The Hardship(Susan Joyner-Stumpf) The Hardship


It was leaving them behind that hurt the most. That was the biggest of hardships. While we lived in a small Victorian in downtown Pueblo, Colorado, Soldier, the Palomino-White Australian Shepard and Thor, the black Great Dane, stayed on at the land at Red Creek Ranch, 63 wonderful and beautiful rolling mountain acres, where hopefully in the future my husband and I hoped to build our dream log home, the last of our great homesteads. They stayed like the good dogs they are to guard over the seven horses, anticipating our arrivals with gleeful abandon and welcoming whimpers. They never complained of their lot in life, feeling only a sense of duty as guardians over the horses, and they relished in it with pride and utter simplicity and obvious affection.

On a particular Winter’s day in the crest of a snowy, January afternoon, I emerged from my husband’s dually to walk the 1500 foot winding road to feed all the animals. Normally we can traverse this road, but when I’m alone without my husband, afraid of getting stuck in heavy snow, I walk the long road up the hill to the more rolling, even terrain above where the horses were harbored in metal stock panels and the dogs ran free. I don’t mind because I love every chance I get to come face to face with nature. Deer and Elk abound, as well as Cougar, Coyote and Bear. I am less anxious to meet the latter face to face, yet I’m aware of their presence and I proceed cautiously at all times, never knowing what encounters await me.

As was their ritual, Soldier and Thor met me as my journey along the road began. They must have heard me coming for some time, listening to vibrating sounds within the earth’s crust that only dogs can hear. As I emerged from the monster truck, they whirled their bodies intentionally around me, leaning hard and meaningful against my thighs, demanding attention and touch. And I obliged and would have anyway even had I never been asked.

They led the way and treated the walk up to the horses much as though it were amusement time and I was just alongside for the ride. They would stop to frequently urine and mark, bite adamantly at snow for a glacial drink, burying their muzzles deep inside frozen crevices; they would jauntily roll and pretend to momentarily dig, and catch fleeting shadows of jack rabbits in the Pinion bushes. They would encircle me, either to slow me down or speed me up, I don’t know which; I was purely astounded by their behavior as though it were nothing more than a lazy typical Summer day. Weather did not stand in the way nor diminish their swallowing of life with all its delicious sensations yet to be tasted. Sometimes they bolted into a frantic burst of speed, always looking back occasionally (condescendingly?) to make sure I was still following because often times, it was hard to keep up with them in these jolts of energy and endless play, especially when they’d get sidetracked from the main road.

I was deeply enthralled with their antics. They helped me to see things I never thought were there, or to feel things I never thought to feel. They had always been my greatest teachers, the dogs of my life, and these two comical characters were no exception. Life was fun to them, an endless game of silhouette pursuits, rabbit hunting, horse herding, snowflake chasing, moon watching, and contemplation of the humans they owned and wanted to possess.

Finally to the horses. Soldier, having the herding blood in his veins, would elude the lower sections of horse panels and proceed to attempt at herding the Smoky Black stallion Starz who considered Soldier, I imagine, an odd, excitable object of interest, but a friend nonetheless. The two would engage in a cat-mouse play and I always worried that the stallion would kick the dog’s head into another dimension, but for five years, it has never happened and the stallion is actually very careful in his rears and kicks when Soldier enters his pen. This assures me only this: Starz has no intention of hurting this thing that gives him so much energy and joy and makes him feel more like a horse.

I start off with the hay and distribute to everyone’s individual panels, the stallion in his own pen, the two stud colts together in theirs, and then the three mares and the filly segregated together. They all had whinnied to me earlier before I made it up the hill to let me know they were aware of my presence, which was always a welcoming and exhilarating moment for me, the horse calls.

Then the grain, which they looked forward to, and left their Alfalfa-Grass mix hay for. The sweet feed, saturated with thick molasses, sugared honey to their long, pink tongues. They licked incessantly long in-between each bite, savoring each granular morsel. I love to watch horses eat. They enjoy each swallow with reckless and joyous discard down to an art.

