When i first brought Cashew home she was pretty little. Fearless as she was, the porch steps were too tall for her little legs and she couldn’t make it no matter how hard she tried. So i carried her up and down them each time. However, one day i noticed her reach for the next step with a paw and i realized her legs had grown longer and she was finally capable. I started encouraging her to try the stairs. I would leave her at the top of the stairs and then Sili and i would go down them and call to her to join us. Similarly, when it was time to go in Sili and i would climb up on the porch and call to Cashew at the bottom of the steps. She would whimper and pace and sometimes even sit in the dirt and cry but she would never come. I was bewildered. She found a way around all the things she wasn’t supposed to and yet she couldn’t figure out stairs. Then one day i let Sili out in the yard, i went in the yard, and Cashew remained at the front door on the porch. I called to her and she took a triumphant running leap. She landed clumsily on the next step but you could see the realization on her face that she didn’t die. Suddenly she had found her courage. She did the next step and the next and before she knew it she was in the yard with the big girls. I was so proud of her! I felt like my heart might explode. I threw my arms open and said, “You’re such a good girl! Co’mere!” She came bounding towards me in the yard, ears flapping and tongue flying in the wind. She knew she did good, for her little stumpy tail was wagging a million miles an hour. For the next few days she went up and down and up and down those stairs a million times, cuz she knew she got cuddles and baby talk every time she did it. Cashew had a new skill to add to her bag of tricks. She could do stairs.
My dog Sili had the patience of a saint. She never complained. She never lost her cool. She never turned on Cashew, though i myself was ready to pull my hair out 80 percent of the time. Sili had infinite forgiveness for Cashew. She seemed more amused by her behavior than threatened or upset. There were plenty of things that Cashew did that im sure were difficult for Sili to deal with. For example, Cashew missed her mom. She frequently tried to nurse, rather aggressively, from Sili’s empty nipples. She would bite them until she’d made a cut, which was why she spent her time in the crate when i couldn’t watch her. I couldn’t leave them unsupervised for fear she’d take one of Sili’s nipples off when i wasn’t looking. She was constantly trying to chew Sili’s collar into a gummy mess of sticky, wet leather. She had a habit of using Sili like a jungle gym. She had absolutely no spacial boundaries and would lay right on top of Sili and use her like a pillow. Sili sat patiently while Cashew got petted but if i pet Sili, Cashew would bark in a high-pitched screaming noise until i stopped. So every time Sili got loved on she would have to listen to angry yelling and wasn’t sure if it was directed at her (it wasn’t). Cashew tried to eat all of Sili’s food and steal her treats. She constantly took her bone (i gave it back, don’t worry). She even kicked her out of the water bowl. She would hog it until she’d drank her fill and then walk away leaving Sili to lick the leftover from the bottom of the bowl. I got her more water every time but Cashew had to have the first taste of the second bowl too. I knew right away Cashew was going to be dominant. Not just because she would grow bigger than Sili or because that was my hope when i bought her. I knew because during her first vet check-up, at 5 lbs and barely able to stand up, she walked right up to a great pyrenees in the waiting room, stood there on her stocky legs and went, “BARK!” The great pyrenees just looked at her. He seemed unafraid but she was sure she and her 5 lb self was scary as ****. She had balls, this one.
Australian Shepherds are known for being smart. Nobody ever said those smarts had to be used for good. They just said the dogs were smart. I started noticing things while i was working on projects or cooking in the kitchen. I would turn around and Cashew’s crate would be closer to me than i remembered it. Her crate was somehow moving across the floor. One day i faced her as i did a project and i finally got to see how she was doing it. She would run towards the front of the crate and slam her shoulder into it, moving it a good two inches forward. Then she’d shake it off and repeat. She became quite good at this and whenever she was in the crate and unhappy with her location, she would use her body weight to take advantage of the rollers it sat on and move the crate to wherever she felt she needed to be. I thought this was mischevious enough but one day i had moved her crate to the bathroom to try and contain some of the water she flung everywhere when she decided to play helicopter propellor disaster with her water bowl. I noticed she got real quiet, which scared me. Quiet with Cashew was unnatural. She was either hatching a diabolical plan or dead. I peeked around the free-standing closet to see her problem solving how to unlatch her crate door from the inside. But, freedom was no fun experienced by oneself. So, she figured out how to unlatch her sister’s crate as well. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Soon Cashew and Sili were loose in the house and timeout appeared to be over. I made a run to the dollar general that day and bought a padlock. I thought i had solved the problem and was quite proud of myself for all of 2 days. I started noticing a smell. There was a definite odor of poop coming from Cashew’s area but every time i checked the crate there was no poop either on top of or underneath her pee pads. There was no poop anywhere. The problem persisted for days until Cashew peed everywhere but the pee pads in her crate and i decided to remove the tray to rinse it under the spigot in the yard. Underneath the tray in the bottom of her crate was a thousand smooshed-up dog turds. I was bewildered. How was she getting them down there? One day i left the curtains to the front door window tied up, fed her a full bowl of food, put her in the crate, and made like i was leaving the house. I took my purse and keys and everything. I started the car. Then i tip-toed back up the porch steps and stood at the window. There was Cashew, throwing her weight in one direction and riding the tray in the bottom of her crate like a surfer. She would throw her weight in the same direction enough times until she had slid the tray about a third of the way out of the crate. She would hang her butt over the edge of the tray and make a turd. Then she would stand up, reposition, and throw her weight in the opposite direction; once again riding the tray like a surfboard and rolling the tray back over her freshly laid turd. She had made a self-cleaning litterbox. Well ****. I was in over my head with this one.
