Wild Romance

No, I haven't started watching adults-only films, but there's some pretty racy stuff going on out there.  I must have some kind of sleeping sickness even though I don't think there are any tsetse flies in Fair Play.  I cannot keep my eyes open during the day and still sleep through the night.  What's up with that?  Anyhow, on those brief occasions when I woke up yesterday, I kept seeing a couple of California scrub jays running back and forth on the deck railing.  Were they chasing bugs, or maybe fighting?  Um, no.  The smaller, and I assume the female, would squat down and flutter her wings, a little more provocative than her nonexistent eyelashes.  The larger male would make a dash toward her and the little minx would run away.  Frustrated, the male would run back on the railing and the female would chase after him, "Hey, baby, I was just kidding!"  I can't tell you how this flirtation ended because I fell asleep.  Use your imagination.

I really wanted to watch the Democratic debate last night, but woke up after it was over.  Maybe I'll have better luck tonight.  Or not.  After a brief, wishful search, I fell back to sleep.  Sigh.

Late News

To early morning readers, my apologies.  Woke up in the recliner at 4 a.m., decided it was too late to go to bed but too early to do anything else, so went over and stretched out on the couch.  I just woke up.  It's nearly 7, the sun is shining, and the day is half over.  Best of intentions and all that....

I saw on the news that plans are underway to build a two-mile gondola ride between the big ski resorts in Lake Tahoe.  That got me thinking about my mother (and father).  There were probably no two people farther apart in their approach to life.  How they got together in the first place is and was beyond me.  Mother was  reader, I don't think Daddy ever picked up a book.  Mother had a bizarre sense of humor, Daddy could retell funny jokes he'd heard, but had no sense of humor of his own.  Mother had a wish for adventure, Daddy stuck to the tried and true.  But I digress.

We three had gone on one of our road trips up to either Big Bear or Lake Arrowhead at the end of the winter season.  There were no skiers, but the ski lift was still operating and Mother said she'd never been on one and wanted to go, taking me along, of course.  If I heard him say it once, I heard it a thousand times, "Craziest thing I've ever heard," and Daddy wouldn't go.  "Come on, Babe," and Mother and I got on the chair lift (this was way before gondolas) and zoomed away.  Yeah, well.  The lift got stuck about halfway up the mountain, dangling us over a chasm, and then it started snowing.  Mother might have had second thoughts about this adventure.  Me?  I thought it was pretty exciting.  Daddy was frantic with worry when we finally got back down.  Poor Daddy.

Most of the news is depressing these days, but once in awhile it can bring back memories.  The sun is well up, the coffee mug is empty, and I am late, late, late.  What else is new?

The Watchers

Unless he is sleeping, GB watches me.  He watches me all the time.  At first it was a little unnerving because I didn't understand and then it came to me.  He has been trained as a support dog and I think he watches in an attempt to anticipate my needs.  Good Boy.

On the other side, I need to watch GB.  Unless the phone rings and he woo-woos along (that cracks me up every time), GB is a silent dog.  I've only heard him bark once since he came here to live.  He doesn't growl or whine.  The only way I know he needs to go outside is when he goes to sit by the front door, looking back at me.  Consequently, we watch.

Sometimes I think I live in an alternate universe.  Celeste has taken over the dog's bed, and GB was sleeping on the loveseat.  What's wrong with this picture?  Maybe because I slept all night in the recliner?  Oh well.  Who's to say what's normal.  Nobody's watching.

Soaked

A disaster was narrowly averted yesterday, whew!  As I was going back to the laundry room to fold clothes, I glanced into the guest bedroom, the room that Ralph, Celeste, and once in awhile GB have taken over.  I've shown photos before of how Ralph prefers the bed, with the covers half on the floor and the sheets pulled back.  I don't go in there much anymore.  Anyhow, in passing, I noted I hadn't opened the windows for summer weather and thought I'd better do that.  No problem with the first one, and I went on to the south window, my mind busy with other things.  It was while I was fiddling with the latch that I actually looked at what I was doing.  GASP!  This huge wasp or hornet nest (I didn't ask for ID) was/is on the inside and attached to the screen.  All those white bumps are egg cases and there were dozens and dozens of wasp nannies tending to the nest, which is way bigger than my outspread hand.  Can you imagine what would have happened if I'd opened the window?  I could, and it scared me silly.  I grabbed a can of wasp killer, went outside and liberally sprayed the nest and every wasp I could see.  I mean I soaked that thing.  I hotfooted it back in the house just in case there were reinforcements.  I'll be keeping an eye on the nest from inside the house for a while.

I had to go to town, and I deliberated whether to take GB with me, finally deciding that the A/C in the truck outweighed the minute or two it would take to get inside the stores.  GB was his usual Good Boy self, and I waited patiently as he piddled on every leaf, tree trunk and post in the shade at every stop.  That was a mistake, as we got to the bank 20 minutes after it closed.  Thanks, GB.

It was over 100 degrees and I was soaked with perspiration.  It's not a pretty picture when one is trying to write a check (I'm old school) and sweat is dripping off your nose.  At least the floor in the air-conditioned stores was a relief for GB.

I did remember about the whole-house fan in the evening, and for the last two nights I've had the ceiling fan in the bedroom going.  Today is supposed to be the worst one yet.  Aaargh.

