Birds On A Wire

(Apologies to Bird On A Wire, 1990, Mel Gibson, Goldie Hawn)

First walk of the day.  I've usually got my eyes on the ground on our travels, trying to miss squirrel holes and turkey poop and watching where Michael wants to go next.  He gets to be the leader on these outings, carefully picking the best pit stops and drifting back and forth across the drive.  We were slowly working our way on the uphill slope yesterday and I was waiting for Michael (again) when I looked up.  Wow!  I counted ten vultures on the poles and wires, and there were five or so more on the fence posts and ground, and one having a slurp from the water trough.  These big birds are impressive at rest, but when a group takes off in flight and beat the air with a resounding whump whump of wings, they're jaw dropping.

I know without looking at the vines that the grapes are getting ripe.  Turkeys are enjoying an early harvest.  How do I know?  Because those droppings I mentioned are full of grape seeds and skins now.  From past experience, I know that coyotes also like dessert with their meals.

Arden and I are old friends, comfortable enough that we both dozed off briefly while watching TV after our snack, and no apologies necessary.

It was a good day.

Blank

Not for the first time, I'm half a mug of coffee down and I'm still without a topic for the day and my mind is as blank as the screen.  Even though yesterday was somewhat cooler, we're in the summer doldrums.  When nothing is happening, there's not much to write about.  Oh, I have ideas, but I promised myself when I started this project that I would stay away from politics, religion, and the controversies of the "outside" world.  There is certainly enough of that going on out there.  I've always hoped to share the peace of the farm as best I could.

Ralph is trying to be helpful.  I just felt that oh-so-light touch on my shoulder and swiveled my chair around so he could climb onto my lap.  "I'll just sit right here.  Or maybe sitting on the mouse would be better.  Or better yet, I'll walk back and forth in front of the screen and wave my tail in your face.  Now, isn't that better?"  Thanks, Ralph.  His mission accomplished to his satisfaction, he's off and running again.

I think Michael is warming to me.  It's easy to forget that he went through the trauma of losing his prior owner and then his home.  Dogs are sentient beings and he must have wondered what he'd done wrong to be left here, and missing his familiar life.  I've tried not to push the issue, giving him time to adapt to the new surroundings and rules.  I was used to Bessie Anne, who never let me out of her sight, so it's been strange for me to have Michael, who has slept here and there in the house, but rarely in the same room or close to me (except at night on the bed).  Lately, that's been changing.  He's voluntarily coming to sit by my feet, where he gets ear ruffles, butt scrubs, and belly rubs, and lots of sweet talk.  I call that progress.

Six o'clock now and it's just barely first light, a red glow behind the hills to the east.  It's time to get a grip on the day.  Arden is coming over this afternoon.  Her Friday visits have become a ritual, and a reason for me to spiff up the house a bit (no need to overdo it!).  Michael enjoys her company, too.

Sleepytime Pals

It was early enough in the day that Ralph called dibs on the one little patch of sunlight.  Usually it's Celeste who claims this spot.  I got such a kick out of his pose of surrender, or maybe he's keeping the sun out of his eyes.

My house is littered with sleeping cats.  Later, in the heat of the day, Celeste stretched out in a shady spot, hoping to catch an errant breeze.

I didn't get a photo of Michael.  He goes in the corner behind Stove on a hot day.  I think the walls catch the air from the ceiling fan, and the hearth stones are cool.

I couldn't take a selfie of me sleeping, so take my word that I got lots of shuteye yesterday, too.

Long naps have no effect on bedtime.  It cooled off enough last night that I didn't need the fan on in the bedroom, and it was grand not to wake up again and again, sweating like a horse.  I overslept.

I think there's real hope that today will be at least a few degrees cooler.  One can hope.

Status Quo

What do you say when nothing has changed?  Michael and I took our morning walk, I fed the outside animals, it was hot, we all napped off and on.  Boring, and certainly nothing to write home about.  Did I mention it was hot?  The dog and I got a brief respite with the A/C in the truck when we took the trash down to the big road toward evening.  It was worth the inconvenience.

It was when Michael and I did our last walk of the day that I noticed something different...there were clouds in the sky.  There haven't been clouds since I can't remember when.  Unfortunately this is not necessarily a good thing.  The weather man is predicting possible showers over the Sierras today, accompanied by "dry" lightning strikes.  That could be very bad, even with a slight cool down.

I guess I'd rather settle for the status quo.

Cranky

Grumpy, cranky, just plain not happy...that's me after days of what I consider excessive heat.  I know, I know it could be worse and I'm grateful I'm not wherever that is, but that doesn't stop me from whining.  That's about the only thing I do when it's 95 outside and not too far from it inside.  I want to slap the weather man when he says to crank up the air conditioning, but that would take too much effort.  I think about what needs to be done, and that's as far as it gets.  I feel so bad for the animals, especially Michael with his heavy fur coat.  We all, inside and outside, spend a lot of time sleeping to get through the worst of it.  The sky at sundown looked like a blast furnace.

(Got a text from Clay, who is back to driving truck.  He was up in Redding:  105 degrees at 7 p.m. last night.  Aarrgh.  Yup, it could be worse.)