When i moved into the tiny house i noticed a bare-branched bush right off the stairs of the porch underneath the cedar tree that would one day hold an end of the laundry line. I wondered what it was but there were no leaves to identify it by. As spring awoke many other things, even the spanish oak, the bare little bush remained dormant. I eventually broke off a branch to see if there was water in it. It snapped in half easily and appeared dry at the center. I decided the bush was dead and made plans to cut it down for kindling. Then one day i saw something colorful out of the corner of my eye. The bush had erupted with little pink balls. It looked like a scene straight out of some national geographic video on sea anemones. I quickly began googling what kind of tree produced little pink balls on its branches. The answer blew my mind. I had a mimosa tree in the yard. If i let it grow big enough, the bees and butterflies would be attracted to the flowers and i would have a seasonal supply of fresh worms for fishing bait during the time when eggs hatched and worms hung from threads in the tree’s branches, lowering themselves down slowly into the grass. That is, if the thing survived Cashew’s teething phase. Every time i turned around that dog was throwing all her weight backwards trying to rip another branch off the poor tree. She would be giving me crazy-eye while she did it, trying to see if i could see her without letting go of the branch between her teeth.
When the leaves first unfurled they were paper thin, flimsy, and jungle-green. The tree looked so vibrant standing in the yard against the backdrop of dark-green cedars. It looked very impressive. As the days ticked on the leaves solidified and became thicker and darker green. Back when those leaves were still thin and veiny, when the afternoon light hit them just right it looked like the tree was glowing.
When i was a child my mother came home one day with a stick in a pot. Everyone thought she was crazy because she’d paid money for a leafless stick. Well she planted that leafless stick in the ground next to our house. She watered it faithfully. During the winter she placed the plastic kids picnic table over the stick, put a heat lamp in there, and covered the whole thing with a blanket. In the spring, that stick sprouted leaves. It was indeed alive, just as our mother had known, even though the signs of life were not yet there. She tended to it regardless and for the fruits of her labor, she got a fig tree that grew taller than our house and gave us hundreds of figs (and fed the birds too). It was a brown turkey fig tree. Brown turkey figs are the smallest of the fig varieties to choose from. They are a dark purple or brown when ripe. They become soft and visibly wrinkled when ready to eat. They are a relatively unimpressive sight but they are genuinely amazing sugary little morsels of sweet sticky goodness. People who know me bring me brown turkey figs from their trees for my birthday and at the local jenschke’s farms market the daughter at the cash register always points to the shelf she knows i’ve been watching like a hawk during the first day they have figs for the season. When we moved out of the house i grew up in, the buyers didn’t want the tree roots that close to the foundation of the house. First they just cut the tree back a heartbreakingly drastic amount until it was unrecognizable. Then one day we drove by and it was gone. I vowed that day that if i ever owned land i would plant my own brown turkey fig tree, let it grow as tall as ours had been, and give it a safe haven where it could exist unpruned and unhindered to feed me, the birds, and all the squirrels. I’d been looking for one ever since i closed on the house. There were plenty of sticks in a pot to choose from but none of them brown turkey. Then one day i was walking through the walmart parking lot when the familiar shape of fig leafs caught my eye. I thought to myself that there were probably no brown turkey ones but it was worth a check. The first tag i picked up said in bold green letters plain as day, “BROWN TURKEY”. My heart leapt in my chest. I had found it. My very own version of the monster we grew in that yard years ago. I hurriedly fetched a basket and began picking through the available options, looking for the one with the most balanced and sturdy structure and the greenest most intact leaves. I decided upon a specimen and into the basket it went. I was giddy with excitement. When i got the tree home i let the dogs out and began to walk the property, trying to pick a spot where we could group all our future fruit trees. I settled on a spot in the back part of the property where there was good access to sun and no access to the street where opportunity could tempt people to take from the branches that weren’t theirs. I made a visit to the tool shed and grabbed my shovel and my post hole digging bar. I had laughed when home depot sold it to me. Nobody would have asked in a big city but in a small town, the guy at the cash register wanted to know if i thought i