After the horses and dogs were satisfactorily fed, I normally just look around at the scenery for a while if I’m alone and not in a hurry. But again, this day was quite cold and the snow was picking up so I knew my visit would have to be cut short at some point. More inclined to stay than leave, I always looked around for little things to do: buckets unturned, loose panels needing tightening, feed troughs up righted, lids on top of feed bins better secured, halters on the colts loosened because they were growing at such rapid speed; removal of plastic bags that somehow blew inside the panels, spooking the nature of horses; and taking mental notes of other projects needing future attention.

It was time to leave, the most grueling part. I would say it out loud, always, out into the circling air above me and all around, convincing myself that they heard and understood, “take care guys. I love you.” Why is it I think they comprehended this simple utterance? I want to believe that they did. I hoped they would.

Back turned toward the road. Moving forward reluctantly but with inevitable conviction. My head pivoted behind me, just in time to catch a glimpse of Soldier attempting to follow me. “Stay here, Soldier. Keep Thor company, and keep him warm.” A few more steps, my head intermittently looking back to see the status of my request. Thor had already made his way to the horse trailer to lay amongst the warm bed of wheat straw, convinced I was leaving and that there was nothing he could do to stop me from doing so. But Soldier, well, he was what he was – always grappling with the odds and the invincible, challenging the impossible, insisting against all negative probabilities, traits of a bonafied soldier.

I kept going, thinking, okay, don’t look back now. Maybe he’ll turn back to Thor. So I did. I kept walking and did not look back until I got to the part of the road where there was a slight hill indentation and then I turned around as I went down to see where he was. Before the hill finally obscured him, I caught one last glance of Soldier still standing there at the top, noble and defiant, hoping against all hope, his expressions and desire unhidden as long as we could see one another. I noted, as always, the sad longing in his eyes, wondering if he noticed the reciprocation of that reflection in my own.

Here was a dog torn between his hunger to pursue me but at the same time, obey my commands. Quite admirable for a dog who never had formal training of any kind. So bad he wanted to race down the road, convince me to stay and perhaps entice me to engage in a friendly hunt for some unlucky, wind-blown debris. But his nature was to please me, nothing more, against his heavy heart and unrequited wishes. He turned back, forlorn, head down, tail held low, back to his companion Thor who awaited him in a haven of wheat bed.

It was never in Soldier’s (or for that matter, Thor’s) disposition to give up and both therefore took our partings quite devastatingly. I assume it took a while to accept the fact that I was gone. Perhaps after my scent was long since dissipated, the dogs went in search of me anyway, following the familiar trails with my residual aroma enmeshed in the buried contents and guts of the soil. But, once realizing I wasn’t around, they would occupy themselves, as dogs will do, living in the moment with setting suns and unchased rodents in proximity. And a new day would dawn when Soldier and Thor would hear the thunder in the Earth signaling the recognizable roar of engine grind against metal and in unison, the two of them would race down the road to welcome the human they expected and waited ever so patiently for. Hunger in their eyes, but a different kind.

Now I was alone on the road, in the drifting snow and looming darkness, aware of my naked vulnerability. Without the dogs, I was an easy target, unprotected against those wildlife who would never distinguish in me the non-hunter trait. They would have no way of picking up on my respect and admiration for them, to pierce the veil where, sadly, more than often, they encountered mortal hatred and ignorance. I was so different, (being the animal lover/activist I always was), but how could they know? The strong human odor on its own is enough to send undomesticated animals into fear and caution mode, and it was genetically built into their survival instinct to remove that fear, no matter who or what it was. Friend or foe. The perfume of man for one specie conjures indefinable love; to another, it spurs the potential for a fight to the death. Other perils awaited, the weather elements constantly in flux, the embankments of knee-high snow, the slippery surfaces of the muddy road, exposed parts not yet covered by slick layers of freezing ice. All this weighed on me and I prayed as I made my way toward the truck.

