Farm Dog, Farm Dog...FINIS!

So. Mom and Dad were visitlong with their friends in Malakwa. They have a small hops farm so it was Like a Dream Come True for Dad. Because he is Mad About Beer. And he had a Secret Beer Cave at our home in South Africa. In that Beer Cave Dad used to Make Beer. Mom LIKED that he was Busy Doing That because it kept him VERY OCCUPIED and That kept him from Trying To Find Things For Her To Do.

Men Take This Man Cave Concept VERY SERIOUSLY. Evidently.

Dad Also Made Rum. In a little T500 Still (which only makes enough for 4 small jars... but Dad says it’s not so much the quantity as the process he enjoys). Which is stored in one of The Noahbago’s Side Storage Bins. Mom took one look at him putting that still in there and said All we now need is a sodding three-legged dog, a fuck-off shotgun (sawn-off), and a sofa with the springs coming out of it and we will Look Just Like HillFeckingBillies, Dad. WTF? It’s one thing to live in less than 100 squares on wheels where I have to suck my stomach in hard enough to cause me to want to pass out from lack of air to get by you in the so-called passage, but it’s quite another to contemplate that you will be setting up to destill moonbloodyshine, Dad.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY??!!

Dad put his Dumb Look on his face and did a whole lot of Mouth-Breathing to solidify the idea – and carried right on packing that T500 into the Very Guts of The ‘Bago. Mom just Rolled her Eyes at him and left him to it. Being Smart, Mom knows when to Save her Breath.

I’ve a feeling, though, that Come REAL Winter? Mom might be right pleased with a little bit of Warm-The-Cockles-Of-Your-Heart-Home-Made-Rum. Only? I know Mom well enough to not be suggesting that to her right now. And on the subject of Real Winter? It’s going to be a Rude Awakening to Things Not African for us all.

An Example of Dad. With His Dumb Face On.

ANYWAY. Farm Dog.

Every day I would follow the hop pickers into the hops fields to help cut the bines and load them – and then I would hang around the hop stripping machine or the hop picking shed whilst the hops were being picked. Even Bear said Moyo is Amazing. She doesn’t mind the Noise of the Machine, does she? And I didn’t.

Mom stayed in the house with Rita and they talked and talked and talked. Which is why I ran away sometimes to go and get fresh air in the fields. Dad said I don’t blame you, Moyo. All that hot air can be exhausting. Dad spent most of his time in the front sun room doing his studying. It’s wonderful that he had that sunny place (away from the yakyakyakyak to catch up on his books.) And sometime? I went and hid away there with him. At least Dad is not such a Big Hot Air Yakker!

Every evening after supper, Bear would take Kuma, Maddy and Lola for a walk. He would say Come Along, Moyo but mostly I declined so I would not be too far away from my Mom. I would wait for them by the steps to the front porch and when they got back Bear would give me a Dried Salmon Treat – even though I did not want to walk with him. And every morning? When Rita came to the kitchen? We all got our treats from her. This Treat Business was one of the Bestest Parts of being Farm Dog Moyo, I can tell you!

Now Rita has a Bestest Friend and her name is Brenda. And Brenda has a doggy called Chip. Brenda would bring Chipper to play with us every day. The first time Mom met Chip she pretended to have a long conversation with his BUTT-END. This dog, she said, Looks like a Push-Me, Pull-You. One needs to be Most Careful when Looking for his Ears to Scratch them…” Chip is a Shitzu (which made Mom SNORT!) and he is all fluffy and his feet walk at “10 after 2.”

Somedays, before it suddenly started to grow cold and very wet? The Hops Harvesters would go down to the beach at the river. The Eagle River was far too cold for swimming in, but it was very lovely to look at and there are salmon which swim in it. (And some of them get fished out and get left on the side of the river. We know this because I FOUND ONE and I Made Myself Smell Much Better, even though Mom DID NOT think so!) On the one day down at the river beach? We all saw … BEAR TRACKS in the sand.