Second Guesses

When one is a creature of habit as I am, there are times it doesn't pay to second guess yourself.  Admittedly I was only half awake when I toddled down to the kitchen.  First thing, make the coffee: water and coffee grounds for one cup, turn on the machine.  Hmmm.  Did I put in the water?  You know, I don't think I did.  Easy fix...put in the water.  While the machine does its job, check the food bowls.  GB eats surprisingly little so I can fill his dish and give him free choice.  It's the cats who are chow hounds (and it shows on Celeste).  It did seem like the machine took a little longer, but....  Consequently, I have a full mug of hot, dark water this morning and another one waiting in the kitchen.  A pretty weak way to start the day.

It got so hot so fast yesterday morning that I was disinclined to mess around with Fu, even with an early start.  It would have been too hot to mow if he had fired up.  This weekend is supposed to be even worse, but a cool down is predicted for next week, yay!  It's an imposition to ask favors, but if Beau can't come by soon, I fear I'm going to have to look farther afield for help.

A trip to town is on today's agenda and I'm going to stores/shops where GB is allowed, and he does like to go for a ride and Truck has A/C.  My concern is getting him from and to the truck as I know the parking lots will be hot on his little bare feet.  "Hurry" is not a word in my vocabulary anymore, and "run" is out of the question.  This is going to require more thought.

Question of the day:  do two cups of weak, insipid coffee equal one cup of regular strength?  Note to self:  don't second guess.

Fill 'Er Up

No, not Truck, we're not going anywhere.  It's the time of year when it's important to keep the small spray bottle I keep by my chair in summer filled with water.  In lieu of air conditioning, I fall back on evaporation to give at least momentary coolness.  I can go through a bottle a day.  The problem with this is that while spritzing my face, there is overspray on my hair.  Anyone familiar with curly hair knows that moisture tightens the curl and I end up looking like a hedgehog.  The solution to that is not to look.  (Maybe it's a good thing Beau hasn't come by yet.)

Dave called yesterday.  Fu has an automatic kill switch when the seat doesn't make contact with the something-or-other on the battery.  This is a safety feature in case the driver falls off so that the engine and blades are immediately stopped.  Dave suggested I give what I hope I'll recognize as the contacts a good spray of WD-40.  I'll give that a try today.  I'd hate to think that Fu has joined John, who really only wanted to work for men.  This kind of discrimination has no place in my workforce.

Stuck

Another day of missed mowing.  Fu sits stuck in his shed.  I did put in a call to Beau, asking him to stop by when he has time.  I'm pretty sure it's just loose wires and shouldn't take Beau long.

As bad as the foxtails are, they're nothing compared to the velcro burrs, little bitty seeds that cling to anything that passes by.  Either they are particularly bad this year or GB is going places Bessie just didn't go.  He comes back from his travels into the woods (where he is allowed to go) covered in burrs.  We're getting a lot of bonding time as I brush and brush and brush his coat.  I thought I'd gotten them all yesterday, but when he rolled over for a belly rub in bed last night I found there was a hidden patch stuck under his armpit.  Drat.

GB, also known as the Jeebster, Jeebs, and sometimes Heeby-GB, seems to have settled into the routine of the house.  Spurts of activity followed by periods of do-nothing.  He's as good at napping as I am.  We're kind of stuck in a rut, but we're in it together.

Missed It

Yesterday morning was perfect for mowing.  A low-grade monsoon blew cool air in with a cloud cover overhead, perfect.  And Fu refused to start...again.  Turns out I hadn't flooded him at all.  It's something to do with the battery, which I know is brand new and about which I know nothing.  Aaargh!  I hate the thought of being one of "those" women who asks for help, but I guess I'm going to have to call Neighbor Joe or Beau or maybe Helper Dude and send out an SOS.  It could be something as simple as loose wires, what do I know?  All I know for sure is that Fu Manchu and I aren't getting any work done.  Another missed opportunity.

It was a pretty uneventful day.  Naps for the household when it heated up.  It was trash day.  When I was loading up the bags in the early evening I let GB out to come with me.  I turned my back and that stinker took off to go walkabout.  Aaargh again!  I didn't have time to panic as the light was fading and I had to get my job done.  And where do you think that runaway was when I came back?  Sitting right there in the driveway asking, "Why did you leave without me?"  We're going to have a long talk about this.

...Or Not

Mowing is not yet in my morning routine, and believe me, I'm set in my ways.  Being Queen of the Procrastinators doesn't help, either.  At any rate, between doing and dawdling yesterday I missed the window of time to try out Fu on the west field.  Drat.  It's really important that I get off my rusty-dusty today.  For one thing, the star thistle is putting out those wicked thorns that hurt like blue blazes when they puncture skin.  Poor old GB has his favorite spots to piddle and I'd hate to think what it might be like if his underside brushes up against a thistle.  For another, it's got to be done before Cal-Fire slams the window on all mowing because of fire danger.

GB has definite likes and dislikes.  He prefers this treat over that one (I have a variety), and there is one he absolutely disdains.  The funny thing is, he might turn up his nose and not take it, but when it's dropped on the floor, somehow during the day that treat vanishes, and I don't think the cats took it away.  Hmmm.

With the onset of summer, it's easy to fall into the hot-weather habit of napping during the heat of the day.  I might wake up sweaty, but it gets me through the worst of it.  GB says he's okay with napping, too.  He's discovered the cool stone hearth in front of or behind Stove and has claimed his spot.  We wait until shadows cover the driveway to go for his afternoon stroll.  "Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun," and we are neither.

It's just coming on first light, and I don't want a repeat of yesterday so I'd best get moving.

And Then...