had the strength to “use that thing”. I laughed because my father, who was never big on manual labor, had conned me into digging all his tree holes with just such a tool as a little girl by telling me he didn’t think i was strong enough to do it. I thought, “well i’ll show him” and he got a yard full of very deep and very wide holes. I was very familiar with a post hole digging bar. It had long been my favorite tool. I had lived in texas the majority of my life and limestone was no stranger to me. I smiled politely and informed the cashier that i knew how to use the tool and inserted my credit card. Now i was standing in the yard ready to break my new tool in. I spent a good part of the afternoon digging that hole in the yard. It was a hot and sunny day and i tried to rest in the shade of the trees in between blows. It was addicting, really. Each time that heavy bar came down and split the limestone into smaller pieces it was like a really big pimple had been popped or all the pictures in an “ocd person’s nightmare” youtube video had been rectified and made even. I dug a good sized hole, tossing the limestone pieces into a pile next to a cedar for use in later projects. I piled the dirt up next to the hole to use for filler once the tree was in place. I slid the tree out of its plastic bucket. It was fairly root bound. I said to it, “now you’ll get a chance to really spread your roots.” I set it down in the hole and filled it in with the dirt mound. When it was nice and cozy i poured myself a glass of ice water and set to cutting some wire fencing off the roll in the yard. When i’d cut the amount i needed i dragged it over to the tree i’d just planted and wrapped it around in a cylinder to protect it from the deer. I used a pair of pliers to bend the cut ends of one side of the wire fencing around the edges of the other side, locking it together. I placed some leftover metal furniture bits i had in the shed over the bottom wires of the fencing and hammered them into the ground. Then i piled the limestone rocks i had lying around the yard against the fencing to keep the wind from carrying it away. It was done. The fig tree was planted. I felt that i had finally somehow rectified an old injury from 16 years ago when humans had their priorities bass ackwards and chose to trash the fig tree and save the concrete. Bitter, maybe, but finally healed. I picked out other spots near the fig tree where i would one day put at least two other fruit trees i had in mind. The back part of our land would be the fruit tree corner.
Just like a baby, a young dog goes through a totally natural phase of drool and destruction called teething, in which you have to safe guard everything you own, including their siblings and/or their collars and identification tags. She was like one of those automatic vacuum bot commercials gone wrong. She would follow us all over the house and then at the opportune moment, strike. She had this urge to chew everything. Fingers, my machete handles, the machete holster, cabinets, walls, shoes, leashes, her sister’s jowls, trees… if it was in her field of vision it was in the danger zone. Every time i turned around she was chewing on something. She even chewed her pee pads. The only thing she did not chew was the teething toys.
Photo 1 is a picture of one of Cashew’s famous 30 minute naps. As soon as she was out i would snap a picture and then lay down wherever i was; usually on the floor. She could wake up at any minute and it was best to sleep while one could. Sili would follow my lead. At this age Cashew was too small to be free range so she had to go out in the yard on a leash. She hadn’t really learned to walk straight yet and she wasn’t very coordinated. She would take 3 or 4 steps and fall on her face. Her head was so big compared to the rest of her body. Eventually 3 or 4 steps morphed to 6 or 7 steps and soon she was going longer distances before she face planted. Sili and i watched Cashew learn how to walk. She would always be a bull in a china shop; not gingerly stepping around the furniture like Sili, but bulldozing through it. However, she did learn to walk without faceplanting on her huge head. She was a good eater! Boy was she a good eater. She loved food. She would eat her wet food. She would try to eat Sili’s dry food even though the kernels were bigger than her little mouth. She would eat the cat’s food. She would eat anything that fell from the counter. She would eat bugs, any kind of animal poop (including her own), sticks, rocks, grass, and leaves. My mother asked me if the dog had a mineral deficiency. I asked the vet if i was feeding her enough. They said she was a healthy weight for her age. Cashew was different from Sili in this area. Sili could leave a quarter of her food in the bowl and not touch it all day. However, if you rubbed her ears she would love you forever. Cashew could care less if you were petting her, but if you had a peanut butter chicken treat in your hand she thought you were the best thing to ever walk the earth! They were opposites in so many ways.
