Ah, the colors of spring. The newly budding hardwoods shine brightly against the shaggy-headed pines. Their colors are smudged, like oil pastels. Bright green and sherbet orange and brick-red. And then, there’s yellow. The color of pollen.
The air is thick with it- clouds of it. It’s made voices raspy and eyes water all around the county. Some of us can’t even comfortably go outside of our houses. Fortunately, I’m not horribly allergic. So yesterday I popped my daily Claritin and headed out for the woods to see the colors of spring first hand. Princess Pixie, of course, was by my side.
In the distance, we saw cows eating their way across a green hill. A trio of calves regarded us curiously through the fence, having never seen anything that looked like Pixie before. Such big ears and short legs! They took off in the opposite direction, kicking up their heels at such a sight. The must have thought, “silly big-eared thing!”
We walked down looked at the edge of the lake. It was dark, like a nighttime sky and the pollen swirled like Van Gough’s “starry starry night.” At the edge of the bank, where the water pushed it up against the mud, the pollen collected thick, like butter.
We walked back into the woods and Pixie busted up a convention of crows. There were six of them on the ground. The little dog hurtled toward them like a missile, her short legs like pistons and her long tail like a rudder. The birds took flight in mock distress. Pixie chased them down the log road and they wove in and out, fussing about her as they went. I could almost hear them cawing, “Cra- Cra- Crazy big-eared thing!”
On the edge of the woods, the dogwoods bloomed white and the wild azaleas were just about to burst like pink petticoats out of the confines of their buds. While I studied trees, Pixie struck out a little ahead on sniff patrol. With her nose to the ground, she sniffed out the daily news (Johnny calls it “pee mail”. Then, just out of reach, she flopped down and had a little roll around in some horrifying organic goo that was guaranteed to get her a bath when we got home.
Just then, I saw the bull. And he saw me. Most times of the year, the bull doesn’t pay me any mind. But in the spring, he is extra protective of his harem of cows and he gets pretty surly. But he was pretty far away, so I wasn’t too worried. I just kept on moving. But then he started moving our way. I called Pixie and we started to cut into the woods, away from the log road and the bull.
Pixie must have sensed my alarm, because she looked around and spotted the bull walking toward us. She started barking and headed straight for him.
At this moment, I had to decide – did I stand my ground, which would make the bull more defensive and Pixie more protective, or did I leave, removing Pixie’s reason to fight? I wasn’t terribly worried about her getting hurt. She is the most nimble of creatures and the Bull is not, so I was sure that she would be ok.
So ran over a hill and down a gully, getting just out of the sight of the bull. I slowed down, listening carefully, whistling loudly. I was trying to let Pixie know where I was, but she was too consumed by battle. She continued to bark ferociously. The leaves rustled violently. Then there was a shrill yelp. The barking ceased.
I just knew that she’d been hurt. So, I picked up a big oak branch and ran back towards where they were. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I was going to do something. As I crested the top of the hill, Pixie came running toward me like a freight train. She was unharmed but her eyes were wild and her tongue flapped out of her mouth like a pink flag.
I picked her up and we walked away from the log road, through the woods and quickly home. Pixie didn’t mind me carrying her – she wasn’t anxious for adventure anymore. When we’d gone a safe distance, I called mama on my cell phone and was regaling her with the story of Pixie and the bull. I wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on behind us. Finally, I took a hard right off the log road and headed for the house. We were almost to the gate, when I saw, back at the log road, the bull had followed us. Pixie didn’t see him, so I stayed calm, hoping we could get to the house without another altercation. But he just stayed put, just watching us.
That bull was probably wondering what that big-eared thing was.
That brave, big-eared thing.
This piece originally ran in the Times Georgian. You can catch more southern stories there every Thursday.