History Repeats

I always wanted to be more “grown up” than I was. Or than I was ready for, put it that way.

After college I moved across the country to “escape the farm.” Even brought that up in a job interview, not realizing at. all. that 70% of the residents of that school district were farmers. Oops. I mean how was I to know, it was a small town literally on the Pacific coast?!

Anyway, I ended up moving back to Indiana when Dad got sick, and got a small house in West Lafayette. One of the first things I did was get a dog (because of course that’s what a 20-something single guy with no job needs, right??). You get the picture. I found an amazing dog and named him (of course) Boiler.

John and Boiler, circa 1999.

Buuuut, me being a 20-something man-child working a job with very irregular hours and in no way ready to care for another living being, I asked my parents to take care of Boiler for awhile. I loved that dog, but at least some part of me recognized that I wasn’t able to give him the kind of home and training he needed.

So against all my dad’s protests, Boiler became a farm-dog. He immediately bonded to Dad in a way he never did with me, which just reinforced that I’d made at least one right decision in taking him up there. Dad complained to no end about having to take care of him, but you could just tell it was all ‘I’m just trying to be a grumpy old man.’

He loved that dog more than anything.

Dad and Boiler’s favorite thing to do was to cruise around the farm in this shitbox old Suzuki Samauri with no muffler that Dad found at a farm auction one year. Off they’d go puttering along through the weeds, Boiler standing on the seat, head out the window, metronomic barking nonstop. Thankfully that side was dad’s deaf ear, or I’m sure he would have kicked the dog out. You could hear them a half mile a way. Putt putt putt putt BARK putt putt putt putt BARK.

Then every evening Dad would go sit up on his bench at the top of the hill to watch the sun go down, and Boiler would come sit with him, finally barked out and calm.

Dad passed away, and a couple years later so did Boiler. Boiler should have still had a few good years left in him, but I’m pretty sure they just missed each other too much. We buried boiler on the hill just next to their bench.

Fast forward a couple dozen years and I’ve finally grown up, at least a little bit. Molly is going into her senior year in high school in a couple weeks, and we have two dogs of our own now, both Australian Shepherd / Border Collie mixes. Just like Boiler.

This past weekend we took Rontu up to Helios because who doesn’t love being farm-dog for a day, amirite? I wanted to do some photography, and it was a good chance to load Rontu up in the new gator and take him exploring.

So. Many. Flashbacks.

There we were, the motor in the gator burbling away (because it actually has a muffler, unlike dad’s old Suzuki) while we knocked our way through the head-high July weeds, scaring up birds and butterflies galore. Rontu didn’t bark too much, but he did have a great time sniffing around and exploring the woods.

And everywhere we stopped I could almost hear that sputtering engine and nonstop excited bark of another little Aussie and the old farmer he loved so much.