Between naps, I watched TCM movies.  Dodsworth, 1939, Walter Huston, Ruth Chatterton, Mary Astor, and The Great Lie, 1941, Bette Davis, Mary Astor, George Brent.  I've seen both films so many times I could quote the dialog, but a good movie is a good movie.  Hattie McDaniel had a part in The Great Lie, and was the first African American to win an Oscar in 1940 for her supporting role in Gone With The Wind.

I'm not sure the weather man isn't just dangling hope, but he said today should be the last day of heat before a "slight" cool down.  I'll take it.

Move Over!

Since the dead tree down by the barn fell, parking space for the vultures is pretty limited.  On our walk yesterday morning, Michael and I saw 30-50 of the big birds circling in a vortex overhead and 15 or so more on posts, wires, and on the ground.  This close to September, they're gathering for the big migration.  From my chair I have a view of two power poles and wires and can see the vultures vying for the prime spots.  "Move over!"  "No, I was here first!"  There is some bumping and shoving while they sort things out.  Those who lose their position on the poles do a very awkward balancing act on the wires that would make the Wallendas laugh.  So graceful in the air, vultures are lousy pedestrians.

Florence came over yesterday, bringing some "costumes" Michael's prior owner had left:  St. Patrick's Day doodle bobbers and a green bow tie, a sparkly Santa headband, and a Halloween pointy hat with attached orange wig.  Given Michael's lack of humor, I can only imagine what the look on his face will be when the holidays come around.                  

Florence also brought a bag of Michael treats, the kind he was used to.  I showed her the kitchen counter that has not one, not two, but five different kinds of treats for Michael, and that's not counting the big box of milk bones in the round room.  Okay, I'm not above a little bribery.  (The cat treats are on another counter.)

At bedtime, Michael gets in bed first, inevitably on my side.  "Move over!"  "No, I was here first!"  I squeeze into what space he's left and hope I don't fall off during the night.  So far, so good.

Tried And True

When life throws me a curve ball, I tend to fall back on calming things like comfort food and old TV shows.  I've been watching Golden Girls and Andy Griffith and TCM movies with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.  I think I'm about ready to face the world again.

My son rejected my suggestion that he name his not-here-yet baby boy Elmer Thomas.  I think it would be such a hoot when the kid gets older to be told, "ET, phone home!"  Oh well.

Saturdays are usually filled with cooking shows, but once in awhile "they" (whoever "they" are) switch and put a bunch of self-help programs on.  Not my cup of tea.  I had to make do with an early morning "Pioneer Woman" yesterday.

Michael took off on one of his walkabouts last evening.  He's been so good lately that I thought I could trust him to go out on his own.  Not.  He wasn't gone long and he did come back, so there is that, but I sure wish I could break him of that one bad habit.

Well, let's see what today brings....

Not So Fast

It seems I spoke too soon yesterday.  Got another call from what I'd hoped would be my new insurance broker, saying he was sorry, but there was a clause that would prevent me from getting the policy he'd quoted.  He was sorry, I was devastated.  Back to square one.

It being Friday, Arden came over for laundry and TV in the afternoon.  As predicted, the weather is getting hotter every day, so the cold soup I made tasted good and had a cooling effect.  It's nice to spend time with my friend.

Michael is such a pleasure to walk with.  We're both better on the downhill section of the driveway, and he's willing to slow down to my snail's pace on the uphill.  It gives him an opportunity to sniff here and there, look at the goats, piddle in his favorite spots (plural), and enjoy being outdoors.  He never pulls on the leash, but walks quietly by my side.  Michael does everything quietly.  I've never heard him bark.  In fact, the only sound I've heard him make is the yodel he does when the phone rings.  I take that back, he does a kind of low hum deep in his throat when he gets a belly rub.

Michael also gives me blog fodder and keeps me from going off on a rant on those things I can do nothing about...for which we're all grateful.

All Clear

The doctor's visit went well, so well that my next visit is six months out instead of three.  She, as does everyone, fell in love with Michael.  He certainly takes all this adulation in stride, maintaining his dignity at all times.

On to the next couple of stops.  I don't know that much about boy dog anatomy, but can only imagine that the bladder is the largest organ in their body.  It's absolutely amazing how much it can hold, and also how much control the dog has.  Michael leaves his mark here, there, and everywhere, but sparingly.  How does he do that?!

I finally got some good news on the insurance front from Beau's broker.  I need to discuss details with him today, but the quote is about half of what I'd been given before.  Whew!

It's just first light now and an owl is hooting constantly.  Is he up early or staying out too late, I wonder.  I'd rather hear an owl than the other night bird that has such an irritating screech in the dark.

Having been given good news on important issues, I'd say it was a very good day.

Hunting Season

I made the first call of the day at 8:58 a.m.  I got a recording that said the office opened at 9.  I made the second call (same office) at 9:02 and a real live person answered.  You know she had to be sitting right there at 8:58, but I guess "rules is rules."  "Let me do some checking and I'll get back to you before the end of the day."  I called back at 4:55, to be told (name withheld) was busy.  Sigh.  The nice lady at USAA had said the same thing.  She hasn't.  Beau called and said he'd contact his insurance broker for me.  I got a text from that guy after 6 p.m. and, even knowing that office would be closed, I called and left a message.  I used to hunt deer with Steve's family and this isn't much different, a lot of waiting, hoping for some action.