Every now and then, I would stop and take in this wondrous, pristine landscape of white, the rolling hills and ravines stretching seamlessly behind and in front of me as they graciously accepted this new attack of crystallized flakes. The dotted Pinion and Juniper bushes and rising Pine, Birch and Alpine trees dressed in their winter wardrobes sprinkling gently sloping fields. Tops of old prairie grass, left overs from the warmer months, half-buried in new layers of blizzard dust. Crested mesas and canyon rock walls dividing sweeping landscapes from an infinite horizon. As I stood there taking in the splendor and stillness of the moment in which I found myself surrounded, I wondered what animals lay hidden, observing me, hopefully with nothing more than simple curiosity. By now, certainly they were aware of my lone attendance, without my bodyguard of dog entourage, and what scent was I giving off to them? I felt good thoughts and hoped those vibes carried in the frozen air to their waiting nostrils to read of this human intrusion.

Then, my mind off in a myriad of other directions, I too sniffed the air, taking in the alien fragrance of coldness as I watched, in child-like amusement and silly bewilderment, as my breath exhaled in a smoke tower of tiny, whirling clouds. The lone call of a Coyote off in the distance suddenly pierced the deep, almost surreal quietude and yet I felt no fear, merely remorse and regret that this wild thing was forced from the safety and comfort of his den and surroundings by the arrival of man in this area. I felt apologetic, almost wanting to say out loud, I will be happy to share my land with you. We will never hurt you. I’m sure he’s homeless tonight and the howl was to collect his pack, scattered about the territory in disarray, trying to find each other through the thick fog of snow and darkness, and human invasion.

But the snow was falling harder and I knew I must pick up the pace. Up, down and over the beloved hills, descending the gorge, darkness enveloping quickly, the temperature dropping drastically as well; across the tundra of my property in all its splendor and danger and enchantment until I finally reached the safety of the truck.

Once I reached the truck and was inside, I turned on the ignition and waited for the interior to heat up. But I waited too, because this was the hardest part of my journey, leaving. I didn’t want to leave them all, and even as the truck finally inched down the main road towards town, it took a long while for the aching to subside. Often I cried as I sped away, the tears streaming in unison with the spinning tires. Sometimes I stopped the truck half-way from the intersection of driveway and main road and looked to see if the dogs were coming down the road after me. I don’t know what I would have done had I seen them. There were times when we’d take the truck all the way up there, and once leaving, the dogs would sit in the middle of the road to discourage or delay our departure, so we’d have to honk the horn to make them move. That was most distressing.

It physically hurt to leave these guys, both dogs and horses. No, I wasn’t on my way home. Home was where we would all be someday soon, together. Yes, I had a place to stay, to lay my head down with my husband, and think of the next time I would see them again. But it would never be home until all of us were together. Without them, where we lived was just a house. Only togetherness makes a house a home.

I believe that all mankind are survivors to some degree. Each has their own battles to fight, and they go out and accomplish more than they bargained for. Everyone wakes up and walks outside to face their wars. The soldier in us becomes determined, inspired, brave, driven beyond insurmountable potentials and impossible capacity, against odds never before realized, and thus, heroes are made from the most ordinary and mundane of men and women every day, hour by hour. It’s in all of us, this soldier, ready to fight for his country, his family, his values, for strangers. Ready to go to battle for his friends, both human and animal alike. And lastly, for himself. He doesn’t know what the outcome will be, but he goes out there just the same in the smoke and shrapnel of life as though he does. And you’d never tell the difference.

So that was my fight, my hardship, not the increment weather or snow-laden embankments; not the slippery surfaces that could send me momentarily airborne and painfully to my knees; not the Cougars, Bears, snakes or Coyotes that could cross my path unfavorably. My hardship, my battle, my war, was temporarily being separated from our animal friends and leaving them behind each day and dealing with that poignant aching that ensues shortly thereafter.

But like a soldier, I face it, never knowing the outcome. Only rewarded each day with the gift of their welcoming, blissful faces at my arrival. And in this way, each day I fight that battle when leaving, they express to me when I’m with them in ways words can’t convey, that it was worth it.

Where else can you go to war every day and come away, knowing you’ve won?

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For the dogs, Soldier and Thor,
and their watchful tenure of seven horses

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