Filled with enthusiasm, vim and vigor, and jazzed with caffeine, I went out at 7 a.m. (first light) to climb aboard Fu Manchu and get at least the west field mowed down.  Yup, all the familiar levers and pedals, choke and throttle just as I remembered.  What I did not consider was that the guys had given him an overhaul and that Fu would not need the few pumps of the choke that I gave him as I used to.  I turned the key, Fu gave a strangled gurgle, and then...nothing.  Click.  Click.  Nothing.  I had flooded the carburetor and we weren't going anywhere.  Sigh.  Nothing for it but to let poor old Fu recover on his own.  What a waste of a lovely cool morning.  Ah well, Scarlet, tomorrow is another day.

I watched a movie yesterday, A Dog's Purpose (2017), in which a dog goes through several transitions (too much to explain here) and owners and his confusion in different settings.  It's something I worry about with GB.  Does he ask himself what had he done to get left with this slow-moving, do-nothing old gal, I wonder.  I do lavish him with affection and give treats left and right (not too many), but does he long for someone to run with?  Crum, I won't even let him go across the road.  He seems to accept that he can run down and inspect the woods on my property in the fenced area while I'm tending to chores.  I know he does this because he comes back loaded with the burrs and stickers that are down there.  I hope that's enough for his adventurous soul.  It certainly guarantees a good brushing.  I know that he is a great comfort to me and I hope that is enough for GB.

While out in the cool of morning yesterday, I was astounded to see literally hundreds, maybe thousands, of dragonflies over the goat pen and west field.  They flashed colors in the rising sunlight as they zoomed back and forth.  Not only are they wondrous to watch, they eat all sorts of the bad insects.  Help yourselves, everyone!

Well, it is another day and I hope that Fu has recovered.  We'll give it another go this morning.  Fingers crossed.

Two For Two

Man, I'm on a winning streak here with two great days in a row.  It's hard to top a day spent with my Kids, and yesterday was no exception.  All of them, Dave, Jester, Deb and Craig, all got here around 11.  Dave and Jester (who, by now, is my fifth son) had planned on having tractor races to mow down the property.  As great as that would have been for me, I had to disappoint them because, while the Fire Council still allows mowing, it has to be done before 9 a.m.

GB was his usual calm self and was gracious to all, but he made it pretty clear from the start that he'd picked Dave as his favorite.  It was Dave he went to for belly rubs and Dave's chair he sat beside at lunch.  I'd spent the morning putting together at least a four-pound meatloaf for the Kids to make sandwiches for a kind of picnic lunch.  Cam had left strawberries and blackberries here, and I'd bought some Rainier cherries.  The fruit was ice cold and made a fitting summer dessert.  There was plenty of time to sit around the table and talk.  (There is a ceiling fan and a window cooler in the dining room.)

All too soon (I'm always greedy for time with the Kids) it was time for everyone to leave.  The guys had swapped out John Not-So-Dear for Fu Manchu and had John loaded up in the trailer.  I did not shed a tear as he was hauled away.  I'm going to have to reacquaint myself with Fu.  I hope he's as glad to be back as I am to have him home again.  We have work to do.

It was nice to have GB by my side and hear the "Love you's" as the Kids drove away.  It was a great day!

Red Letter Day

It was a good day, start to finish.  Neighbor Joe brought up, yes, more wood.  It was the last of the batch and I can't imagine how glad he is that that job is done.  He also brought back up the refurbished splitter and tucked it back into his shed.  Joe, like Steve, felt that if you borrow something, you return it in the same or better condition; in this case, better.

After the escapade of the night before, I called Florence to ask if there was some command that GB would know that would stop him from taking off like that.  No such luck.  Sigh.

I had to make a run up to Holiday (one place GB can't go) for supplies and got back just in time to set out the munchies for our Friday afternoon soiree.  Arden is a regular, but yesterday we were joined by Camille!  Cam hasn't been here in maybe over a year.  Chemo and radiation had left her immune system compromised.  Gosh, it was good to spend time with our friend.  GB was his usual hit, and Cam fell for him, too.

In the meantime, Joe washed and inspected John No-So-Dear, because John will be moving to his new quarters today.  Dave and his buddy are bringing back Fu Manchu, and, boy, will I be glad to see Fu and say goodbye to John.  That was one relationship that was never going to work.  After another long day of hard work, I'll bet Joe couldn't wait to see the sun go down (and probably the last of this place).

After the ladies had gone, I discovered one had left her purse here.  It turned out to be Cam's, so GB and I drove down to return it.  He got to meet Cam's three German shepherds, Honey, Sammi, and Bud Man.  Had GB not lived with two huge Scottish deer hounds, he might have been overwhelmed.  After the obligatory sniff-and-greet, GB seemed to have passed muster.  Cam and I made arrangements for a play date for him and his new friends.

I received a letter so sweet it made me cry from, I guess it would be GB's "brother," the son of GB's prior mom.  I gave him a quick call to say thank you.

My niece in New Hampshire called to tell me that the first fireflies had made their appearance, something I've never seen.  They must be magical.

If yesterday was a red-letter day, today I will be over the moon.  Not only are Dave and probably Jester coming up, Deb and Craig will joining us.  Knowing that the temperatures are due to soar soon, I probably won't see the Kids again until Thanksgiving.  I intend to make the most of it.

Lesson Learned

Our morning walk, off leash, went so well again and I was full of words of praise for GB.  We hadn't yet gone out in the early evening when Helper Dude and his lady came up to get the last two tractor implements.  Because they were working with truck, trailer, and another tractor, I didn't let GB out when I had to show HD where the one piece was hidden in the south pasture.  Mission accomplished, they drove off and I was left to hike back up the drive.

