Letters from Deer Camp

Dad’s Buddy Letters from Deer Camp

October 15, 2013 Buck, You know my dad has always been a dog lover. Growing up we had a series of mixed breeds that included Pepper, Murphy, Snoopy and of course his favorite, Max. Dad and Max were constant companions. They had one of those dog/human relationships where each completely understood the other. Max had a bit of wanderlust in him. The neighbors knew him well and the neighbor’s female dogs knew him even more intimately. Even though he grew to an old age, it was that free spirit that eventually did him in. As he was returning home along the Scenic Highway - after what was probably an amorous adventure a loose load on a passing logging truck came undone at the wrong time and finished him off.

Dad was devastated. “I’ll never get another dog” he sadly told us. His stated reason was that, already being near 80, he didn’t feel it was right to get a dog at his age and risk someone else having to take care of it if he passed. I think a bigger reason was that there could not be a canine companion that could possibly replace his dear friend. For his remaining years, he held fast.

He stayed active, taking daily walks on the trail system he built throughout the property. Between regular maintenance of the house and yard, he continued to have a small woodstove in the basement that gave him something to do on cold winter days. Although the insurance company had compelled him to install an oil furnace a few years before, a lifetime of fire tending was impossible to eliminate from his comfort zone. It also meant that firewood processing gave him meaning and something to do for the warmer parts of the year. Dad loved his chain saw. Indeed, he was cutting firewood the day before he had the stroke that took him – at age 87.

It was one fall not too long before he died. He was “putzing” with some dead trees that had fallen. Saw in hand, he was bucking up the wood into 17” lengths and carefully piling them along the trail to pick up later with his 3-wheeler and trailer. A movement caught his attention and to his surprise, a grouse came strutting through the underbrush straight at him! Though the saw was still running loudly and belching blue smoke, the bird refused to leave. Turning the saw off and sitting down, he started talking to the partridge. For its part, the bird walked over to him and jumped up into his lap.

His new friend was tolerant and let dad stroke its back. They sat together for several minutes before dad began to feel uncomfortable and stood up. The bird stayed put and wouldn’t leave. Not wanting to frighten the grouse, he decided that running the saw anymore that day was unnecessary and walked home for some lunch.

Wanting to finish the chore he started the day before; dad went to the same spot the next day. The saw hadn’t been running for more than three or four minutes when the grouse returned, pacing back and forth in front of him. Yesterday’s incredible encounter repeated itself. And so, it did the next day and the next.

One morning dad decided to just walk out to the area without his saw to see if the bird was there. Nope. Thinking that the spell had been broken, he returned to the house to get his saw and finally get his work done. As soon as the saw fired up, the bird came walking toward him!

As they became more comfortable with each other, dad would actually saw wood for a while and the grouse would hang around until he was done. They would then have their visiting time for an hour or so before dad would return home to other business. After a few days the bird (I don’t think it ever had a name) would climb up his arm and sit on his shoulder. It would spend several minutes there, sometimes nibbling at his ear lobe. Sometimes softly “cooing” into his ear. Over time it would fly onto his shoulder while he was standing. Though not the companion that Max was, this remarkable feathered alternative became his new buddy. Consistent over several days, a mutual affection seemed to blossom.

Dad called me and told me the story. Day after day he would give me an update on “what the bird did today” and how the relationship seemed to be growing. Finally, he asked if I would come down to see it and bring my camera along to document it. I thought it was a great idea.

So, I did. I made it to the house, and we sat and had coffee and Oreo cookies. But dad was anxious to show me his new friend. We hiked to the designated spot. Dad with his chain saw. Me with my camera. Immediately with the growl of the saw I could see the bird ducking through the brush to the small opening where we were. But something was different. The grouse was stand-offish. It was close but not approaching dad as it normally would. Ah, it didn’t trust me!

Dad shut the saw down and sat on a log. The bird would come close but wouldn’t sit on his lap or fly to his shoulder. We stayed for quite a while, but that was as much of a show as I would get. I took some shots and after a bit we went back to the house to finish our visit.

When I got home, the phone was ringing as I came through the door. Dad had gone back out with his chain saw and re-established their relationship. As soon as I was gone, the grouse was as intimate as ever. Not the first time I was the third wheel during an outing. The meetings continued for several weeks.

I wish I could say there was a happy ending to this story. The life of a grouse isn’t measured in dog years. Dad was always worried that the bird would hang around too close while he was working. It was constantly in front of or between his feet. On its last day, it was particularly friendly. Insisting that perching on dad’s shoulder was necessary, dad had to shush it off to get any work done. Suddenly, the bird was laying on the ground, its wings beating furiously. Within just a few seconds, it was done. Dad was sure he had stepped on it, although there was no evidence of that. He hadn’t felt anything, and the bird hadn’t jumped as if to escape an impending footstep. Sometimes in the grouse world, these things happen. A lifetime with a grouse might be measured in weeks or months. We’ll never know exactly what happened.

That was the last animal friend that dad had. He always enjoyed visits with my dogs, or my sisters’ dogs, but the grouse was his last real buddy.

Buck, as we age – especially if we live longer than accepted “expectancy” - friends and loved ones slowly go away and our animal buddies become more and more precious. A simple connection to another living thing may give meaning to why we are here, and to maybe why we are willing to stay here. A pet, songbirds coming to a feeder, or a deer crossing a corner of the yard all help us find our place in this world. It is so natural and feels so right to me.

Hoops