A Buffalo Named Rose

When we first looked at this house, a little over three years ago, there was a buffalo living here. Her name was Rose and she was about half-grown. She scared people. I think she probably scared potential buyers away, much to our good fortune. There are exactly 2.77 acres here, and Rose had decimated all of them. Not a blade of grass grew. Tufts of buffalo fur clung to fences and trees. Buffalo "pies" littered the ground.

Poor Rose was lonely. She was misunderstood. My real estate agent was afraid of her. The owner would have to try to pin Rose up to show the property. Rose didn't like being pinned. She broke down the gate. It was told to us that Rose killed raccoons, that there were often raccoon carcasses lying around. But she also had a little cat-friend. A black and white tuxedo kitty, a stray who climbed trees and hung out around Rose, seemingly without fear.

When we arrived to look at the house, our real estate agent was already inside. She opened the front door and beckoned us to hurry in, that Rose was loose. We had already seen Rose over by the patio. We toured the house. We liked the layout. We liked the geodesic dome in the center, the uniqueness of it. We could see past the dirty pink carpeting and all the needed repairs. Most were cosmetic. But my SO was also interested in the lay of the land. He asked to go out and walk the property. The real estate agent said, "But there's a buffalo out there." My SO said, "OK. You don't have to go with me."

The agent cringed as he exited. She continued to show me interior features, but she kept a close eye on my SO outside walking the perimeters. Finally, I joined her at one of the windows. Out along the high boundary fence, there walked my SO. Close behind him, curious and cautious, was Rose. She followed him like a puppy, keeping about ten feet between herself and the strange man. As I explained that he was born and raised on a farm, had done ranching, been around livestock all his life, the real estate agent clearly delighted in watching Rose following him around as he inspected the grounds. The agent began to call my SO "The Buffalo Whisperer."

Obviously, we liked the place. We came back to look a few more times before an offer was made. We began to call it The Buffalo Wallow, because that's pretty much the way it looked, bare dirt, all those tufts of fur hanging about. There are over 80 trees on this small bit of land. I think more than anything, it was the trees that sold the house. We knew they would be a pain when leaf-shedding time came. There were drifts of leaves everywhere, years of leaves because the house had been sitting empty for at least two years that we knew about. We made the offer. We were shocked when it was accepted. The owner clearly just wanted to be rid of the place. We wondered if we could have offered even less than the low-ball offer we had made. Instant equity. And the economic crisis had not even hit Texas yet.

There are still signs of Rose. Occasionally we come across one of her pies, or a bit of buffalo hair. Mainly, the grass has never recovered completely. It's on the mend, but slowly. There was once a working sprinkler system, and Saint Augustine covered the ground. We have found a few leftover runners and have babied them along through two extended, devastating droughts. It is a little bit of paradise here, but it is hot. And it is a lot of upkeep. We like to travel. We go away for a few weeks and come back to as many weeks worth of work to get the place back into shape.

I fall in love with houses, with spaces, with lawns and porches, with seeing my stuff just the way it suits me. I have to desensitize myself when I began to think of leaving a place. I have to let go of the visions I have, the daydreams of future times. I have to fall out of love. I'm in the midst of that process as I write this. Of giving up on my Buffalo Wallow.

Onward ....