It means that there had been a bear – or maybe even three – down at our beach. Most likely they went there to catch the salmon. Dad said to me Moyo, you must NOT come down here to this beach by yourself. And he said that to Mom, too. Mom said I’ve Absolutely No Intention of going ANYWHERE there might be a sodding bear on my own, so you need not worry about that, Dad.

See, Mom had been told all about what one is Supposed To Do when Walking About in Canada where there might be a Bear. The Anti-Bear List goes like this:

• Loud talking (to warn a bear you are near)

• Carrying a Can with stones in it and shaking it periodically (ditto)

• Bear Bells (DITTO)

• Bear Spray (to spray at a bear who gets too close)

• (Please note that this list is not comprehensive and does not include being in Hawaii. Or London. Where there are no bears. Which would be The Most Sensible of All Anti-Bear Things.)

And then Bear (whose real name is Barry but everyone calls him Bear) told the Quintessential Canadian Joke.

He asked Mom, How would you know what kind of bear is lurking around? Would it be a Black Bear? Or a Grizzly? Mom said, Buggered if I would know. So Bear said to her, You observe their Scat. A Black Bear has berries and twigs and mostly plant matter in his poo. Sometimes a fish-head or two. And what do you think a Grizzly has in HIS poo? Mom said, Well, given that it’s highly unlikely that I am EVER going to be rooting around in ANY bear poo, and not even for the sake of curiousity, it’s best you tell me.

So Bear said to Mom, Grizzly poo has BELLS IN IT! And then he fell about laughing.

Some Bear Bells. Which lead one to understand that Grizzly Bear Poo is rather Pretty.

(And when Mom was Searching the WWW for the Above, it was interesting to discover that Somehow pictures of Donald Trump were stored in among bear bells and bear poo and stuff. Also Endless References to Bears Pooing in The Woods. Like This Cushion below. Which Mom says she is going to get for Dad for His Next Man Cave when they have a Home Again One day.)

A Wrap Up On my time as a Farm Dog...Some pictures!

It was wonderful to watch the hops being picked all day long and to watch them being made into the hop pellets, but the best part of all was watching how everyone laughed so very much. Sometimes Rita would get the giggles and then she would not be able to breathe properly and Dad, too. He would go all Red in The Face he was laughing So Hard. Even Mom. She laughed a Whole Lot at EVHE. And for me, Moyo? To see my Mom and my Dad laughing so hard and so often was Just perfect because I know how Stressful & Sad it has been leaving everything we know behind.

Mom says The Process of Grief, Moyo? It’s Such a Game of Snakes-And-Ladders. And you never know when a Fuck-Off Big Snake is going to pop up on what had appeared to be a Perfectly Fantastic and Sunshiney Kind of Ladderish Day. Sometimes Mom just gets these Huge Snakey Sadnesses, but like I told you in my blog about why I am a Famous ESA, Something that Mom has Learned? It’s Not a Bad Thing to feel your Sadnesses. It’s Actually a Good Thing. Because Feeling is Good. Feeling is Healing. Because it’s SO much better than Not Feeling. And it means you can start to work out the WHAT and the WHY of things.

(Remember? In my story about why I am Mom’s ESA? I told you All About This Stuff. And it's Important to Know It in case you know someone who has Sadnesses)

Mom mourns stuff. In Great, Big, Grieving Mourning Moments. SO – the point of telling you all of this is that when there is LAUGHTER, and a Whole Lot Of Love like there was at the Eagle Valley Hops Estate whilst Mom and Dad were Helping to Harvest Hops? It makes my Moyo Heart the Happiest Heart Ever.

I LOVE it when my Mom and my Dad laugh – and Cecil and me, Moyo?

We would like to say a Huge Thank you to Rita and Bear and Brenda at EVHE for the Special Days Spent with them. And also to the Other Hop Pickers – Emily, Alex, Hywel…Andrea, Ernie…dear Christa…Claire, Rita’s cousin…and to Rita’s son, Chris, for bbq’ing the very best Chicken – and, of course, Ryan. Who is Not Fond of Feet.