Taking Michael for a walk at dusk has a real advantage, and it's not just the exercise.  The sky is a virtual freeway as birds of all sizes are heading home.   Hawks are going on one last hunt, hoping for a take-out dinner.  Bats flit in and out of traffic in the red glow of the setting sun.  Were it not for Michael I'd miss all that.  Good boy, Michael.

He and I are going to town this afternoon.  I called ahead and got permission to bring Michael along to a doctor's appointment, so we'll make other stops as long as we're in the area.  It will throw me off my two-week schedule, but save me another trip next week.

Fingers crossed for call-backs today.  Hunting for insurance is wearing.

Fair Game

Ohmigosh, Michael and I have a game, a game he seems to enjoy.  Any time we are outside together and he's not on a leash, we head back to the house.  I clap my hands and say, "I'm going to beat you this time, Michael!"  He takes off running, then stops and looks back to see if I'm coming and/or how close I'm getting (let's face it, not even).  I clap hands again and we do a repeat.  Depending on the distance, this could happen a number of times.  Michael always wins and is declared The Winnah!  He does a Michael version of a happy dance on the porch and we go in.  It's a small thing, but I like to see him play.

I got my hopes up yesterday when dear Cousin Sandy and her son Heath called, suggesting I contact USAA, a low-cost insurance company for members of the Armed Forces and their families.  Steve was in the Navy for ten years and two of my sons also served tours of duty so I figured I qualified.  Not.  Be advised, widows are not eligible, and neither are mothers.  Sigh.  I put out the word on FB and got a number of suggestions, so I know what I'll be doing today.  Home owners are fair game for the insurance companies, aka vultures.

We've had several days of really nice weather, thanks to the delta breeze.  That's coming to a halt this week when it's s'posed to go up into the high 90s.  Ah well, it was nice while it lasted.

Poleaxed

I was struck a mighty blow when I got a new quote for home insurance.  The old carrier had cancelled (not uncommon), and the suggested new company gave a price over six times the amount.  Talk about a major AAARRGH!  Yes, I understand that California had some major fires last year and, yes, I know I live in a risky area, but for crying out loud!  In speaking with my insurance broker yesterday, she said others have been hit even harder, and she could not find any company with a lower premium.  Let's see, home insurance is mandatory, I also have home buyer insurance, insurance on the truck, AAA insurance, health insurance, Medicare insurance, and I'm sure there are a couple of others my stunned brain can't think of right now.  I wonder if I'm covered for sticker shock.

There was a truly bright moment yesterday when I came back from a quick trip to the store, the store where I can't take Michael.  So far, when I've had to leave him at home, he barely lifts his head as I go or come back.  "So you're leaving, so what."  "So you're back.  Yippee skippy."  Yesterday he acted like he wanted to go with, and he was waiting at the door when I got home.  He even did a little circle dance when I came in.  Might not sound like much, but to me that's real bonding progress.  I needed that.

A Moderate View

Michael is  dog who, if he could write, would have written the adage, "All things in moderation."  He is friendly, but not effusive.  He really likes Dave and shows it by going to sit by Dave's chair.  He might go so far as to roll over and politely ask for a belly rub, although he might also be saying, "You may rub my belly now, hooman."  I take it as real progress if I get a tail wag or a brief hand lick.  Michael knows my schedule now and is always ready to go for a walk or out to feed the critters...ready, yes, but not overly enthusiastic.  He goes to the door and waits quietly while I attach the leash (if the outing requires a leash) and then we go out together.  On our walks, he might pause to look at the goats or the turkeys, but he's not overly curious.  His main occupation is to hunt for exactly the right bushes or twigs to piddle on, and, yes, there are multiple piddle spots each day and multiple rejections, too.  The best indicator of Michael's moderation is when he eats.  Unlike some dogs who wolf down their food like they'll never be fed again, Michael lies down by his bowl and thinks about it.  It's like watching a dowager pick through a box of chocolates.  "Hmmm, maybe I'll take this one.  Or maybe that one would be better.  That one looks good."  Michael takes one little kibble and chews it thoroughly before selecting another.  I've never known a dog like Michael.  He's pretty special.

Dave got here pretty early, before the heat of the day, and unloaded at least a cord of wood from his truck.  When it comes to heavy lifting anymore, I'm as useless as (fill in the blanks).  Afterward, he was ready for a cold drink and a sit-down.  I was grateful for the wood, but appreciated the chance to sit and talk even more.  Time with my Kids is precious, and this was a bonanza weekend.

I had known in advance that Dave couldn't stay long.  He had places to go and things to do.  Later in the afternoon, I was surprised to find a preseason football game on TV, and it happened to be the Vikings playing the Seahawks.  Oh goody!  (Vikings won!  Not that I'm partial.)  I sure don't know where this year has gone, but it definitely went fast.

That Was Then...

