Remembering Tumbleweed

Side note this isn’t about writing. It is about looking at a now defunct world with a beloved companion.

Background: Tumbleweed found me on the backside of nowhere that just happened to be where my best friend calls home. She showed me this poor, malnurished, hide throwed over a chairback puppy. Eat up with fleas, ticks and the vet only knows what. She has two beautiful sweetheart shelties that she shares with her husband. So another dog was out of the question. But she couldn’t bear the thought of this pup being put down. I was coming home the next weekend so my future husband and I washed and doctored best we could before taking her to the vet. Before the bath, the little pup was a brown color after the bath she was red clay red. She sat in my lap, on the backporch as I dried her trembling body and a bond was forged. From that moment until she died, Tumbleweed would seek comfort in my lap. A puppy is one thing, a sixty five pound hound mix some how still managed to fit. I took her to my dad’s because he had plenty of room for her. They never did quite manage to connect but they seemed okay with it.

Tumbleweed was fearless, people, horses, a goat (long story), wild dog packs, mushrats (nutria, nasty large rat/beaverish looking critter), vehicles, nothing bothered her. Most interesting thing she ever brought home was dead wild piglet about twenty thirty pounds worth. I don’t know how she managed it but it was there in yard when I came home from work. The sweetest thing she brought me was a tiny baby rabbit, again I don’t know how she did it. I was in the yard talking with my husband and she comes prancing out of the woods and dropped something in my hand when I reached to pet her. Unfortuntly the bunny didn’t make it. The fault rested on my inability to care for it.

One night about dusk dark I was home with the dogs, and I kept hearing things. I took my .22 and me and Tumby walked the property. She stayed by my side the whole time, I never did find anything wrong. We did take a potshot at dad’s old trash barrel, figuring it might scare off whatever it was. Tumbleweed never moved as I pulled the triger and I had never handled a gun around her before so I didn’t know how she’d react. A cool cumber that mutt, although she would let strangers know that “yeah you’re here and I know you’re here but I got my eye on you”, she never attempted to bite, growl or anything other bad yard dog behaviors that get them a bad rep. In her defense, no one during her lifetime ever tried to see if she was bluffing or not.

She was a beloved companion and her daughter sleeps at my feet each night. So the mighty Tumby lives on.

Cheers, james

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