A brief sit-down and I was ready to take GB out for a stroll.  He was definitely ready, disappointed that he'd missed the action.  He'd been living up to his name the past few days so I didn't leash him up last night.  My mistake.  He is perfection personified in so many ways...all but one.  We got to the critical corner and he took off like a shot the wrong way, down the drive, across the road, and up Irish Acres.  He might as well have been deaf for all the attention he gave to my increasingly panicked calls to stop! and come!  One thing for sure, I couldn't follow him.  When he'd gone walkabout before in the mornings, he hadn't been gone long, so I went back to the house to wait.

Darkness fell.  One hour, then two.  I was a blithering idiot by then, and put out a "wanted" poster on FB, hoping someone would call.  To make matters worse, my phones seemed to be out of order.  I could have screamed when the phone company's service office was closed for the day.

Hope against hope, I left the porch light on and my head might have been on a swivel as I watched both doors.  Finally, at 10:30 p.m., a bedraggled, burr and sticker laden, tired GB showed up.  I was so relieved I could have wept.  Forget about scolding.  "You came back!  You came back!"  I gave him a quick brushing to get the worst of the stickers out.  He got a drink of water and then, like a naughty kid, put himself to bed.  After the adrenaline had drained, I followed not long after.

Off the leash?  I don't think so.  I learned my lesson, even if he hasn't.

Flashbacks

Ohmigosh, would you believe Neighbor Joe brought up yet another load of firewood?!  He said he's down to the cleanup on the job now and I can only imagine how glad he is for that.  I admire the fact that he has stuck with it.  Steve would have been off on another quest or project about halfway through.  Neighbor Joe made me promise to "light that fire!" every cold day next winter, and now I have no excuse not to.

I am so proud of GB.  I tried an experiment on our morning walk, carrying the leash but not attaching it to his collar.  When we got to the critical point of decision, up the driveway or down, he didn't hesitate or even look and turned the corner with me to go up and around.  Good boy, Good Boy!

Years back, my friend Doris and I made a day of it when we'd go shopping together once a week.  We'd have lunch out somewhere (she was fond of Mongolian barbecue) and then tend to business.  Yesterday Arden and I did much the same thing.  She was hungry for fish and chips and I had my mouth set for tempura shrimp.  The two little shops were right next to each other, with tables and umbrellas outside.  We took our time, enjoying the light breeze and our food before moving on to tend to the few stops for supplies before heading home.  It was like a trip back in time.

What in the world?!  Late in the afternoon I heard "Pocketa pocketa" (The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty, 1947, Danny Kaye) and saw a slow-moving something or other coming up the drive.  It turned out to be Helper Dude on the old Ford tractor that he'd finally got running after all this time.  Wow!  I had visions of Steve tilling the south pasture or some other chore, and me taking him a cold drink now and then.  He loved that old tractor.  HD had come to show me the results of his efforts, as well as to ask if he could take all of the implements, of which there are many, up to his place to sell it all as a package.  That was our deal in the first place, so of course I said yes.  He came back later with a trailer to haul them away.  The yard will seem empty without them.

Lunch out means at least two meals for me, and I had tempura shrimp and vegetables for dinner, too, while watching an even brighter moon rise over the hills.

It was a good day.

End O' Day

It was a rather uneventful day.  Neighbor Joe brought up another load of firewood.  There is now a veritable mountain of wood, and to think this is a third of what that oak had to offer.

GB got lots of praise when he turned up the drive without correction on our walks.  We're logging almost a mile every day now.

Our routine will get a change in the near future.  Camille has an acquaintance who is looking for some chickens.  "Tell him I have three!"  I'll have to tell Stan I am going to rehome Rotten Stanley and the girls.  Being attacked on a daily basis and not getting the benefit of any eggs is just not worth it, and it's better than shooting the rooster.

GB got his ride in the truck and we both got a boost of A/C when we took the trash down to the big road in the early evening.  I've been known to put a dog in the truck and drive around and around the driveway just to get some relief on a really hot day (I say I'm doing it for the dog).

Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 launch for the moon.  When they landed on July 20, I had all four Kids out in the front yard looking at the sky, knowing it was an historic night.  I think my daughter is the only one who remembers now.

I was certainly reminded when the full moon rose over the eastern hills last evening.  I'd had fresh sweet corn for dinner (it's the best it's been in years), GB was stretched out to catch the breeze from the fan, and I was watching "Grantchester," a PBS mystery.  It might have been an uneventful day, but a pretty darned good end, I'd say.

Same Time Next Year

"Same Time Next Year," 1978, Alan Alda, Ellen Burstyn.

No, I'm not having an annual romantic affair (you'd have to know the movie).  It's just that we're up in the 90s again, the ceiling fan is whirling away, I'm dripping sweat, and every single year I forget about the whole-house fan.  I actually did remember about that appliance yesterday, and hopefully I'll remember next year, too, at this time.  Hot air is heavier than the cooler variety.  You can feel it pressing down.  The whole-house fan doesn't actually cool the house.  What it does is pull the hot air out of the attic and draws in cooler air from outside, the drawback being that you have to wait at least until the roof is in shade for any effect.  When it was getting close, GB and I went for a walk and then sat on the porch to catch what breeze that might come our way and watch the advancing shadows.  Thank God for the big oak in the front yard.  Fifteen minutes after flipping the switch and we had some relief from the oppressive heat.  Yay!