This is now.  I haven't worn my hair this short since I was riding motorcycle back in the early 1970s.  I had ridden behind for years, but decided I wanted to drive so I bought a motorcycle.  It mattered not that it had to be delivered because I didn't know how to drive it.  The Kids' dad thought I'd gone bonkers, but he put it up on the stand in the driveway and showed me how to run through the gears and coordinate the shift lever, brake, and throttle by hand.  After a lot of practice, I got brave enough to take it out on the road...5 mph in first gear until I worked up the courage to shift into second as I drove around the block.  Whoop whoop!  After that, there was no stopping me.  There weren't a lot of women riders back in the day.  I'd be stopped at a red light.  "Honey, is that a...?"  "Yup, I'm pretty sure that's a female."

I rode to work on my bike, wearing boots, jeans, and a helmet, and carrying a skirt in a bag.  I was assistant to the hospital administrator and, by agreement, we wouldn't speak until I'd gone into the big filing closet and changed.  The maintenance chief and his second in command found out I rode and asked me to ride with them  They rode a big (I mean big!) Harley and a Gold Wing, and I putted along on my 360 cc Honda, but I kept up.  The concentration required on a bike got me through a rough time in my life.  Ah, well.  That was then.

Deb, Craig, and Candy got here about the same time.  "What style would you like?"  "I don't care.  I just want it short.  I can't stand this heat!"  Candy went to work.  Deb liked the result so well, she got her hair cut just like it.

After Candy had gone, I made a cold soup for lunch with cucumbers brought up by the Kids.  Sure tasted good on a hot day, and we had time to sit and chat afterward.  It was a good visit, as it always is, and always too short, regardless.

Turns out today will be back to back to back, as Dave was given a truckload of firewood and he's bringing it up this morning.  He said he can't stay because he has a lunch date down in the valley, but it will be nice to see him even for a little while.  I'm sure getting my money's worth out of one dusting.

Back To Back

Boy, today was the wrong day to sleep in.  Here it is, 6 o'clock a.m. and I'm already behind.  The Kids are coming up early to beat the heat and Candy will be here about 11.  The good thing about back-to-back company is that the dusting I did yesterday for Arden's visit hasn't yet lost its luster, so I can scratch that off the To-Do List today.  Arden, at my invitation, has started bringing a load of laundry over on Fridays.  It saves her a trip into town to the laundromat, and it's washed, dried, and folded while we talk and watch TV.

When we lived down in the valley, I always had back-to-back company on the weekends.  I was working two jobs, and it simplified my life.  Steve thrived on having guests, so it made him a happy camper.  After we moved to the hills, people would come up and spend three or four days.  By that time I was working at home.  I could get the transcription done before everyone else got up, so I had time to enjoy our company as well.  I was certainly more disciplined in those days.  Now I run around like Chicken Little, yelling that "the sky is falling!"

Unless I want to get caught with my bibbies down, I've got to walk Michael, feed the critters, and swish a sponge around in the kitchen.  Today I'm channeling the White Rabbit, "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date."  Gotta go....

Slugfest

Just the moment before, I had noted how peacefully Celeste was sleeping, paws curled to her chest and what looked to be a little smile on her face.  Evidently her little brother, Ralph, also saw her, and he couldn't stand it.  He pounced on her and gave her what-for.  The thing is, Celeste can give as good as she gets and the slugfest was on, ending with Celeste chasing Ralph down the hall and back again.  These mock battles happen almost daily, always instigated by Ralph.  They never hurt each other, not even pulling a fluff of fur.  Michael is so used to them now that he doesn't even raise his head.

Temps in the high 90s make a slug of me, draining what little ambition I might have (not that there's much there in the first place).  The ceiling fan just moves the hot air around, not providing much relief.  I am grateful that it is a dry heat with no humidity, there is that.  My refuge is sleep, and I sleep off and on all day.  Not much gets accomplished in summer, for sure.

Regardless, I've got to at least swish the dust rag around today.  Arden will be here this afternoon, and I got a message that Deb and Craig are coming up tomorrow.  I'd say they are gluttons for punishment were it not that temps in the valley have been well over 100 this week.  Nineties will seem like a cool-down for them.  I'm also getting a haircut tomorrow.  I called Candy in desperation last week when I was ready to take the dog clippers and shave my sweat-soaked head.  No sleeping today, but I can't promise I'll move faster than a slug.

Send In The Clowns

(Stephen Sondheim, 1973)

Let's face it, a fashionista I am not.  I guarantee that if I'm seen in anything pretty, colorful, or in vogue, my daughter gave it to me (she has excellent taste).  The uniform of the day every day is a pair of bibbies and a utilitarian top, the style of which changes with the weather.

I really had to laugh at myself this week.  I miscounted how many clean bibbies I had left, an error I discovered when I got out of the shower getting ready to go to town.  Rooting around in the closet, I found another pair.  Oh goody!  No, oh baddy.  Over the past few years, I've lost considerable weight, dropping from a size 18-20 to a 12, and that's a good thing.  However, the bibs I pulled out, the only clean set, was a 20.  The tee-shirt I took off the stack was one of Steve's, a 2X large.  Short on time and with a limited selection, I got dressed.  Honestly, I looked like I was ready for the circus with flapping pants and sleeves.  All I needed was a bulbous red nose and an oogah horn.

Thank goodness all eyes were on Michael.  He is a Support Dog in so many ways.

