The Summer Skye Died
It came so unexpectedly. She was getting old and had passed the average lifespan age of a Siberian Husky, but to be fine during her morning walk and then to be dead when I went to take her for a walk in the evening was too much of a shock. Tears still well up in my eyes when I think about it.
The summer was just beginning and I was anxious to get my heirloom tomato seedlings into the ground before the rainy season arrived. The weather had been almost too good to be true. So good, that I’d already lost some bees to swarms despite having done what I thought necessary to prevent that from happening. Skye had sat with me as we watched a large group of bees from one hive take off only to return to its original home after buzzing around in the sky for a while. Skye was a good listener, always willing to put up with my complaining about how the crazy rooster had attacked me again; or how the chickens were so greedy; or how the bees never decided to swarm to a low branch where I could retrieve them easily. I missed her so much, especially those first few days. I couldn’t seem to get the day started without our morning walk. She had been a part of my life for 12 and a half years and I just didn’t know what to do with myself without her.
After about a week of being miserably lonely, I decided that the only way to move on was to get another dog as soon as possible. It’s amazing what you can find out on the internet nowadays. Search upon search of dog breeds, dog shelters, pet stores and the such, convinced me that I really wanted to get another Siberian Husky if at all possible. I ended up driving all the way to Shizuoka prefecture and back --7 hours each way-- to pick up a four-month-old Siberian Husky puppy. It was a boy with brown and white fur and brown eyes, different enough from Skye in appearance, but still a Husky.
I had forgotten how much work it is to have a puppy in the house. Three feedings a day meant that many more walks, some at the hottest hour of the day. The rainy season never really turned out to be its normal nuisance, which was helpful, but in return, the temperatures at midday were almost unbearable in the direct sun. Thanks to Canter, as the new pup came to be called, we discovered various new routes throughout the neighborhood, many of which wound through the rice paddies surrounding our house.
For the first time since I moved here, I was seeing the paddies from a completely different angle. Having the mountains as a backdrop and the moon reflecting on the fireflies weaving in and out of the rice sheaths made the extra late-night walks more of a pleasure than a dreaded chore. As the rice grew, the lush green color made the paddies look like rolling green pastures. It was enough to give me some exciting ideas to keep them from turning into weed fields if ever the day came when no one was able to plants rice here anymore.
I still miss Skye dearly, but Canter and I are pleasantly adjusting to life with each other. Along with new discoveries on walks through the paddies, it was a summer filled with other positive developments as well. For the first time, I was successful at making enough compost to not have to buy any commercial fertilizer. Though I still have a lot to learn when it comes to supporting tomato plants, my heirloom red and yellow tomatoes grew in enough abundance to make me start seriously considering canning next year. I also had a new woodshed built that is big enough to hold wood for one firing of the pottery kiln. I hope that this means I can gradually put more time into actually making pots rather than having to re-stack the woodpiles every time inclement weather causes them to take a tumble.
All in all, this summer has made me feel that I am finally, after twenty some odd years, approaching the lifestyle that I have always yearned for. I thank Skye for being my companion for these past twelve years, and I hope that Canter will bear with me in the years to come.