"Champagne wishes and caviar dreams," Robin Leach's line from Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.  The last time I was at the store I did something that I haven't done in years and years.  I bought a tiny pot of caviar, tiny because it is outrageously expensive.  Linda introduced me to this black gold, as well as pate, back in the day when we were both young enough to wear bikinis.  We'd stop at some specialty shop, load up on the good stuff, and head off to a beach on the American River where we'd toast for a couple of hours, gorge on our luxury food, and sip wine from a bota bag.  Talk about the rich lifestyle!  Those days are long (okay, long, long) gone now, but I know the memories will come flooding back when I open that pot of tiny pearls.

Same time next year.

Song And Dance

Old Macdonald Had A Farm is GB's theme song.  "With a piddle piddle here, and a piddle piddle there.  Here a piddle, there a piddle.  Everywhere a piddle piddle...."  I am so unused to boy dogs and had forgotten how they constantly mark their territory.  GB has definitely staked out Farview as his own.

He's also got some pretty fancy dance steps.  Florence had told me that he had some confusion when he finds the next stop to piddle, trying to decide which hind leg to hike to accomplish the deed.  Cue the hula music as he swings his hips back and forth.

He had been doing so well on our morning boundary training, I let him out on his own the other evening, but don't you know that little booger headed right down the driveway.  Like a man on a mission, he ignored my command to "Stop," or "Come."  Drat.  As a consequence, he's now on the leash in the evening, as well as the morning.  I'm certainly getting my exercise.  Last night, just for a little variety, we went counter-clockwise around the drive.  As we headed down the slope in the dusk, two well-antlered buck deer bounded across our path and into the south pasture.  Once again there was music, but this time it was an elegant ballet for these graceful creatures.  GB didn't blink an eye.

It was a mistake to reverse the direction of our walk, as the last stretch back up to the house is the steepest part of the hill.  I'm much better on the downhill.  I don't know about GB, but I was one tired lady when we got to the door.  The funny part is that while I am doing morning chores, he stays right at the top of the hill on his own, no leash, no tether, and he's free to explore at will.  Go figure.

Sticky Situation

Oh crum.  Admittedly, I don't pay much for my shoes.  This latest pair seemed to be holding up well for what I put them through.  The stitching held up and there were no cracks in the soles.  While watching NASCAR yesterday, I happened to glance at my feet.  Oh crum, really?  The sole on the right was separating from the shoe proper.  Dang!  The same thing on the left.  It's a wonder I hadn't been flapping around like Bozo the Clown or tripping and falling flat on my face.  I tried something I hadn't done before and found a tube of Super Glue.  I knew from past experience (don't ask) that one must be careful with that super-sticky stuff or end up with fingers stuck together, or worse.  I managed to get "body and sole" (apologies to the 1930 song) together without incident.  It's not a permanent fix, but maybe it will hold until I can get to town again.

Speaking of stickers, we've moved on from the tiny daggers from that lacy, fern-like weed in spring to the ubiquitous foxtails of summer.  My socks bristle with them after a hike down to the barn, and they get in the cuffs of my bibbies.  Petting GB is not just a sign of affection, I'm checking his fur for this painful plague of pointy missiles.

Arden and I have a date to go into town together on Wednesday.  I hope my shoes will stick together until then.

Celeste At Her Best

Honestly?!  She couldn't stand up to get a drink of water?!  The line that immediately came to mind was Mae West's line, "Beulah, peel me a grape," from I'm No Angel, 1933.  Celeste is known to be one laid-back kitty, but this is carrying it a little too far.

She is also a con artist.  I head toward the kitchen.  "Oh, good.  I'll come with you for my treats," as she rubs around my ankles.  "You've already had treats."  "No, honest, I haven't had any today, and I'm not sure about yesterday.  I'm overdue for treats."  "Celeste, I know darned well you had treats just a few minutes ago."  "Oh, please.  Please, please, please."  "Okay, maybe just a couple."  I swear I can see her smirk of satisfaction.

One can see from  the size of her girth that she has pulled her con game more than once.  Ralph is a wraith in comparison.  Of course, Ralph also gets more exercise as he zooms around the house, brrrp-brrrping as he goes.  Maybe Celeste would benefit from a treadmill.  Or not.  This feline duo cracks me up.

GB's Fan Club

GB is getting quite a following, even from people who have not met him (probably because I talk about him ad infinitum).  Whoever trained him as an ESA dog did such an excellent job.  I don't know if it was his training or his natural ability, but he has empathy, as well as good manners.  I was still moving pretty slow yesterday (much better this morning), and he seemed to understand and moved at my snail's pace on our morning walk.  He'd gone through the trauma of losing his owner and then the home he'd lived in for some time, so I let him come to me on his own terms.  Now I'm getting licks on my hand, and he comes to me voluntarily for butt scrubs and belly rubs.  In the afternoon we took a ride down to the mailbox; GB likes to go for rides.

Because of GB's calm demeanor, Ralph has finally come out of hiding and is zooming around the house again.  He has come right up to GB's nose on occasion.  Celeste took to him right away (and wasn't that a surprise!).  I think I can say we're one happy family again.  Whew.

The livestock had gotten short shrift for a couple of days, and Rotten Stanley complained loudly when his breakfast was delayed.  I think we'll be back on schedule today.

I appreciate the well wishes.  Thankfully, it was just a two-day bout of whatever it was that laid me low.

Ohmigosh, GB just barked!  That's the first time since he came here.  The only sound he's made was the woo-woo when the phone rang.  I've never known such a quiet dog.  I think he wants to go outside, but it's still dark and I can't yet trust him not to go down the driveway.  Sorry, kid, but you'll have to wait.

