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This dog's nose could see weather changes coming
WINEDALE -- Hello again from the old country house in Washington County, where the days are still way too hot.
But I have news. Let the record show that one morning during the third week of August when I was standing on the porch at 11 o'clock, I felt fall.
That is, I felt a little puff of air that had autumn in it on an August morning which went ahead and became a 100-degree scorcher by mid-afternoon.
I know this couldn't mean that our torrid summer is about to cool down. But to me it's a message from headquarters telling us to hang on, that the worst of the heat is over and despite what we were beginning to think, autumn will come after all.
Watching for that first hint of fall has become a sort of tradition here on our little patch of woods. It helps us get through the draggy, tail end of the summer. The sign comes in an instant. Like a tiny breath of air out of a refrigerator. You have to be ready or you'll miss it.
When we got this place we had a 90-pound black dog that would help me watch for the autumn sign. She was old, and in her 16th year she was not well. Her back legs were bad, and she'd spend her summer days sleeping under a ceiling fan. Along about this time in August, or usually a little later, I learned to watch when she received the message.
Her nose would wake her up. She'd lift that great head and sniff. Then organize herself to rise. She had a lot of things to do, preparatory to standing.
When she finally got all four feet under her, she'd stay in place for a while, waiting to see if her parts intended to cooperate and let her walk. When she was satisfied, we'd go out together, and she'd hobble to the west of the house and turn, point herself north and stand there a long time.
Muzzle lifted. Nose working. A far-away look in her eye. I've always wondered what that nose was telling her. What images could it be recording inside that broad Labrador skull? Don't you suppose animals receive pictures when they smell something they can't see? (Here's a white-tailed deer, say, with years of experience in the woods, and one morning it sniffs and smells shaving lotion. I bet it can visualize the hunter who's wearing that perfume and maybe the rifle he's carrying.)
One summer, my friend Mel was here when our old dog was out in the yard, performing her smell test. I told Mel to pay attention, try to imagine what the dog was seeing when she had her nose set for long-distance that way. I figured she was getting smells all the way from Labrador and Newfoundland where her foredogs came from, and she was seeing snow storms and ice floes and blizzards, and she knew that weather was headed this way and when it would get here.
Mel said, "Well, I think it's more likely she's smelling another dog at your neighbor's place just across the creek."
But don't pay any mind to Mel. He won't believe anything unless he reads it in a thick book. You listen to me. I'm descended from a long line of country folks who believed in signs and portents, especially on matters pertaining to weather. They're all dead now, but I once had kinfolks who placed high significance on the behavior and the appearance of their animals, and often conducted their affairs accordingly. Sometimes at family reunions they still tell the story about our Uncle Billy Crockett and his guinea hens. He was mostly a cow man, but he liked to keep these guineas. He claimed they were excellent weather forecasters, and would set up a mighty racket hours before a storm struck. Listen to the guineas, he'd say. I've always wanted to try a few guineas here at Winedale, see how they'd do at foretelling weather. I've had farm people tell me they're fine watch birds, too, that a stranger can't get through the front gate before the guineas set up a loud announcement. But I keep being reminded that the deed restrictions on this place prohibit raising poultry.
That big black dog is the nearest thing we've ever had in the way of an animal weather forecaster. And she's long gone, back to the cold country up north where all Labs go when they die.
This dog we've got now, she couldn't smell fall coming if it hit her in the nose. If she ever points north and sniffs, it's because the neighbors are barbecuing.
Posted by Leon Hale at August 22, 2009 06:24 AM
WINEDALE -- Hello again from the old country house in Washington County, where the days are still way too hot.
But I have news. Let the record show that one morning during the third week of August when I was standing on the porch at 11 o'clock, I felt fall.
That is, I felt a little puff of air that had autumn in it on an August morning which went ahead and became a 100-degree scorcher by mid-afternoon.
I know this couldn't mean that our torrid summer is about to cool down. But to me it's a message from headquarters telling us to hang on, that the worst of the heat is over and despite what we were beginning to think, autumn will come after all.
Watching for that first hint of fall has become a sort of tradition here on our little patch of woods. It helps us get through the draggy, tail end of the summer. The sign comes in an instant. Like a tiny breath of air out of a refrigerator. You have to be ready or you'll miss it.
When we got this place we had a 90-pound black dog that would help me watch for the autumn sign. She was old, and in her 16th year she was not well. Her back legs were bad, and she'd spend her summer days sleeping under a ceiling fan. Along about this time in August, or usually a little later, I learned to watch when she received the message.
Her nose would wake her up. She'd lift that great head and sniff. Then organize herself to rise. She had a lot of things to do, preparatory to standing.
When she finally got all four feet under her, she'd stay in place for a while, waiting to see if her parts intended to cooperate and let her walk. When she was satisfied, we'd go out together, and she'd hobble to the west of the house and turn, point herself north and stand there a long time.
Muzzle lifted. Nose working. A far-away look in her eye. I've always wondered what that nose was telling her. What images could it be recording inside that broad Labrador skull? Don't you suppose animals receive pictures when they smell something they can't see? (Here's a white-tailed deer, say, with years of experience in the woods, and one morning it sniffs and smells shaving lotion. I bet it can visualize the hunter who's wearing that perfume and maybe the rifle he's carrying.)
One summer, my friend Mel was here when our old dog was out in the yard, performing her smell test. I told Mel to pay attention, try to imagine what the dog was seeing when she had her nose set for long-distance that way. I figured she was getting smells all the way from Labrador and Newfoundland where her foredogs came from, and she was seeing snow storms and ice floes and blizzards, and she knew that weather was headed this way and when it would get here.
Mel said, "Well, I think it's more likely she's smelling another dog at your neighbor's place just across the creek."
But don't pay any mind to Mel. He won't believe anything unless he reads it in a thick book. You listen to me. I'm descended from a long line of country folks who believed in signs and portents, especially on matters pertaining to weather. They're all dead now, but I once had kinfolks who placed high significance on the behavior and the appearance of their animals, and often conducted their affairs accordingly. Sometimes at family reunions they still tell the story about our Uncle Billy Crockett and his guinea hens. He was mostly a cow man, but he liked to keep these guineas. He claimed they were excellent weather forecasters, and would set up a mighty racket hours before a storm struck. Listen to the guineas, he'd say. I've always wanted to try a few guineas here at Winedale, see how they'd do at foretelling weather. I've had farm people tell me they're fine watch birds, too, that a stranger can't get through the front gate before the guineas set up a loud announcement. But I keep being reminded that the deed restrictions on this place prohibit raising poultry.
That big black dog is the nearest thing we've ever had in the way of an animal weather forecaster. And she's long gone, back to the cold country up north where all Labs go when they die.
This dog we've got now, she couldn't smell fall coming if it hit her in the nose. If she ever points north and sniffs, it's because the neighbors are barbecuing.
Posted by Leon Hale at August 22, 2009 06:24 AM