Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

I took Puppy home for the weekend, and at first she seemed…unhappy with it.  Her leaves drooped and I feared the worst—that I was a Puppy killer.  She is living on my deck, where she gets full sun for a few hours a day, which has really improved her coloring. Over the past few days she has grown a full inch, if not two.  I haven’t taken any pictures of her yet, hoping to allow her a good amount of time to adjust.

I have to keep a careful eye on the temps, as the blazing heat sucks the moisture right out of the ground, it seems.  Fortunately, she is in a glazed ceramic pot, so if I water enough, the pot soaks in a lot of water which is an extra source of moisture as the soil dries out.

From her new perch, Puppy gets to see barn swallows flitting about, and has visiting finches gathering about, ignoring her completely, as they go about their own business, but still, it’s something to see. A large chocolate lab lives above us, so we all get to hear her lumbering about. It’s amazing how much noise a large dog can make!

Sometimes kids come and play in the parking lot, their cheerful cries lifting on the breeze, and the sunsets have been glorious. At our elevation, I’m surprised to find that we are among gentle hills. I didn’t know that. Everything seems so relatively flat, compared to living at the base of the Rockies.

My sense of perspective is skewed, and my directional compass is a bit out of whack.

It occurs to me that Puppy will soon outgrow her current pot, and so I’m on the lookout for a larger one, keeping in mind that it will have to be portable, as Puppy will have to spend the winters indoors.  It’s supposed to take seven years before Puppy will bear fruit.  I hate to think how old that will make me, and in my most fertile imagination I cannot fathom where we will be living.

What happens to Puppy if I get to live my dream and spend a couple of years in Tierra del Fuego? Spend a season in Tuscany rebuilding an old farmhouse straight out of a Diane Lane movie? Who will make room for her in their lives and homes and care for her tenderly and faithfully?  Who will remember her when she was nothing but a dried out pit wrapped in a paper towel?  And, more importantly, will they give her back to me upon my return?