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.
During the early days i was so tired i couldn’t think. I was sleeping an average of two hours at a time. The puppy cried if it was hungry, cried if it was sleepy, cried if it wanted attention, cried if it was about to or had just gone potty. It cried for every reason imaginable and it seemed to sleep in occasional 30 minute increments at which point i would collapse in the middle of whatever i was doing and sleep simultaneously for as long as she would let me, whether it be in a chair, on the floor, or in the bed. If she was quiet, i stopped everything and slept. She had an ear piercing, shrill, high-pitched yelp that made me want to rip my eyeballs out of their sockets and jam them down the sink drain. I cried, a lot. I can remember asking my mother on the phone, “what have i done?” And “do you think i will ever sleep more than 2 hours again?” Little did i know, there would be months upon months of those phone calls ahead where Cashew had done the unspeakable and/or improbable and i had to ask my mother to remind me why i loved this dog so… she was different from sili. She was not sensitive nor introverted. She was loud and boisterous. She was wild and smart. So smart that she figured out how to unlatch her own crate, and eventually her sister’s too. The early days with Cashew were not easy, not by far, but they were worth it. Cashew would come to be a really sound ranch dog and i would grow to love her for everything she was. But, like i said, the early days were hard.
It was right after Sili had dug a hole to let herself out of the dog/chicken run 2 days in a row. It was clear things were not working as they were. Sili was going to have access to the whole 2 acres whether i wanted her to or not. I made up my mind. It was time. I browsed craigslist in the nearest big city for the next few days. There was nothing there. Every adult aussie for sale had behavioral problems and the puppies were over a thousand dollars a piece. Most of them were mini aussies which meant they wouldn’t grow past 15 to 30 lbs. that was not what i was looking for. I needed a regular sized aussie…a ranch dog. I expanded my search to Dallas and Waco. One afternoon, i had just gotten home from work when i hit refresh on the craigslist page i was looking at and a new post popped up on my screen. The ad was out of lockhart, 2.5 hours away from where i was. The post advertised australian shepherd puppies, healthy, weaned, and 300 bucks a piece. The pictures showed what looked like healthy plump pups. I called the number listed immediately and inquired about the puppies. The woman said that she had 8 puppies to sell. I called about fifteen minutes later to tell her i was heading out now and she said she had 3 puppies left. Aussies go fast. The ad clearly said “no holds allowed” in bold print type. I thought to myself, “this is ridiculous. You’re gonna be half way down the drive when she sells the last 3. It’s a 2 and a half hour drive to lockhart. How on earth do you think this trip is going to be fruitful?” In an instant a calm washed over me and i wasn’t anxious at all. A little voice in my head said “this is the dog.” I thought, “well, i guess we’ll just keep driving in that direction until we hear otherwise.” So i set out on the road. I was almost out of gas and it seemed every fuel station was on the other side of the highway for 22 miles. I can’t explain it. I passed a few but by the time i saw them i had passed the entrance. When i did find a gas station it was a costco fuel center and you couldn’t buy gas without a valid costco card. So i drove on. There was no time to stop for a crate or supplies. I already had to stop at the bank two towns over to get the 300 dollars cash for the puppy. On top of this? There was no address. I was just driving aimlessly in the direction of lockhart. The sellers didn’t want their address on craigslist so they told me to drive to lockhart and they’d give me instructions from there. If i couldn’t get ahold of them in lockhart, i may end up driving 5 hours round trip with nothing to show for it. I was trusting that the little voice in my head knew something i didn’t and that the absence of anxiety i felt was of something bigger than myself. As i was driving something told me to call the woman from the post one more time. I thought, “she’s just going to think i’m pushy. She already knows i’m coming. Just leave it alone.” The voice persisted in my head and i felt an overwhelming urge to pick up the phone so i dialed the number one more time. I let her know that i was stuck in traffic but i was coming and i was on my way. She said, “are you almost here? There’s one left.” I explained that i was still an hour and a half out and stuck in rush hour traffic but doing my best. She said, “an hour and a half…where are you coming from?” I told her again the name of my little town. She told me to wait while she looked it up on her phone. When she came back to me she said, “oh my word, you’re two and a half hours away. Sweetie that’s a long way to drive for a dog.” I said, “well, i’ve been looking for a companion for my current dog to keep her company on the land and i just had a feeling that this was the one.” She said, “i know i said no holds but since you’re coming all that way, we’re just going to tell people they’re all gone. It’s a female. She’ll be here when you get here. Don’t rush. Drive safely. Call us when you make it to lockhart and we’ll direct you from there.” I drove