A stuffed dragon falls into helpful hands

As I was driving down my gravel road on a recent sunny afternoon, I noticed something out of place in a ditch near my house, and once again, a child’s stuffed animal showed up in my life, a small purple dragon. My road seems to be some sort of land of castaway toys, as this is the third creature I’ve encountered in a ditch near my house in the past couple of years. This little dragon was filthy and in rough shape, and her right foot was barely attached to her ankle. I had to take her in.

After pushing white stuffing back into her ankle and leg, I went to work with my sewing kit. A friend offered to clean her up, putting her in some sort of bag that could be laundered. She even helped by doing some further sewing with invisible thread and told me she’d named the little dragon Lilly. I don’t know who Lilly belonged to, but I want that person to know that this little purple creature, this piece of someone else’s memory, now rides comfortably in the back seat of my car, a pleasant companion, an agreeable addition to my own memory. And, thanks to my meatball repair work, she perhaps limps a little, but is otherwise doing well.

American bald eagles have begun to show up, returning from wherever it is they go in the summertime, somewhere north of here, maybe. I’m told eagles migrate alone, on their own terms, not needing the company of others, which seems about right as representatives of this great, complicated country. Hawks are spending more time on electric wires, eyeing bare fields where corn and soybeans once stood, waiting for the slight movements of small rodents, their next meal. The annual rut has begun, male deer pursuing female deer for the purpose of impregnation. They cross in front of my house on a regular basis, and lately, a group of five females has been bedding down near the top of my lane. My headlights swing into the lane, they scatter and I say, “Sorry, girls.” It has become a ritual.

More animal stories: on a chilly Halloween day in a nearby town, a guy in a wheelchair was on a narrow highway median strip near some stoplights. On his lap was a crude cardboard sign saying he was hungry. I opened my window and gave him five bucks, to which he said, “Thanks! Happy Halloween!” “To you as well,” I responded. Then, the head of a small, adorable dog popped out of the front of his coat. “What’s your dog’s name?” I asked. “Bella.” “Take care of her, friend.” “Oh, I do,” he smiled. “She’s spoiled.” The light changed.

It has taken five years for my cat Luna to learn to move with me when I do some tossing and turning in the night. She has realized that she needn’t be on top of my ankles, that snugging up against them works better. Less chaotic. Whether on my back or my side, there is always a warm, insistent presence touching me in the darkness. It’s a small thing and, while it’s not exactly heaven, it’s somewhere on the long road to it.

Grace, tenderness, and the everyday romance of living a long life in this sweet world come to me in odd, sometimes unexpected, places and ways, oftentimes involving creatures that travel the dusty roads with me; the wildlife out here, a stuffed purple dragon named Lilly, a mostly-crazy, loyal cat named Luna, and even a spoiled little dog named Bella. I am glad to have them in this world, and I trust that on some level, they, along with all those I have loved, will be with me in the next.

Kurth Ullrich lives in rural Jackson County and hosts the “Rural America” podcast. It can be found at https://www.ullrichruralamerica.com