Frustrations

Aarrgh!  It seems I'm the only one benefiting from our morning walks, the walks meant to train Michael not to go down the driveway on his own.  It worked for a day or two after many repetitions of our strolls together, but lately, in the evening when we go out to sit on the porch, he gets sneaky.  He acts like he's leaving the step to go piddle on the juniper, and then turns left and heads toward the drive.  "Michael, no!  Leave it!  Come back here!"  Michael says, "Lalalala, I can't hear you," and keeps on going.  The only good thing is that I can tell from the time he's gone that he is not going up the road across the street, and he does come back.  Some dog trainer I am.

Going through a stack of neglected paperwork, I discovered that a significant error had been made in the diagnosis on a medical insurance claim.  There is a vast difference between upper and outer, and left and right.  It could be something as simple as a transposition of code numbers, but it needed to be corrected.  The insurance company said only the doctor could change it, but which doctor?  Oh good grief!  It took three calls to three offices and a couple of call-backs to find the "culprit," and of course he was out of the office for the week.  Fingers crossed on that one.

"Insurance" was the word of the day.  When I had my eyes examined (should have been my head), they insisted on using my Medicare card instead of my active insurance card.  Medicare denied the claim.  I called the other company.  Yes, eye exams were covered, and I found out a host of other situations were also covered.  Okay, another call to the optometrist's office.  "We aren't authorized to bill that company, only Medicare.  You still owe."  I was able to resist spewing a string of bad words until I hung up.

One of the worst pickles was when I opened the mail and discovered my home insurance was being cancelled because of "high fire danger."  Aarrgh!  I've undoubtedly paid enough in premiums over the years to build another house, with some left over for furniture.  That required a call to my broker.  "We're working on it."

In the evening, I attempted to watch an episode or two of some recorded programs that had mysteriously gone to something called "On Demand," whatever that is.  I'd get a second or so of program, and then it would switch to "Downloading" for over a minute,  over and over.  I understood the urge to shoot the television.  Back on the phone for the umpteenth time yesterday, the nice young man in Dallas was able to find that the problem was with the WiFi modem and, in time, fix it.

It was hot, and it had been a most frustrating day.  The only productive thing done was taking the trash down to the road.

Michael gave up and put himself to bed.

I Stand Corrected

How does he do it...telepathy?  All I know for sure is that after a night of trying out "William," the dog had a change of heart.  We had five stops to make in town yesterday, and the dog, aka William, aka GB, was his usual magnetic self, drawing people to him everywhere we went.  All I know for sure is that whenever I went to introduce him to his fans, it came out as "Michael" each and every time.  Okay, so be it.  He'd best not change his mind again because at our last stop I had a new name tag made for him and it says Michael.

It was, as a long-ago neighbor from West Virginia would say, "hotting up" yesterday.  It wasn't just the heat that had Michael heading for the water bowl when we got home.  He must have been absolutely dehydrated after piddling on every plant, leaf, twig, and tree trunk in town.  "Just one more, Mom, I missed that bush."  For sure, every dog in P'ville knows that Michael has been there.  Michael is the most undemanding dog I've ever known.  He asks for so little that I'm willing to stand and wait, regardless that I find it somewhat embarrassing.

Because of Michael's hypnotic personality, I find myself talking to strangers as I never would have before...in waiting rooms, on the sidewalk, and in store aisles.  Everyone wants to make friends with him.  He is his usual gracious self, accepting adulation with dignity befitting royalty.  I talked to Florence last night, asking if it was okay to let people pet him, as they're wont to do.  I didn't want to spoil any previous training if it wasn't right, and was told that he is used to it and his prior owner had encouraged it.  Michael takes it as his due.  So be it.

After a strenuous trip to town yesterday, I doubt that much will get done today.  It was a good day.

What's In A Name?

Under other circumstances I would hesitate to change an animal's name (or person's, for that matter).  And then I thought, women change their name upon marriage (or used to), nicknames are given at random, unnamed rescue dogs are given new names by new owners, so what's the big deal.  All this by way of saying that GB and I were communing on the porch last evening about this and that when suddenly I heard him say as clear as day, "My name is William," just like that   Of course it is, and I wonder he didn't tell me before.  I've said before that an animal will tell you their name, a la Celeste, if you just listen.  GB is a cute name, but rather frivolous for such a serious dog and, in my mind (and evidently his), it didn't suit him.  William, not Bill, Will, or Billy, but William, suits his solemn demeanor.  He hears "Good dog!" dozens of times a day, so I don't think there will be an identity crisis, just in case he changes his mind.  I think he made a good choice.

For the better part of a week now we have been enjoying days that didn't get out of the 70s, wahoo!  Cool enough for a blanket at night and a robe in the early morning, yay!  It was unseasonal, of course, and we're due to climb into the high 90s this week, but it sure was nice while it lasted.

There are so few places to eat out up here (I can think of four in a 15-mile radius) that we are prime territory for food trucks.  I've seen hot dog and taco trucks at Four Corners on my way to the grocery store and lots of cars had stopped there.  Yesterday afternoon "William" and I made a quick run up to the little convenience store (only three miles away) and, to my surprise, there was a food truck in the parking lot.  Not only that, but I recognized the proprietors.  It was Arden's son Bruce and his wife Annie.  Bruce is a chef, not a cook, and I was anxious to try his wares.  They serve Cowboy Gyros, a successful fusion of Western and Greek food.  I had a flavorful grilled pork open-face sandwich topped with crisp, fresh Greek salad on pita bread, and it was good!  It was their first day, and wasn't it fortunate for me that my timing was right on?!