I was terrified that Sili would reject Cashew. She’s super picky about other dogs. She doesn’t usually like them. After Cashew was given the all clear by the veterinarian i decided it was time for Sili and Cashew to meet. I set them both down in the same room and quietly melted into the walls. I waited to see if i would need to break them up or mediate. I was astonished by what i witnessed next. Sili slapped the ground like she wanted to play. Cashew stood up on her hind legs, made herself as big as she possibly could, and “whap” boxed Sili in the ears without any hesitation. The amazing thing was that Sili took no offense to this whatsoever. Sili wagged her tail and slapped the ground again, daring Cashew to chase her…and she did. Cashew was barely tall enough to walk but she barreled around the room, tripping over herself, chasing Sili around the house with glee. She was fearless. It only took a moment for them to fall hopelessly addicted to each other. They were inseparable after that day. If i put Cashew in the crate in the bathroom Sili would sit outside the door and wait for her. If i put Sili out in the yard to potty and kept Cashew in, she would sit at the door and wimper until i let Sili back in. They napped together. They played together. It was the best case scenario.
When i first brought her home Cashew was too little to be able to effectively regulate her body temperature. She was too young to bathe so i just dealt with the fleas. I tried not to think about them but if i parted her fur with my fingers there were hundreds of them crawling all over her skin. Cashew was a very calm puppy during her first few days with us. She slept a lot. I had seen this in animals before. I knew she was anemic and experiencing lethargy as a result of the sheer number of fleas on her little body. I didn’t for a second take the mild-mannered personality she was exhibiting to be her own. My gut instinct was that once i got those fleas off her she would be wild and energetic. I waited until the vet gave the go-ahead at her first check-up. Then bath day was scheduled. I boiled the water and made it as warm as i could without being dangerous. I knew it would have to be a quick bath but there were so many fleas. I didn’t see how i was going to get them all. She was so little that she didn’t fit in the bathtub. She would likely have drowned. So i put her in a pasta pot. I set her down into the warm water and i began lathering her up with dawn dish soap. Right away the fleas started moving. They burrowed deeper into her fur, trying to escape the soap i was applying to her top coat. So i covered my hands until they were dripping with dish soap and i worked my fingers into every centimeter of her fur. I was making good progress when Cashew began shiverring. I suddenly realized i needed to hurry up. She became very squirmy and then eventually went still, except for the shiverring which became more pronounced. I started to worry. Was the vet mistaken? Had i tried bathing too soon? It didn’t matter. She was already wet. The important thing was to hurry up and finish so i could get her warm again. I pinched the fleas between my fingers and put them on the porch. I had intended to smash them with my shoe but holding onto a wet and unhappy dog and making sure it doesn’t drown or escape is no small job. i quickly realized i could make sure Cashew didn’t escape or i could make sure the fleas didn’t escape and i chose Cashew. I got the fleas off of her and then just decided to heck with the rest. They probably found a raccoon or possum to hitch a ride on but it couldn’t be helped. The soap seemed to stun them but the fleas insulated from the soap by her long fur seemed unaffected. Every time i thought we were getting somewhere i found another cluster. There were big fleas and tiny fleas. It was quite a population. They had been biting me when i held or played with Cashew. I knew they were there but hadn’t realized how many i was dealing with. Eventually i realized the poor dog couldn’t take any more. I had to get her out of the bath. We had to be done, whether there were more or not. She was shaking so badly she resembled someone experiencing a seizure. I lifted her out of the pot, wrapped her in a towel, and held her against my chest. She continued to shiver with the same intensity. Suddenly an idea popped into my head. Sili made me think of it. I ran her inside and set her in front of the space heater. I plugged it in and turned the knob to “low”. I held her in the towel in front of the space heater where she began to thaw out. Slowly but surely the shiverring dissipated. When she was warm and fairly dry i took her back out to the porch where i spent the next hour running the flea comb through her fur and pulling them off of her one by one. I searched and searched her fur until i couldn’t find anything else moving. The bugs would get caught in the bristles of the comb and i would pick them out with my finger nails. When the comb bristles were coming up empty i declared the project finished and took her inside the house. The very next day Cashew became a different dog entirely. As i had suspected, the fleas were behind her lethargic and mild-mannered temperament. The next morning she was jumping and running around. She was mischevious and wild. She was full of energy and getting into everything she wasn’t supposed to. Only after the fleas were dealt with did i truly get to meet Cashew. I had created a monster, but i was glad to do it. I was so happy to get rid of those horrible parasites who were sucking the life right out of her. During our next vet visit she would weigh enough for puppy flea and heartworm medicine. Then she would truly be pest free and the flea comb (thank God) would enter retirement.
