By Pam Stone

As my friend, Robbie, pointed out during my 10-day jaunt to Los Angeles, this was one of the very few times in life I could appropriately use the phrase, “Meanwhile, back at the ranch…” without being decried as a complete literary hack.

 

Because there were a few, nay, endless, check-ins, ‘back at the ranch,’ in the form of texts to Paul while I was away:

 

‘Did you get Bonnie’s meds?’

 

‘Are you giving her the vegetable purée over her dinner?’

 

‘Does Forrest miss me?’

 

Paul, used to playing second fiddle (or third, or even failing to show up at all at the orchestra) to the horses and dogs, never pointed out I had omitted asking how he might be (I figured he was replying, therefore, alive) and calmly wrote back, “They’re fine, they’re all fine.”

 

He did, however, make the agonizing mistake of adding, “Bonnie is missing you and seems a little depressed,” which led to a flurry of angst ridden volleys: “With her heart condition, depression could send her spiraling down!” and “You’ve got to give her tons of extra affection!” Not to mention, “I’m going to call an animal communicator to send her good energy!”

 

Because this was my biggest fear. At 14, with both heart and kidney issues responding, at present, very well to her medications and the herbal and nutritional supplements we give her, not to mention canine ‘hydrotherapy,’ (warm and cold water applied to affected areas to stimulate blood flow, with its oxygen and nutrients and all those goodies to aid healing) I was most reluctant and, frankly, dreading, leaving Bonnie for 10 days should something awful happen.

 

And so the texts continued albeit now with short videos, from Paul, attached, as I accused him of not telling me the full truth after dropping the depression bombshell, trying perhaps to protect me as I was supposed to bring the funny to the pilot I was filming. Like the parent of a kidnapping victim, demanding to see proof that their child was still alive, I watched clips of Paul holding both a bemused Bonnie on the couch along with a copy of that day’s newspaper to substantiate his claim, clips of Bonnie standing on the back deck, barking at something in the woods and another one of her leaping down the front steps and disappearing around the corner of the house.

 

 

All of these eased my own heart, considerably, and I subjected all and sundry, from fellow cast members to the waiter at the sushi restaurant, to watch and feel the same warmth and relief I did.

 

“Look,” I showed Phillip, taking his attention away from his other tables, “Isn’t she adorable? Look how she’s scarfing up that sweet potato!”

 

“Will there be anything else, Miss?” asked Phillip, hopefully.

 

“No, unless you want to see this one of her curled up on her little binky…”

 

“I’ll bring you your check, then,” he said, over his shoulder as he darted away.

 

You can only imagine my anticipation upon seeing my beloved terrier as I counted down the days and squirmed both in my plane seat, purchasing wi-fi just to send, “Tell her I’m on my way!” and in the back of the uber SUV that delivered me home that evening.

 

Holding my finger to my lips to Paul, who was behind the kitchen island making the dogs’ dinner, I tiptoed in, grateful for their collective deafness, crouched down and waited for Bonnie to spot me. She did, trotted over, all a-wiggle, greeting me with a wet snout on my cheek, then promptly turned her attention back to Paul and her proposed dinner.

 

Deflated, I grumbled, “Well, that wasn’t much of a greeting.”

 

“You know dogs,” said Paul, “it’s always about food. They’d both leave us in a New York second for a stranger with an eclair.”

 

Bonnie made it up to me afterwards, by plastering her plump body against my thigh as we watched the news and shadowing my every move, including curling up against my chest when we all turned in. Paul had mowed the fields and weeded the rose beds at the farm and my student, Edith, ran the barn beautifully, leaving everything immaculate and in order.

 

Despite jet lag and being a bit bleary eyed the following morning at 6, I made my way to the barn to feed the horses and muck out the stalls. Everything was spic and span and well tended. I gave Forrest a hug, peered up at the shell pink sky, sighing at the beauty of it all…

 

And so, the ranch was saved!