A Good and Faithful Beastie by Janet Boyce

Posted on November 15, 2013 by Writing Women of Zurich

The first time we saw him he was doing what he loved: ridding the earth of rodents.  He was only a kitten then, cocking his head back and forth, the fine hairs at the tips of his ears trembling as they picked up the tiniest whispers of movement below the deep snow.  With a sudden jump straight up, he came down hard on just the right spot and when his head emerged from the snow he clutched a very surprised vole.  He dashed off into the barn, jaws clamped tightly on his prize.  That was when I noticed his huge paw prints on top of the snow.  All four feet showed an extra toe: a “Hemmingway” cat!  I turned to the man showing us the property and asked if the cat came with the place.  He said he would have to ask his wife, so I dropped the subject.

A few weeks later we took possession of the small farm but, as it was winter and the snow too deep, we didn’t move right in.  We’d check to see that the furnace was keeping the pipes from freezing and that was when I noticed his footprints again.  The previous owners had moved and left him behind!  We brought cat food and a heated water bowl and put them in the barn.  We started calling him “Paws” and soon he was there to greet us every time we drove up.

When we finally could move in, Paws sat by and critiqued the whole moving process.  He let it be known that HE was the owner and considered us the lowliest of “renters”.   Although he made it clear that he had no desire to be an indoor cat (HE was meant for finer things!), he did insist on doing a “walk-through” inspection of the interior of the house on a regular basis.  He tolerated our elderly indoor cat only because of her age and always differed to her when he passed through the kitchen.

Paws ran his “trap line” daily, checking all boundaries for possible intruders.  When an interloper was detected it was quickly dispatched and the evidence brought to my attention by depositing it next to and sometimes IN my boots left by the door!  I watched in fascination one afternoon as he flatly refused to let a fox cross our pasture.  Every time the fox poked his head out from between the rows of corn, Paws was there to confront him.  The fox would try a few rows over to one side or the other but Paws was there again to firmly enforce the “no trespassing” edict.

That first spring, Paws took to disappearing overnight or for a day or two.  He would always return home muttering cat swear words all the way down the lane and checking over his shoulder for a possible tail by the unknowns with which he clearly had had a disagreement.  Being the kind of cat who never went to bed without a bath, he would give himself an extra thorough cleaning and tend to his wounds before crawling into the hay to sleep it off.  Inevitably, his wounds would necessitate a trip to the vet a few days later and after the first couple of times I checked and sure enough he needed a longer stay at the vet’s to remedy the situation.   Afterwards he was less inclined to wander and get into fights and even more devoted to his self-appointed duty at home.

Paws tolerated many new “squatters” including chickens, dogs, horses and cats that came with us.  He would curl up on our horses’ broad rump during the coldest of weather perfectly balanced and fast asleep.  His best friend was a tiny orange marmalade kitten rescued from a box dumped alongside the road.  Tid was Paws’ first “pupil” to direct in the efficient patrolling of our ten acres.  Paws and Tid spent twelve years together.  I could count on Tid to keep Paws groomed as he aged.  When Tid died Paws seemed to go downhill as many do when their partner in life goes on ahead without them.  Then came the day when the decision had to be made for Paws.  He developed a tumor behind his eye that the vet assured us was inoperable, malignant, and extremely painful.

As I held Paws in my arms for that last time, he purred and stretched his front paws towards my face.  I felt as though he was saying “thank you for letting me go”.  As the procedure concluded, Paws simply relaxed more and more and as I gently put him down on the table, a huge cat “smile” spread across his face and he looked like he had that first day we met.  He was released from his pain and had arrived at the place where we will see each other again.  And, it was good.  Undoubtedly, Tid was there to greet him with many others that Paws knew.

We left Paws at the vet to be cremated and returned home.  We drove up to the garage door and when we opened it there was a big fat freshly dispatched mouse next to my boots!  I can only believe that Paws was responsible and had sent one last catch as a “thank you” from the place beyond where he waits for us.  Paws was returned to us a few days later and we walked the perimeter of our property and released some of his ashes into the wind at each of the four corners.

I am sure that Paws keeps busy taking efficient charge of all of our four-legged friends that have gone on before us and making sure that place where we will all meet again is regularly patrolled and rodent-free.  Thank you for being our friend Paws.  You are missed.  We are better for having loved you.

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The Last Tree Standing by Jocelyn Moore

Posted on September 5, 2013 by Writing Women of Zurich

Alone I live on rocky hill, my silent dreams within
I’ve stood here eons watching life, the sun’s warmth on my skin.
From tiny seed I’ve grown in height now towering eighty feet.
I’m home to wood land beings, sheltered safe within my reach.

The tickling feet of playful squirrels, the hummingbirds at war,
the wind which sings creation’s tunes, I know so well and more.
The tiny sprites who gathered seeds and dined on shadowed bough
have all moved on to other glens, it’s far too quiet now.

My pinecones were abundant in the years of heavy snow.
But rains have since abandoned me and moved to lands below.
The air grew dry and fires increased. I viewed its tongues of wrath
which scorched tree barks to charcoal crisp and nothing in its path
could stand in its devouring maw or flee the burning flame.
As trees ignited one by one, they shrieked their death and pain.

But God sent me a guardian, a nature child since grown,
through decades she would care for me, a wild tree as her own.
I always knew she cherished me; she’d pat my trunk and sigh.
She slowly spoke so I could know her actions and just why
she trimmed my lower limbs and cut my branches bare of green
“The fire climbs up dry needles and explodes like gasoline.”

We grew together, she and I, her babies became men.
Her spouse caressed her in my shade, until he left and then
her sadness overflowed her heart and watered me with tears,
the only comfort I could give, her sentinel these years.

But humans do not last as long as Ponderosa Pine.
She parted Earth for final rest and left me here behind.
I hear the buzz of chainsaws as the lumbermen draw nigh.
My body goes back to the soil, new life comes when I die.

Jocelyn Moore
August 2013

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Swiss Cow Parade – Alp Abzug by Deborah Hoffmann

Posted on August 15, 2013 by Writing Women of Zurich

During the summer months the farmers take their cows to their alpine pastures where the grass is rich. They have proper stalls and cheese-making huts and are preferably close to a stream for milk cooling. They have their own cable lifts of a large sturdy box for moving items up and down the mountainside, like a sick calf and milk containers.

This is why you often see girls and mothers doing the haying on the hillsides near their farms in summer.
In the fall they have a cow parade down the mountainside and through the village and back home to the farm. The farmers are all dressed up in their black hats with ribbons, red vests and black leggings with white knee socks and silver buckles on their shoes.

With fancy cow-bells and flowers in the cows horns, it is a colorful sight to watch the homecoming. Often the family children and goats with flowers and bells take their places at the end of the line, to see that there are no stragglers. Along the way, farm families come out to greet them and offer cider and apple brandy to keep the farmers jolly. There are often alphorns along the way to welcome them back.

On the days when the Alp-Abzug happens in different areas there are announcements on the news and in the Internet.

The farmers want to be settled at home before the first snows, but they love the freedom of living on the alp. They often have young volunteers coming to help the farmers and experience this unique way of life.

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