Not So Nice

The day had started out so well.  The sun was up, I was dressed, I really enjoyed my walk with GB and was even able to up my pace.  We got back to the house and I sat down to catch my breath while GB munched his good boy treat.  And then it started...pouring sweat alternating with shaking chills and nausea.  Because it happens so rarely, it took me a while to realize I was sick.  My refuge was sleep and I took hours-long naps all day.  The symptoms returned whenever I awoke so not much (okay, nothing) got done yesterday.  By early evening I was able to drink some water.  I have high hopes for today.  Yesterday was not so nice.

Who Are They?

In my case "they" are the voices in my head, sometimes drowned out by the music.  When Bessie Anne died, "they" and I had long conversations.  Should I get another dog?  If I get a dog, shouldn't it be a puppy?  At my age, would it be fair to the dog?  On and on ad nauseam.  In almost all cases, "they" told me no.

What I didn't know is that I needed GB.  He's got me talking, not just to him (which I do on a regular basis), but to people, strangers even.  I didn't know I needed an ESA (emotional support animal).  Who, me?  I'm doing just fine, thank you.  Yeah, well...he's got me out walking more every day.  I'm sleeping all night now, well into the daylight hours, instead of waking at 3 or 4 every morning.  He is "bright eyed and bushy tailed," to quote Granny from The Beverly Hillbillies, ready for whatever comes next, but is so calm and he has that effect on me, except for the bushy tail part.  Florence may not have had "an ulterior motive" (so she said) when she brought GB along on our first visit in years, but she did me the favor of a lifetime.  (And he gave me back my friend.)  What do "they" know?

GB likes to go for a ride, even if it's just down the road to take the trash down, which we did yesterday.  It's nice to have a companion even while doing such mundane chores.  He has learned my daily routine, probably better than I do.  First we feed the wild birds, then the chickens, then the goats and Missy.  He leads the way, except for the goats.  If he can't play with them, phooey on 'em.  He's waiting to go walkies now.

I'm going to stick to hearing music (Night And Day is playing now) and stop listening to "them."

A Star Is Born

(A Star Is Born, 1937, Janet Gaynor, Fredric March; 1954, Judy Garland, James Mason; 1976, Barbra Streisand, Kris Kristofferson; and other more recent remakes not worth mentioning.)

"I'm ready for my closeup."  Gloria Swanson's line from Sunset Boulevard, 1950, with William Holden.  This shot shows GB's reverse raccoon eyes with the dark eyeliner and the long, long hair over his ears. 

GB is a star in his own right.  He is a people magnet wherever he goes.  Yesterday we went to the "cookie store."  For a little country store, it was rush hour and there were at least eight people in line.  Bess had always stayed in the truck, but I took GB in on a leash.  The boxes of free milk bones (three sizes) had been moved to the front, right by the waiting line.  I took the usual two (mediums) and put them in my pocket.  Where other dogs might have helped themselves, GB sniffed each box and then laid down.  "What a well-trained dog," said the man behind me.  "He is so well socialized."  It's not the first time a stranger has made such comments.  GB is widening my social circle.  GB came with some pretty fancy treats, so I wasn't sure he'd accept the plebeian offerings that were Bessie's joy.  I stuck to my usual routine and gave him one milk bone as soon as we got home.  I needn't have worried, he ate that one in the driveway and then the second one in the house.

I called Florence last evening to see if there was some command that GB might understand to stop him from going down the driveway.  There wasn't.  He is telling me he'd like to go outside now and I hate to tell him to hold it, but he's going to have to wait until I'm through at the computer.  I'm getting more exercise these days, for sure, and earlier.

Bad Bird

Bad, rotten, mean, sneaky...whatever term you choose, Stanley the rooster is the bane of my life.  Yesterday while I was giving the chickens fresh water, Stanley made two attacks which, fortunately, I was able to thwart by giving him a good kick.  That undoubtedly justifies the attacks in his little chicken brain, but when my hands are full, a kick is my only defense.  Our time together may be coming to an end.  No, not pot pie.  Camille was telling me about a friend of hers who was looking to buy some chickens.  "Oh, tell him I have three!"  My hens are useless to me as I can't get down on the ground to reach in for their eggs because of Rotten Stanley, so these chickens are simply an expense and a danger.

Missy has been waiting in the barn for me the last few days.  It's always so nice to see her.  She greets me with her tiny squeaky voice and leads the way to her bowl.  It's obvious when I've put down her food that she expects to be petted, and I'm happy to comply.  (I'm trainable.)

I certainly didn't list all of the great movies made in 1939.  The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, Another Thin Man, Intermezzo, The Private Lives Of Elizabeth And Essex (in which Bette Davis earned Errol Flynn's enmity by slapping him so hard in one scene), additions to the Andy Hardy series, Young Mr. Lincoln, Love Affair (which can still make me cry), ditto for Goodbye, Mr. Chips.  Since 365 movies were made that year, the list goes on and on, and I've seen most of them.  I don't know whether to say I'm an old movie buff, or I'm a fan of old movies...both are true.

I'm also a fan of NASCAR and spent most of yesterday watching the race at Daytona.  Unfortunately, Clint Bowyer was involved in a huge wreck just at the end, and he'd been doing so well.  Sigh.

