Ern, where are you?

What a beautiful day it was yesterday: clear blue, sunny sky, with a hint of coolness from a north breeze. We need days like this to dry out the slog from the last few weeks of record-breaking rain.

It is also a primo day to work on the motorcycle.

Sitting outside on my stool with wrenches at the ready I begin undressing the cover on the clutch: it has developed a stickiness.

Ernie is my companion, moseying around sniffing for early-season grasshoppers; they are to Ernie what caviar is to royalty.

While focusing on the task at hand I am still fighting the distractions of the gorgeous day: the mockingbirds mocking, the cardinals being consistent looking for a mate and the ubiquitous sparrows stubbornly trying to nest in corners of the buildings structure.

At some point I look and assure that Ernie is nearby; he isn’t.

Tools put aside for the moment I begin my walk-about calmly yelling, “Ern, where are you? Where are you Ern?”

No response.

The rains have popped up all native grasses that are now taller than he is, so I first look for waving greenery from his plodding wake.

Still no go.

Now I begin to worry: did he ramble off and under the neighbor’s new barbed wire boundary? He certainly can easily pass safely under the lowest strand.

Trudging my way into the outback I keep calling his name and looking. There is no sign of him. My only consolation is that he has his collar with tags and my phone number. Who do I call to report a missing dog, the Sheriff’s Office?

Rounding the bend I eventually head towards the derelict chair shaded by a few trees. Ernie and I usually spend a couple minutes there each day sitting – but certainly not leaning back – in the afternoon sunset.

THERE HE IS.

He’s just plunked on the ground next to it panting. Like the little engine that could, Ernie needs water, a lot of it; but he won’t find it there because there isn’t any. I give him a hug and quietly ask him to answer a question he can’t: “Ern, were you running away from home?”

Lethargically he begins down Ernie Way heading back to The Shack. I follow. After a few steps he hesitates. I realize that he is indeed out of water so I pick him up and carry him back home.

Putting him on the concrete floor he bypasses the water dish and goes directly to his cave under the bed; he might be embarrassed that he put himself in that predicament.

After a few minutes he reappears and glugs himself back to normal.

This time leaving Ern inside to rest – and on the bed – I return to my mechanic’s task.

Another great day of country life, right Ern?

[This image was taken later in the day after any signs of crisis had past and were forgotten.]