William and I have to go to town today.  This time I will make the bank my first stop so that he can piddle at his leisure and I can make all my stops.

What's A Weekend?

I have always laughed when someone said, "Have a nice weekend."  Yeah, right.  When one has livestock, there is no end to the week.  But then I got to thinking, since the girls no longer require milking it's mainly making sure they have food and water every day, and I sure don't spend any quality time with the current chickens.  Chores have been minimalized and one day is pretty much like the next these days, but I do look forward to Saturdays.

I rarely call my Kids.  They all work long, hard hours and the last thing I want to do is intrude on whatever free time they might have, and what if they get an opportunity for a nap.  That's not to say we don't keep in touch.  Texting is perfect for a situation like this, just a brief way to say hi or put down a quick thought before that slippery devil gets away.  They answer back when they have time, so we're still in contact.  Even one of those smiley faces or "heart" emojis is a way to say, "I'm thinking of you."  It works.

That being said, I love to hear the phone ring in the early hours on a Saturday morning, as happened yesterday.  My daughter gets up before her husband and calls while she's having her coffee and it doesn't take away from their together time, and we play catch up on our week.  That's how I know the weekend has begun.

After chores on Saturdays, I plonk my butt in the chair and watch back-to-back cooking shows, remembering the glory days when I had company (lots of company) for dinner on the weekends.  Cooking for one just isn't the same.  During the season, those programs are followed by an hour or so of horse racing.  Oh goody!

PBS is my "go to" station for so many interesting programs, and Saturday evening they play at least three of my favorite British mysteries, gentle mysteries without blood and gore, but well written and acted.

Have a nice weekend!

Crack O' Dawn

The weatherman says we've lost an hour of daylight with the changing seasons.  That seems about right.  I know I'm getting up later, but still in time to see the sunrise...and hear the roosters in the area as they greet the morning.  Given their strutting ego, they probably think they bring up the sun by themselves.  Some have an almost musical doodle-dooo, and then there's Stanley.  Rotten Stanley sounds like he's being strangled.  There's no doodle to it, just aaarrrgh   Were I to be honest, throttling him myself has occurred to me on any given morning.  We have never reached detente or anything close to it.  Going in to feed is still like entering the lion's cage and I never, never turn my back on him.  He makes me miss Leonard, a gentle Buff Orpington of years gone by.

GB and the goats have come to some sort of understanding, at least the girls have stopped giving their warning snort as we pass by on our morning walkabouts.  Undoubtedly it is due to GB's calm demeanor, and possibly because he's on a leash.  Sheila and Tessie come to the fence to watch the one-dog parade, and GB likes to stop for a minute to look at them, but that's about it.  GB doesn't care much for drama.

GB has taken a real shine to Arden when she comes over on Fridays.  "Oh, my friend is here!"  I guess I'm going to have to institute the Bessie Anne program of a milk bone given when a guest enters the house.  Arden and I take turns providing people snacks while we watch TV, and I really don't like to have a dog staring at me while I'm eating.  Arden doesn't mind, but it's not a habit I'd like to encourage.  Maybe a treat at the door will help with that.

Phone call...gotta go!

Time And Space

Anyone familiar with cats is well aware that cats have no concept of (or choose to ignore) personal time or space.  What's yours is theirs, get used to it.  The internet is filled with photos of cats stretched out across keyboards, counters, and places where no cats should be.  My two felines are no different.

While I'm watching the morning news, Celeste at least gives fair warning.  She rubs against my ankles, demanding attention.  I give her strokes and tell her, "Not this morning, Celeste, I need some time to myself."  Bloop!  She's in my lap, stretching out and making herself comfortable.  Well, what's a person to do?  Ralph, on the other hand, does drive-bys, jumping up from behind to land on the arm of the chair (how does he do that?), startling me, for sure.  Ralph has the worst sense of timing.  Just as I'm thinking I'll get up in a minute and get this or that done, bloop!, he's in my lap with his tail whapping my face.  Oh well, one excuse is as good as another.  I didn't want to dust anyhow.  One cat or the other traipses in front of the keyboard while I'm working at the computer, but it's Ralph who has a penchant for sitting on the mouse (he's a cat, after all).  I have to do a lot of proofreading because I'm never sure what mistakes I might have made while trying to work underneath his furry belly

 GB isn't immune, either.  There are cat toys in his dog bed all the time.  He just sighs and moves them out of his way.  Once Ralph got used to a new dog in the house, he took charge of the situation.  GB will be minding his own business and Ralph will walk up and bump noses, maybe a little more up-close-and-personal than GB would like, but he puts up with his cat brother.

Just because no other person lives here, I'm certainly never alone.

The Big Boom Theory

We are in the midst of the annual boom season.  It comes with hot weather every summer and causes a lot of consternation, conjecture, and conversation in the locals.  Along about midday, a boom or series of booms, sometimes loud and strong enough to shake windows, go off.  I'm so used to them now I hardly notice them anymore.  I think the sound comes from somewhere to the distant east, but sound travels funny up here so I could be wrong.  Some think they could be sonic jets taking off from some military airbase in Nevada, others wonder if they could come from a construction or quarry site.  Whatever it is, it is a yearly source of conversation on FB, especially among frightened newcomers.  My personal big boom theory is that it has something to do with weather and cloud formation.  Who knows.