1939

It's no secret that I am a big fan of old movies.  I come by that honestly.  One of the first things my mother did when she came to California was to go to Hollywood.  She even worked as an extra on at least one film.  Also, back in my childhood there was no television so we went to the movies at least once a week.  My father was fond of the newsreels, the only way to actually see the real people making news.  Before I was born, Mother worked as a waitress in the coffee shop at Santa Anita Racetrack when it was the place for the Hollywood elite to go and be seen and she had many stories of the big-name stars she had served.  She told of hearing Bing Crosby, a big fan of racing and who owned racehorses, singing a cappella for the stable hands at the end of day.

All this by way of explaining how fascinated I was this week with a documentary on movies made in 1939, which turned out to be the blockbuster year for Hollywood.  Gone With The Wind, The Wizard of Oz, Dark Victory, Ninotchka, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, Gunga Din, Stagecoach (John Wayne's first movie), Wuthering Heights, and on and on.  I've seen all of these films so many times I can quote the dialogue.  1939 was probably the best year Hollywood ever had, and one of the last because by 1940 television made an appearance and changed everything.  Not for my family because we didn't get a TV until probably 1952.  We went to the movies.

(I have a suggestion for those, like myself, who binge watch back-to-back cooking shows on Saturday.  It's the best day to do laundry.  It gives the illusion of actually doing something productive while not doing much at all.)

My plan of walking GB on a lead in the morning to teach him his boundaries hasn't worked out so well.  He asked to go out early today and, being still in my nightie, I couldn't go with him.  Don't you know the first thing that little booger did was head right down the driveway?  "GB, NO!" had no effect whatsoever.  We've got to work on that.

Shining Star

I find that many of my conversations lately are paeans to GB.  He is simply an astounding animal and my shining star.  I have yet to find any behavioral flaw.  Arden came over yesterday (I dusted) and once again GB was a gracious host.  He seemed to know that Arden is a dog person and a soft touch for a belly rub.  "Oh, I'm not close enough?  Here, let me flop over closer to your chair so you don't have to reach so far."  (He's very accommodating.)  Since GB found out he was not going to get to play with the goats, he has completely lost interest in them.  The girls, on the other hand, snort "Wolf!" if they see him in the yard.  Smart dog that he is, he stays in the shade in the driveway while I hike down to feed Missy.  When I come back, it's a race back to the porch.  He runs, looking back over his shoulder to see if he's ahead.  Since I move at my usual snail's pace, it's hardly surprising that he always wins.  That's okay, it's good for his ego.

Speaking of Missy, I wonder if I've caused her to have a species identity crisis.  I use two small plastic containers for her food in the barn, two so I can alternate and not run out.  Recently both tubs were empty at the same time and I brought them back to the house to refill.  My mind was obviously elsewhere as I scooped up her kibble because when I took them down the next day I discovered I'd brought her dog food.  Sorry, little girl, but it's what you're going to get today because I'm only good for one trip a day to the barn.  I needn't have worried, because her bowl was empty the next day.  Maybe she liked the variety, who knows.  At least I haven't heard her bark yet.

Coming back from the store the other day, as I turned into my drive a forked-horn buck ran across and into the front pasture.  Where they used to come out in droves, now it is so rare to see even one it took my breath away.

Because of GB's calm demeanor, Ralph now comes into the living room and even sits on my lap at times.  I've missed my goofy redheaded kid.

Well, the sun is coming up and my coffee mug is empty.  It's time to get on with the day.

Make My Day

(Apologies to "Dirty Harry")

Nothing much on the agenda yesterday:  walk the dog, do barn chores, think about doing some housework, walk the dog again instead, watch some 4th of July stuff while thinking about housework again, and then I got a text from Clay.  "You going to be around later?"  "Ohmigosh, yes!"

Distance is such a relative concept.  Coming from Southern California, it was nothing to drive thirty miles to work, thirty miles back home, turn around and drive fifty miles to a favorite restaurant and back again, easy peasy.  Now I feel I should get the truck serviced just to go the forty or so miles to Cameron Park.  Clay said he was "in the area" and would stop by.  "In the area" turned out to be Rancho Murieta, a pretty far piece down the road.  Clay is a truck driver so, in his estimation, he was nearby.  Besides, it was a beautiful day and he was on his motorcycle.

I was anxious to see how GB would react to indoor company.  He'd been fine with the firewood crew, but all the activity was outdoors.  He has made it clear that watch dog is not in his job description.  GB simply does not bark.  Clay rode up and we went out to greet him.  GB was polite, but not effusive.  The motorcycle didn't bother him at all.  He escorted Clay into the house, was friendly and allowed petting, and then laid down and that was that.

I so enjoyed Clay's visit, as I always do.  We talked and talked on a wide variety of subjects, really nothing is off limits.  Time just flew by and pretty soon it was coming on sundown and time for Clay to leave.  With all of the infamous potholes in our roads, it wouldn't be good to ride a motorcycle in the dark.

"Love you!"  Go ahead, make my day.

Trippin'

There are good trips, and then there are the other kind.  GB went out for his morning "duty" trip yesterday and again headed down the driveway.  He either doesn't understand "come" or he willfully chooses to ignore me, but this has to come to a screeching halt.  When he goes out this morning, it will be at the end of a leash and that will continue until he learns his boundaries.

Ralph has been becoming braver and braver, due in part to GB's calmness in the house.  In fact, yesterday Ralph made one quick brrrp brrrp trip racing down the hall.  He hasn't done that since GB arrived.  It's possible we may become one happy family again.

GB is not a talker and I've yet to hear him bark.  It cracks me up when he woo-woos when the phone rings, but that's essentially the only sound I've heard him make.

