About Getting Things Done

Casey, the Blue Heeler who came to live with us in the country in January 2000, celebrated her 11th birthday in November. I don’t remember her birth date because she was a rescue from an organization in suburban Houston that was founded to provide shelter for lost, abandoned and neglected canines. Although she was born with pedigree, she was traveling without papers, as it were. At the time I found out about her through a colleague at work, Casey was living in a kennel at the clinic of the veterinarian for this organization. Alas, she had been unseated from the vet’s family to make way for a Chihuahua. As I recall, the family already had a poodle of some sort. Her original family, I am told, had bought Casey as a puppy, a Christmas gift for their two little girls. By nature, Blue Heelers, are rambunctious, ever ready to romp and perform. They are herders. Casey was just too much for these little girls.

When Casey joined us in the country, she was 15 months old, and indeed, she was full of fire. For the first two weeks, I didn’t let her run loose, but walked her on a leash. She loved going out to the county road and following the two-mile course defined by the gravel and dirt byway. She was alert and totally accustomed to being on a leash.

Because I was traveling between Houston, where I lived and worked, and this place here in Leon County, Casey was left alone during the week. I built a temporary pen with cow panels a little to the east side of front of my barn home. Here Casey had to stay during the week. Our neighbor Jake brought her dry food and water every day, and a young gelding named Bart, who made his home in the trap by the barn, became Casey’s best friend. After a couple of weeks, I decided to let Casey run, which was great, but when it came time to go back to Houston, I couldn’t catch her to put her in the pen. So she was left to her own defenses. Jake told me later that had it not been for Bart, he thought Casey would have tried to find her way back to Houston, some 125 miles to the southeast.

Well, Casey stayed. She has grown old. Her right ear no longer stands up, the result of surgery for a hematoma. She’s arthritic, her days of instinctively plying her heritage, herding cows, horses, donkeys, and anything else that can be herded, including human beings, is behind her. These days Casey mostly hangs out around the shed where the horse and donkey take their meals, nestled in the leafy flowerbeds that abound here, or sunning anywhere she pleases. Since arriving back here in Leon County Texas for a two-month visit, I hear Casey barking at the evening sounds. She is still the self-appointed sentinel on the graveyard shift.

Spring is taking hold in this part of Texas. My middle sister Sue, who lives less than an hour west of the great Houston sprawl, commented yesterday that just like always we’re moving quickly from winter to summer. It’s the heater one night, and by a day or so later, it’s time for the ceiling fans. The days of air conditioning are almost upon us. If I had Casey’s instincts, I’d worry a lot less about pruning and mulching and getting the brush pile taken care of while the ground is plenty wet and the first green shoots of spring grass help inhibit the spread of fire. When I used to call Casey, she would answer, if just to find out what’s going on. Earlier this afternoon, she just raised her head, as the donkey nosed the ground nearby. Napping in the sunshine makes a lot more sense to her.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to stay focused on the long list here that never seems to get shorter, in spite of my genuine efforts. Last night a friend reminded me that I’m getting older, when I complained of a back that insists on slowing me down and a foot injury from a hiking event almost a year ago joins the aggravation. Even though it’s really not my habit anyway, it’s still a little cool and the ground a little too wet for spreading a blanket and considering the vastness of the sky while on my back. I don’t know what Casey has on her mind, but I can rest assured that she’s not working any list. Her body has told her to take it easy, and that’s just what she does.

About Getting Things Done—Normangee, Texas (March 11, 2010)
R. Harold Hollis