Similarities

We had a not-necessarily welcome visitor as we headed out for our morning stroll yesterday.  A coyote, just about the size of GB, was down by the driveway.  It stood and watched us before finally taking off.  Helper Dude had told me about the skunk that had taken up residence in their garage recently.  Those are a couple of good reasons not to let the adventurous Mr. GB go off on his own in the morning.  Oddly, he can be off leash in the afternoon and never leave the hilltop.  Go figure.

Something about GB got me to wondering.  Was it his natural calm demeanor that got him chosen for support dog training, or did the training create the attitude.  The thing is, GB does not seem to have a sense of humor.  He reminds me of my dad:  good, hard-working, honest, loyal, and no understanding of play whatsoever.  For Daddy and the dog, life is a serious business.  GB has no interest in fetch or play ball, and I can't imagine him enjoying a rousing game of Chase Me as Bessie had.  Knowing my father, I understand GB pretty well.  He is unique unto himself.

Another thing Daddy and GB have in common is a love of singing.  Some of my earliest memories are of my father singing then-popular songs to me as a babe in arms.  After Mother and Daddy divorced after nearly 40 years, he enjoyed going to the then-popular piano bars and singing "I Left My Heart In San Francisco."  GB throws his head back to yodel every time the phone rings, "Woo-woo-ooo-ooo!"  GB may not think it's funny...I do.

Antidote

Living alone up here, in a nonreligious way I am in the world, but not of it.  That's not to say I don't stay informed about what's going on out there.  I actually watch a number of news shows a day...not the rant-and-rave "talking heads," but straight-forward reporting.  I won't say I understand the changes in the world today, but I try.  For the most part, it all makes me wish for what I remember as the simpler, kinder days of my past.  It is also the reason why I am so reluctant to go out and "be among 'em."

I turn on the early morning news to get a grip on the weather.  Hardly a day goes by that there isn't a shooting or two down in the valley.  That is sad in itself, but nothing like the loss of life in Gilroy, El Paso, and Dayton this last week.  Precious life seems to have little to no value anymore.  Probably my most used phrase these days is, "I don't understand."

After hours of watching the carnage this weekend, I needed a break, an antidote, a way to make it all go away for a little while.  As luck would have it, TCM was playing a series of Shirley Temple movies.  Heidi (1937) and The Little Princess (1939) were just what the doctor ordered.  Drama, humor, and that darling little girl.  Arthur Treacher, a great supporting actor, was in both films, a bonus.

A few hours of good movies and walks with the ever-calm GB did their magic.  Watching bats at dusk was another highly recommended panacea.  I hope everyone finds their own antidote and some peace.

Lowered Expectations

GB arrived here with a truckload of supplies, including three bags of high-end dried meat treats and a couple of bags of frozen marrow bones from a butcher shop.  Bessie Anne, being gone not long before, had left three kinds of her favorite treats, as well as a box of dry milk bones.  In other words, this place is dog treat heaven, a veritable cafeteria of rewards.  Knowing I wasn't going to be able to replace GB's treats when they ran out, I've interspersed Bessie's garden-variety rewards with his pet-store stuff.  He's accepted most, turning up his nose at others (but they still get eaten).  I don't overdo it with treats, using them for encouraging the acceptance of a new routine.  I was almost surprised when GB got really excited about the  milk bones from "the cookie store," being pretty plebeian fare for such a high-class dog.  Well, heck, if he likes them, I tried giving him one from the box at home.  Maybe it's like someone used to nice restaurants going out for street tacos occasionally   Maybe GB can see into the future when the fancy treats are gone.  Maybe he has just lowered his expectations.  He definitely gets rewarded for being such a good boy.

Back To Bats

I'm not sure I knew it at the time, but I was a lucky kid, the product of two older, mismatched, idiosyncratic parents.  (Ohmigosh, the coyotes are howling and yipping down on the road before dawn!  I haven't heard them in ages.)  I don't know if one or the other was the instigator or if they had mutual wanderlust, but we were always going on road trips.  Consequently I got to see a lot of the United States by road and rail.  This reverie came to me last evening as GB and I were trying to catch a puff of breeze on the porch and I was watching bats.  I got to wondering why these little (and some species not so little) creatures fascinate me so.

It probably began on one of our trips when we either ended up or stopped at Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico in the late 1940s.  I honestly don't remember if we actually went into the caves.  If we did, it would have been over my father's objections and at a time before there was electricity in the caverns.  My mother would have been the driving force for adventure if we did.  What I do remember was watching a black tornado of thousands and thousands of bats come boiling out of the caverns to go hunting at sundown...awesome and unforgettable!  That sight has stayed with me all these years.

The closest I've ever been to a living bat was when Steve and I would go over to the now defunct Marine World/Africa U.S.A. in Vallejo.  We'd go in the winter when there were no crowds, but many of the animals still needed to be walked and socialized.  That's where I met Burma, a large, cinnamon-colored fruit bat with black leather wings and big black eyes.  Regardless of the other attractions in the park, it was only a good outing for me if I got to see Burma.  Yup, I like bats.