I hadn't seen Missy for days, but didn't get worried because her bowl was empty each morning.  She put in an appearance yesterday and I was so happy to see her.  Just coming across the goat pen must be such a trip for that little girl because of the oh-so-tall weeds.

I had been told that GB could go anywhere if he was wearing his ESA girdle.  Uh huh.  I'm glad I called Holiday just to check before loading him up for an outing, because they allow service dogs, but not support dogs.  It would have been awful to be turned away.

Leaving GB alone in the house for the first time was stressful.  Would he tear things up?  Would he and the cats get along on their own without a referee?  I needn't have worried.  He was there at the door to greet me when I returned, checked out the bags of groceries, got his treat for being a good boy, and went and laid down.

I hadn't been home long before Neighbor Joe and his wife Rhonda drove up with another truckload of firewood.  I'm past the point of being any help, so I sat and watched as they worked up a sweat unloading it.  Holy cow!  There is a veritable mountain of wood now, and I most certainly won't have to be Scrooge-like next winter.  Stove will be well fed.

Ah, I see it is the Fourth of July (one day is just like another up here) and I need to fly our flag in honor of the holiday, right after GB has his morning trip.

Happy Independence Day, America!

New Tricks

It's nice to know this old dog (me) can still learn new tricks, albeit more slowly these days.  Another, thankfully brief, episode with tech support yesterday and I think I've got it.  It's unfortunate that the new TV system and remote didn't come with a manual.  I like manuals, and it would certainly save a lot of these phone calls.  How's a person to know that you have to push this button or that not just once, but two or even three times to get the desired effect?  There is certainly no indication on the equipment.  Oh well.

GB is learning new things, too, also without a manual.  I'd let him out in the morning to take care of business.  When he  didn't come right back to the porch, I went looking.  He'd evidently decided to go walk-about down the driveway.  That's a definite no-no here and we have to work on that.  We're also working on "come."  Bessie Anne and I knew each other so well and, given her deafness, we didn't need words.  GB is so bright, it's just going to take time for him to learn my ways.  I'm also taking him out for walks at least three times a day now.  He seems perfectly happy to be a couch potato, but he's still young and needs more exercise.  It doesn't hurt me, either.  Rather than get into another wrestling match, I discovered that the heartworm medication he'd brought with him was in a soft form and he chomped it right down.  Who knew?

On one of our outings, we saw one of the red-tail hawks that seem to come back every year.  Evidently these birds have a life span of ten to fifteen years, and they're definitely territorial.  I see and hear few quail anymore, probably because more and more people are moving into the area.  That's a shame.  Not one but two of the little birds were pestering the vulture yesterday.  Rather than getting bonked on the head, the vulture moved onto the wire and took the little birds' space.  Pretty clever.

Ralph is learning that GB means him no harm and is coming out of hiding more frequently.  That makes me happy.  I've missed him.  Celeste and GB both slept on the bed last night.  That's progress.  Some learning curves are just steeper than others.

Rela-a-x

GB seems to be settling in and accepting this as his new home.  Up until yesterday, wherever he might have slept he was curled up in a ball.  This was the most relaxed I'd seen.

We did have a small contretemps when I tried to give him his monthly heartworm pill.  Bess Anne had never been a problem; I'd just hand it to her and she'd crunch it down.  Florence had warned me that would not be the case with GB.  He turned into a dog with jaws of steel.  If I did manage to get the pill in his mouth, he'd spit it out.  It turned into a knock down-drag out with neither of us the winner.  About half the pill dissolved so he at least got some medicine.  I'll try again today, putting the other half in some cheese or other goody.  Sorry, GB, refusal is not an option.

It wasn't enough that I've had to learn the new computer system that Anna installed.  (I found my photos!)  My satellite television service went wonky yesterday.  Getting The Hopper has been a challenge from day one, with many changes on the screen and on the remote.  I finally called for help.  It wasn't my imagination that stuff was disappearing right before my eyes and other weird things were happening.  It took the nice lady an hour and a half to set things right, and I spent another hour resetting the guide, etc.  Not exactly how I'd planned to spend my day.

Regardless, it doesn't pay to get too stressed out.  It was time to take a deep breath and relax.

Help On The Way

Out of the blue, I got a text from Helper Dude yesterday morning, "I have some time.  Do you need any help?"  "Ohmigosh, yes please!"  It's been quite a while since HD has been here as he ha a "real" job now, but how nice it was to see him, and boy! did I ever need him.  He worked a solid three hours, weed-eating and mowing.  The west field alone took three passes on John Not So Dear; the star thistle is one tough plant and has a will to live.  That dreadful weed was just starting to put out its 'stars," so the timing was perfect.  Thanks to the Dude, this place no longer looks so rag-tag and unloved.

I've got to put in a call to Anna today.  I cannot seem to find my photos on this new system.  I took a picture yesterday that I'd like to share.  For the second time, I found a bat that somehow had gotten itself caught in the siding and died.  For creatures with their amazing radar, how does this happen?  Poor little thing.

Scaredy cat Ralph is getting braver and braver.  He is still tense and ready to bolt, but he now comes into the room and sits on my lap, keeping a watchful eye on GB (who couldn't care less).  GB is settling in and seems satisfied to be here.  I get more tail wags every day, and when we go out for walks, he comes running back to me.  He's had a rough go of it, I know.  Even if Ralph isn't so sure, I'm glad I made the decision to keep GB here.

How can it possibly be July already?  It seems just the other day that I was taking down the Christmas tree.  Moving at the speed of light as I do, maybe I should start putting it back up again.