The Homberg Howl & the Great Puddle Duel
Some Saturdays were simply meant for visiting friends.
Bingo seemed to know before anyone said a word. The moment Bill reached for his leash, Bingo was already waiting by the door, tail wagging furiously.
“We’re going to Homberg,” Bill said.
That was all he needed to hear.
Homberg was home to Freddy and Rübeli, two lively Jack Russell Terriers.
Freddy was Bingo’s closest friend. Together they had chased countless cats, explored every corner of the hillside and, at least in their own minds, kept the neighborhood under proper supervision.
The reunion was always enthusiastic. There was barking, spinning, shoulder bumps and the serious exchange of scents that only dogs fully appreciate. Within seconds, the three friends disappeared into Sylvia’s garden to attend to the first important task of the day.
Bill had a name for it.
The Great Puddle Duel.
Every significant landmark required inspection: the apple tree, the vegetable beds, the watering can, the garden gate… and finally poor old Hans-Jörg.
Hans-Jörg was Sylvia’s weathered garden gnome. With the tiny chip on his nose and permanently unimpressed expression, he looked as though nothing could surprise him anymore.
He underestimated three terriers.
One after another, Freddy, Rübeli and finally Bingo proudly paid their respects.
Determined to outdo the others, Bingo lifted his leg just a little too high.
It didn’t end well.
He lost his balance, disappeared backwards into a flower bed and reappeared with a bright yellow dandelion stuck to his nose.
Even Hans-Jörg looked just a little less grumpy after that.
While the dogs recovered from their important work, Sylvia and I wandered through her garden, talking about vegetables, quilts and whatever else came to mind.
Before we left, I handed her a small drawstring bag.
“Giant pole beans,” I said. “In Hungary we call them lóbab. They make a wonderful soup with onions, garlic and sweet Hungarian paprika.”
She smiled.
“I’ll plant them beside the chicken fence.”
The afternoon drifted by as good afternoons often do. We walked along the ridge overlooking the patchwork fields below while the dogs investigated every interesting scent they could find.
Looking across the valley, Bingo seemed perfectly content.
He had everything a terrier could wish for: good friends, fresh country air…
…and, of course, treats.
When it was finally time to go home, the three dogs touched noses in the quiet farewell that dogs seem to understand without needing words.
Within minutes Bingo was asleep in the back of the car, curled up on the quilt I had made from Grandpa’s old shirts. It had become his favorite place to sleep. No matter how many times it was washed, he always seemed to recognize the familiar scent of the person who had once worn those fabrics.
Every quilt has a story. Some become part of the family.
You can find the Memory Quilt instruction in this blogpost: