This morning I went outside to snow blow the two inches of new snow that had fallen overnight. Across the street, my eye caught this unusual track in the snow that one often does not see. Some critter had traveled underneath the powdery snow, probably mouse or shrew. You can see in the odd, puffy interruptions of the burrow where it had popped it's head up to get bearings. Certainly a good strategy against predators although if Mr. Hawk had patience and watched the magical movement of snow, I don't think mouse or shrew would have survived. The term hawk eyed didn't come about out of nowhere.
I thought about a piece of family lore: the winter my family babysat my Slovak grandmother's beloved dog. After
Grandpa died, Grandma would typically snowbird to Florida and spend the cold months with her sister. For whatever reason, doggie stayed in Michigan and was boarded in rotation year to year between the 7 siblings. He was a Pekingese and was named Tippy. In fact, all of Grandma's dogs bore the same name, an odd idiosyncrasy of hers, which was explained to me by my parents as something that made it easier for Grandma to remember. Still, at age 17, I thought it was weird.
This particular year, our turn in rotation had arrived. Now, we had not had a pet in the house for years due to my Mom's allergies so Tippy's arrival was borne with a bit of grumble. This feeling worsened as Tippy developed a bad habit of peeing on the kitchen linoleum nearly every night. Dad was not too happy to begin each day before work cleaning dog pee that he euphemistically referred to as the "golden stream". "Rotten little beast" became the dog's moniker in these circumstances. One morning in late winter, Dad had taken Tippy out for walksies before he left for work. It was still dark out and we had shin deep snow that had an icy surface crust thanks to a recent ice storm. Tippy spotted a mouse running along the top of the snow and tore off after it. Dad, in unbuckled boots, hollered at Tippy to come back. "Goddamn it Tippy, leave that mouse alone and get back here" he yelled to no avail as he struggled in the deep snow to keep up. Mr. Mouse was long gone and so was Tippy. Mom and I were both up and witnessed most of the event. Dad came in to grab his lunch and leave for work. He expressed a few choice words about the pooch and asked Mom to keep an eye out and left. I left for school soon after having to walk a quarter mile to the corner where the bus picked me up.
When I got home in the afternoon, Tippy had not returned. Mom was grim. "Oh God, just our luck that we're the ones to lose Tippy. The family will have a field day with this" she moaned. She had called the neighbors and asked them to look out for the dog but no joy. Dad was just as grim and echoed the same sentiments at supper that evening. They moved away from where they grew up for a reason: to escape the suffocating, overly pious, small minded village/country environment. Dad had gotten quite an education out in the greater world serving with the Marines in the Pacific and Mom had traveled by train from Lansing to San Francisco in order to be with him. They had gotten out and just this experience alone had forever separated them from the folks back home. Relations with them could be difficult at times especially for my insecure and shy Mother. And now, they were dreading the shitstorm in store for them if the damn dog wasn't found.
Happily, in the afternoon of the second day, Tippy returned. My Mom said she heard a number of dogs barking out front and there was Tippy with 3 newly found canine buddies. As she related, it was as if Tippy's buddies, after they all had slipped the leash and had a good ole time partying together, brought Tippy home. Tippy, other than being hungry, was no worse for wear appearing to have thoroughly enjoyed his canine pack experience. She immediately called Dad at work, something she rarely did but she wanted to put his mind at ease with the good news. Over supper, I was asked to stay mum about the incident. Of course I agreed being old enough to grasp the situation.
I believe this version of Tippy was the last. He died at some point and Grandma never got another dog. She passed within a decade. Funny, the things we remember.
PS The critter mounds didn't last long, disappearing by the afternoon. My guess is the constant wind blew the puffy snow away.
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