OVER THE TRANSOM
 
 
--- Falling Leaves ---
By Sandy Raschke

In late June of this year, we saw an ad in the local paper for a German Wire-haired Pointer (GWP). The telephone number was a local prefix, so I looked it up in our reverse directory and discovered that it was one of the real estate brokers in town. Now that we are settled, the thought had entered our minds that it might be time to welcome another dog into our lives. It turned out that the real estate broker no longer had time to devote to his eight-year old hunting companion, as he was trying to get a 20-home subdivision off the ground, and given the market’s down-shift, time was of the essence in terms of marketing and selling the lots. Arnold (“Arnie”), confined most days to a kennel with an aging and frail Labrador retriever, needed more attention than his owner could give him.
        After much discussion about the dog, his abilities and needs, we went across town to meet with the owner and got a chance to play with “Arnold” for a while, before going home to talk about the issues associated with taking in a dog that someone no longer wants. A week later, we paid the nominal fee requested and brought Arnie home with us.
  
He was pretty perplexed and somewhat frantic about his role in the Universe for a few days, but eventually he settled down, turning around and around in his new dog pillow, until he got it just the way he liked. Like most GWPs, he has a lot of personality and energy, and although he’s eight years old, he is still very much a wild and crazy guy. We haven’t taken him bird hunting yet, but he’s already gone on point where the neighborhood quail cross our front yard most mornings—and it was a classic and very classy point at that. Still, Arnie hangs close, much like Ruby did when we first adopted her, and makes it a point to sit under the computer or dining room tables, or next to our feet, wherever we happen to be. Fortunately, he loves people and rarely barks, and he knows some basic commands, although he could use a refresher course in “stay.” It’s said that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but we’re working to prove that wrong.
  
As for our summer and now early Fall, here in the high desert, it was irritatingly smoky for most of it, because of several lightning-spiked fires that the powers-that-be allow to burn, and then the traditional field burning by the farmers after harvesting their grass and grain crops. A brief respite between smoke plumes gave us the chance to witness “shooting stars” during the last meteor shower, and it was one of the most exciting celestial events I’ve witnessed since observing a total eclipse of the sun when I was working in San Francisco back in the late 1970’s. Shortly after Labor Day, following a good soaking rain, the night sky returned with its billions of luminous stars.
  
Now the trees are starting to drop their leaves, the nights are getting longer, the mornings colder, and the air is crisp and clean again. At dawn, I watched the golden harvest moon, the largest I’ve ever seen for the month of September, sink into the horizon just as the sun began its climb over the hills. Autumn is upon us, my favorite season; in my mind’s eye, I can see the little ghosts and goblins running up the driveway, screaming “Trick or Treat,” hear the cackle of a pheasant as it rises from a field, see the geese streaming overhead in large vees, and smell the turkey coming out of the oven on Thanksgiving Day. This is a good thing.