing resemblance to Drewbie.
McKenzie had been enjoying the company of other dogs (including her son Dooley, niece Otter, our Phyllis DeGioia’s setter, Dodger, and Pet Hobbyist pal Cindy Steinle’s very cool Pittie, Caesar) when she saw Skye walk in. She did what could best be described as a double-take and dragged me to him. She sniffed him, looked confused, sniffed him again and then seemed disappointed that no matter what her eyes told her, her nose told her Skye wasn’t Drew. The store was crowded, though, and every time Skye reappeared McKenzie again reacted strongly, until she sniffed him again — and again, she seemed disappointed and a little confused.
It was obvious to me and everyone else: McKenzie misses Drew. Who knew?
In another month, she’ll see him again. I can’t wait, and apparently, neither can she.
Tomorrow, though, it’s back on the road.
Images: The Bus Of Great Subtlety (BOGS) last week, in Richmond, VA; Faith at Windfall Ranch; and Skye, the not-a-Drew in Bloomindale, IL.
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