Missing Prudy

 

It was January, 2014, and we’d been without a dog for months. Chester, a beautiful but ill-mannered cocker spaniel, had died in his sleep after what I thought was a stroke. He was our attempt to branch out from the beagles we‘d previously owned and loved.

I’m not sure why we wanted a different sort of dog-maybe because of a beagle’s non-stop nose? Their tendency to run off? Their occasional bad smell? Perhaps…but those things really didn’t matter much when you looked into their beautiful, expressive brown eyes and saw love.

So after Chester we were ready for another beagle, and did we ever find a good one. After sleuthing around online, I discovered the Tall Tails Beagle Rescue in Maine (don’t you just love that name?) Looking through the dogs available I spotted the one I wanted-Prissy, age 7. I think all rescues claim their adult dogs are 7! 

After being vetted by the shelter, we got everything ready at home-scoured the dog bowls, washed the dog bed, bought a new collar and leash, and off we went. As the attendant brought her in I knew right away that this was my dog! Her tail was held high and honest-to-God she was smiling as she walked towards us. Immediate hugs and kisses.

I sat in the back seat with her as Bill drove us home and that began a deep bonding between us that lasted for 10 years. But her name was a problem…we were just NOT going to have a dog named Prissy. It didn’t even suit her. So…what starts with “p” and ends with “y”, something she could easily learn? Prudy of course, Prudence officially.

We hit the jackpot with Prudy…she was mostly beagle, with a good dose of something else mixed in. That something else kept her from howling and smelling bad. She still had that beagle nose but as the years went by she took off less and less. Prudy looked as if she were wearing a black headband and a string of pearls and her deep brown eyes would simply melt your heart. 

Prudy was a trooper-moving to Maryland and back to Maine with us. She greeted everyone who came in the door like an old friend, was friendly to other dogs and tolerated our cats. She and our oldest grandson became close pals during Covid…that was such a sweet thing to witness. In the photo below you'll see Prudy proudly showing off her birthday card from him.

For a couple of years we watched Prudy age and start to go downhill. She lost strength in her back legs and most likely had an untreatable autoimmune disease.  When she stopped being interested in her food we knew it was time…

Prudy was ingrained as a true member of our household and every day I am filled with sadness as I listen for the jingle of her collar and her funny, sleepy snore.

Rest in peace, dear Prudence.

Amazing Grace

 Moving-in day. Night after night I’d lain awake dreaming of arranging our things in the farmhouse. But getting to that actual day was more of a challenge than I’d anticipated.

First of all, we were moving to a much smaller house- a good thing. I like to think of it as a “condo on 2 acres.” 1300 square feet. It’s interesting to note that our first house together was the same size and we had plenty of room, even with a child. But clearly we had accumulated and collected. I thought I was ready to make some tough decisions - we needed to let go of furniture, books, clothes, parts of collections (recordings, books and my beloved roosters), kitchen equipment, dishes-you name it. Part 1 of the cleaning out was fairly easy, but we had to go back time and time again and cull some more.

We tried to do some of the packing ourselves and my dear sister Amy came from Dallas to help. Despite days of filling boxes we hardly made a dent. Throughout this our house was still for sale, showings were taking place and I was attempting to keep up with the myriad of paperwork associated with a move.

The packing team arrived bright and early to a mess and I just couldn’t believe what they pulled out from closets, cupboards, under the beds and the like. They worked at Allegro con moto and all I could manage was to answer questions and go for a doughnut run. The head guy was a gentle soul named Francel, full of understanding and wisdom regarding moving. I relied on him completely. His side gig was as a pastor and when I told him about my work an instant bond was formed between us.

Obviously it all got done, they loaded up the truck the next day, and about a week later it pulled in front of our farmhouse on the ridge.  It was a clear, warm autumn day with the fall colors at their peak. Marcel came in for a tour, quietly nodding and even questioning where I wanted to put some of our things. Remember, this guy’s an expert. They began to unload, the furniture (mostly) fit and soon every room plus the garage was home to stacks of boxes.

I have a 5’9” grand piano and it is always the focal point of every move I’ve made.  It requires experience and special equipment and a lot of trust on my part. The movers brought it in last and it was blessedly almost a straight shot from the front door to its place in the living room. From lying on its side on a special piano board it went up one leg at a time - a three person job. Francel attached the pedals and the lid, put the bench in place, and beamed in both pleasure and relief.

Then he asked me to play. My mind became frantic…the other two guys were clearly not going to relate to something classical and I wanted to include them. So I chose Scarborough Faire -

we all know that, right? Everyone liked it and marveled at the piano, then Francel quietly said “Would you play my favorite hymn? It’s Amazing Grace…it’s my story.” 

As I began to play Francel, the other 2 guys and Bill circled around the piano and they all began to sing. And not just the first verse, but several. A black man, two blue-collar Mainers and two professional musicians, coming together through music. It was a beautiful, deep moment of connection and love and humanity. On moving-in day, no less…