Helper Dude drives his mower like he drives his motor bikes, full throttle.  He whizzed around this place like, as my dad would say, a cat with turpentine under its tail, and he was done in no time.  The property looks grand, even along the driveway.  Looking good is one thing, lessening the fire danger is another, more important aspect of cutting down all that drying star thistle.  As always, Dude earned my gratitude.

A trip to the store notwithstanding, it was a good day.

Going Batty

Today's entry may come in installments as Helper Dude is scheduled to arrive in 30 minutes and sometimes it takes me that long to get my thoughts in order, or at least give that a try.  Dude is coming on his mower to take down the star thistle on the property.  As obnoxious as that weed is, its potential fire danger is worse.  I am so grateful that Dude rearranged his schedule 1) to do the job at all, and 2) that he is willing to get it done by 10 a.m.  If I get interrupted, it's for a good reason and I'll get back to you.

I met with Grader Guy yesterday.  There is hope and a real chance that this place will get whipped into some semblance of shape this year.  The driveway, after the winter's heavy and sustained rains, is a real mess.  A low-slung car would not be able to navigate the deep ruts, and GB knows when we're going to go over the whoop-de-doos and hunkers down when we drive anywhere.  Grader Guy also would bring a water truck as equipment striking gravel could spark a fire (it's one of the biggest causes up here).  GG lives "right around the corner," as it were, and will fit me in between other jobs.

GG was still here when Arden bumped her way up the drive for our regular Friday get-together.  Man, I had 'em coming and going yesterday!  GB enjoys Arden's visits as she lavishes him with praise.  He has that effect on people.  She had brought people snacks and was going to give GB one, but I asked her not to because I didn't want to start a begging habit.  The looks I got from both of them. "Well, if just one happened to fall on the floor and I didn't see it....

After Arden left and the porch was in shade, GB and I went out to try and catch whatever breeze might come our way.  As they had the day before, the bats came out at dusk to flit and swoop through the sky.  What a wonderful sight they are, and they do such a great job of clearing out insects.  While my mental state may come into question, there are times that going batty is a good thing.

PS:  Dude is tootling around on his mower now, having already taken down the west field.  We spoke briefly when he arrived because I didn't want to waste the cool of the morning for him.  GB took advantage of that moment to make a run for it down the drive...again.  He came back...again.  For such a good dog in every other way, I don't know how to break him of this one bad habit.  Drat.

Special Delivery

Well, it seems that Stanley and I are doomed to duke it out to the end of our days.  The fella who was looking for chickens is having a raccoon and bobcat problem at his place and declined to adopt Rotten Stanley and his girls.  Sigh.  I was down to the bottom of the scratch barrel and had hoped I wouldn't have to buy more.  It matters not that I don't like Stanley (and yes, it's personal...and mutual), I'm not about to starve any creature, so I called and put in an order for more feed, including alfalfa for the goat girls.  Patrick drove up shortly after noon; a same-day delivery is pretty special.  I'm not ashamed to say I take advantage of a young man's muscles to fill the barrels; those bags are getting too heavy for me to wrestle around anymore.

While certainly not as hot as it had been, it was nice to sit out on the porch in the late afternoon and catch a bit of breeze while GB scouted the area.  I got a call in the evening from one of GB's fans.  Evidently there is a group of Fiddletown people who meet regularly at a pub in Plymouth and GB and his prior owner used to go there.  I was issued an invitation to join them, bringing GB, of course.  Being the social butterfly that I am (not!), I declined, but was happy to give her a report on Good Boy's current situation and progress.

It is Friday and Arden is coming over this afternoon.  Since GB isn't going to do the dusting, I guess I'd better.  Oh well.

Progress

Taking GB for daily walks on the leash seems to be paying off.  We make the rounds together first thing every morning, but now he can do his own thing while I feed and water the livestock and he does not run down the driveway.  Last evening we drove down to bring the trash barrel back across the road.  When we got home, he did another perimeter check on the top of the hill and came right back to the porch.  I'd call that progress.

Ohmigosh, it's the first of August!  I remember my parents saying that time goes faster the older you get, and it's true.  This year has gone by in a blur.  It seems just yesterday that the Kids were here for Easter even though the calendar tells me that was months ago.  If I were proactive, I'd start my Christmas shopping now (how's that for wishful thinking?).  I know I lost a couple of days this week while in the grip of whatever it was that caused me to sleep all day.  Yesterday was much better and I actually got a few household chores done.

I put out a distress call to Helper Dude, asking if he could bring his mower over to cut down the ever-present star thistle while it's still green.  Beau had come over to "wiggle Fu's wires," but it turns out that the brand new battery that my guys put in is defective.  It won't take a charge, period.  That's progress in reverse, and very frustrating.  I haven't heard back from Dude.

I could almost wish that GB's legs were longer.  Whoever groomed him left that lion's mane around his head and his tail full.  His tail looks like one of those Swiffer dusting tools and, boy, wouldn't I have a job for him if he were only tall enough.

In addition to the other signs that this year is passing, daylight is coming later now and sundown earlier.  I'd better get busy or this day will be over before I get started.