Goodbye to my old home . . .

There are a few things that I miss about my old house now that I’m gone and settled in the new one.

The big oak tree near the garage door, for one. The tree that offered much appreciated shade in the summer then gloriously presented beautiful color in the fall. The one from which acorns fall with loud plops then crunch noisily when tires roll over them.

For two years, I think it was, I faithfully raked them up and carried them with dedicated purpose into the woods behind. Until, finally, my brother-in-law in his typically amused way, said, “You dummy. You don’t have to take acorns into the woods for the deer. They can find their own acorns.”

I wish I could have taken that tree and its plentiful acorns with me.

I miss the deer, too. The ones who grazed gently and gazed haughtily at Dixie Dew whenever she, with dachshund bravado, tried to stir up trouble. There are deer at my new place but not the same ones. The others were my friends already, their loyalty purchased by corn-filled lick logs and half-eaten apples.

I’d grown unexplainably accustomed to the quick, mouse-like squeak of that third step from the top floor landing. After days of travel, it greeted my return melodiously, almost joyfully, I think. It sounded like home to me.

But what truly broke my heart to leave behind was Melinda, our mail carrier. I’m not the only one who has suffered in grief over this cruel separation. Dixie Dew bid goodbye to one of her best friends.

Before Melinda inherited our route several years ago, we had Gail, another equally terrific, cheerful carrier. I hated to lose Gail but I had already developed a liking for Melinda before I met her.

When my last dachshund, Highway, died, my mourning was woeful, edging into the unbecoming territory of being pitiful. Friends and family had gathered on the riverbank where we buried her, then sang “Amazing Grace” and prayed with besieging spirits for the recovery of my shattered heart.

As with any bereavement, the funeral was followed by casseroles from well-meaning friends and a barrage of flowers and sympathy notes. One of those cards – I kept them all – came from Melinda, whom I didn’t know but who had learned of my sorrow.

That alone should tell you what kind of person she is.

Whenever I had so much mail that she had to leave it at my front door – and that happened often – she left a doggy biscuit on top of the pile. Not a dainty-barely-a-bite kind of biscuit but one that would require a good bit of chewing and smacking from even a Great Dane. When I opened the door, Dew dashed out, grabbed her treat then trotted happily inside, struggling to hold her head up from the weight of the enormous biscuit.

If Dew was in the yard when Melinda’s mail truck went by, she ran toward the mailbox, barking for her buddy’s attention.

I’m smart enough to know that a postal service that will return a letter to me for non-sufficient postage of one cent is not buying these treats. I also possess enough common sense to realize that Dew, special though she is, is not the only dog on Melinda’s route receiving this largesse.

So, with heavy hearts, goodbye came and Dew and I were both heart-broken.

When I filled out the new address delivery form, the postmaster laughed when she saw Dixie Dew’s name as one who will receive mail at the new house.

Dew is hoping that if Melinda can’t visit, she’ll send mail. Maybe even a doggie biscuit.