on through the traffic as the sun hung lower and lower in the sky. I knew i would be racing the pet store closing hours after i picked her up because there was no pet store in lockhart. I would have to hurry back to a big city to get her food and supplies or it would be a long night with a hungry new baby. I was just focused on getting there. When i arrived in lockhart i called the woman who made the post but she didn’t answer. I waited ten minutes and called again. Still no answer. I wondered if she sold the puppy. I thought about turning around but something wouldn’t let me. I turned the car off and sat in the parking lot. Suddenly the phone rang. It was the woman’s husband. He was prepared to give me directions to their house. After following a series of instructions he informed me there was no cell service past this point and said to just keep driving on the road i was on for 3.5 miles until i saw a man in shorts standing by the side of the road and then turn left into the drive. I did just as the man said. I got out of the car and shook his hand. He introduced himself and i did the same. I thanked him for the instructions. The woman who had made the post came out of the double wide with a baby gate on the open door. She lifted a little puppy over the gate and set it on the deck where it ran around her feet. I walked through the yard to where she was. She stood barefoot on the deck and picked the puppy up, lifting it towards me. Here she is. There’s only one left. She licked my face. The woman said, “aw! She already loves you!” I stood in awe. It was so much smaller than it had looked in the photos. It was tiny. It barely had inklings of four little teeth in its mouth. It was still so little and compact. It was young. I had never had a puppy this young before. An immediate wave of fear washed over me at how i would keep this fragile thing alive. However, it was plump and didn’t have any mangy spots where its hair was thinning. No visible sores. It wasnt sneezing and didn’t have any eye or nose discharge. It seemed like a really healthy puppy, and obviously friendly. The woman put it in my hands. I held it against my chest and immediately it was all over. The dog was coming home with me. I handed the woman the 300 dollars and they gave the puppy her next dose of dewormer before i took her. They told me to drive safe and i put the puppy in the car on a towel in the passenger seat. I stared at it in awe. It was so much younger than i had realized. I would later find out she was 6 or 7 weeks when i brought her home that night. She was 5 lbs and i could hold her in one hand. She started out on the towel but kept disappearing down the side of the seat. As i raced the clock to the city to make it to the pet store i placed her in my lap beneath the steering wheel and she enjoyed an occasionally restless nap. I parked and carried her into the petsmart 10 minutes before they officially closed. I said to the employees, “i need help.” They gathered around the brand new puppy. I said, “i need a crate, a collar, a leash, puppy pads, food and water bowls, an id tag, gluten free puppy food preferably with salmon if you have it, a chew toy for puppies, and a flea comb and i need it in 10 minutes.” One of the employees got me a new puppy coupon book, another grabbed a basket, and the rest scattered gathering the supplies i had listed. They were amazing; a true dream team as the clock counted down. They got me to the cash register one minute before closing and let me stay 5 minutes more to etch her an id tag on the machine dubbing her “Cashew”, the newly adopted addition to our family. A trunk full of new furry baby supplies, a new life sleeping in my lap, i drove back to the hill country in the surreal silence of the darkness. I called my mother to break the news. I told her what i had in my lap. She was surprised. I told her how little it was and how scared i was to break it. She assured me it wouldn’t break, that it was sleeping comfortably in my lap and it would be fine until i got home. I kept putting my hand on its torso to make sure it was still breathing. It was just so little. When i got Cashew home i quarantined her in the bathroom until she could be checked over by a vet, for Sili’s protection. Both sili and our cat at the time got a new dose of flea protection on the spot that night because the puppy was too young for it and visibly covered in them. I had a long road ahead of me to situate, raise, and train this pup but she was in the home and our new journey had begun.
Sili was my soul. She was my heart. She was my dog; my everything. She was on my heel wherever i went. She was next to me in the car wherever i drove, and she always slept in the bed at night. Sili was very bonded to me. She paid close attention to me and wanted to be involved in anything i was doing. She would rather have an ear rub or an “atta-girl” any day over an actual treat. She was a very affectionate little dog and if she had missed me all day and i returned suddenly she would lay her head in my lap and press herself against my leg, sighing dramatically several times. I knew, if i brought another dog into our situation there would be less time for her. I had never had two dogs at once. I wasn’t even sure what it would look like to split my heart between two of them. I hoped there was enough of me to go around. I hoped that i could love another dog because in that moment, Sili had all of me and i couldn’t imagine anyone else occupying the depths of my heart.
