Wimpy

No, I'm not talking about Wimpy, "I'd gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today," who appeared in Popeye cartoons in 1931 in the funny papers.  Are there still funny papers?

I'm talking about me, the wimp who weakened and lit the wood stove yesterday morning.  Yes, fall only started a week ago, but the house was really cold after days of mostly below-sixty degrees and I decided it was silly to sit there and shiver, even wearing a jacket.  The cats were clinging to my lap like limpets and Michael was curled up tight in his bed.  Our morning walk had been brisk and, for a change, Michael had stayed on top of the hill and was as ready to get back in the house as I after chores.  There was firewood on the porch.  Well, why not?  Stove seemed to be in agreement because he fired up in no time and his warmth slowly permeated the room.  Ahhh.  Michael unwound and came to lie by my feet and Ralph and Celeste took their places stretched out in front of the hearth.  It was a lovely way to spend a lazy NASCAR Sunday.  (Clint Bowyer made it to the playoffs.)

There was no dawdling on our evening walk.  A chill wind was blowing and Michael took care of business with only a couple of stops along the way.  He's been known to stretch it out to at least six on a nice day.  I gave Stove another helping of firewood and gave a passing thought to restocking the rack.  Another chore for another day.  Yeah, well...it started raining after dark and it's still raining this morning.  Will I ever learn?

This will be my first experience with Michael in the rain.  Should be interesting.  Will he wimp out too?

The Big Reveal

Introducing Ozzy Jack!  This photo of Larry and his son was taken on the first day Larry was finally able to hold him.  Such a tiny little mite, but to all accounts, Ozzy is a fighter.  He's out of the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) now and gaining weight.  Born at just over 3-1/2 pounds, he wasn't as big as a sack of sugar.  Admittedly, Larry is a big guy, but one of his hands looks as large as this baby.  Mama is doing well, too, and looking forward to the day they can bring Ozzy home.

If you're like me, a one day on-one day off sort of person, I highly recommend doing housework on a Friday so you can take Saturday off to watch cooking shows without a guilt overload.  I call it research.

About six o'clock last evening I got a text from Deb saying they were getting pouring rain with lots of thunder and lightning down in the valley, followed by a report of hail.  I figured I'd better take Michael for his walk before the storm moved up here, as they usually do.  There weren't even that many clouds overhead, but that dark patch to the right was in Deb and Craig's direction.  I don't usually watch the evening news, but turned it on when we got back to the house and found out they were in the path of a possible tornado!  Oh crum!  Later, Deb said the hail had punched holes in the cover of their little pool and decimated, if not destroyed, the flower and vegetable gardens that they had worked so hard on.  We've had hail up here before, but nothing ever like that.  About nine o'clock the rain and wind hit here, but it was short-lived and did no damage.  Whew.  And they say there is no climate change.  Tell that to Deb and Craig.

The sky, what I can see of it, looks clear this morning.  One can hope.

Whoosh!

Whoosh!  The temperature was on a slip-and-slide yesterday and took a good 20-degree drop (felt good).  The fog did burn off, but I decided I could find what I needed locally (now that's a relative term) and didn't need to go to town.  Michael has Nice Lady at Mt. Aukum totally enamored.  "Oh, hello, sweetheart!"  She's not talking to me.  Nice Lady will leave customers waiting while she rushes to get a handful of little dog biscuits.  "Watch this dog take a treat!  You have to see this."  Michael takes her offering with the manners of an aristocrat.  She gives me the rest to put in my pocket for later.  I guess that's where "doggy bag" came from.

Michael and I had words at our next stop.  He was fine in the little store, but when we came out and I told him to "load up," he said, "No."  "What?  Michael, get in the truck."  "No."  "Michael, I don't have time for this.  Load up!"  "No."  He was showing me the same stubborn streak he displays when he heads off down the drive.  He had not been to this store before and he wasn't leaving until he could inspect the area.  He didn't even have to piddle.  Fine.  We did a quick walkabout.  I should probably not have capitulated, but I had to get home.

Whoosh!  That was me, racing around the house, up and down the hall, and getting things done, major stuff, that should have been done before.  Afterward, I gave myself the same pep talk I've given a hundred times before, "Now if you just keep it this way, it will take a quarter of the work and no time at all."  Yeah, well.  At least I didn't have to apologize when Arden came.

What is it with the owls?  One came hooting after dark last night, and there were two competing out there this morning before daylight.  I wish they'd hang around after sunup and the squirrels come out.  They'd have a banquet.

Either I missed the migration or the vultures have chosen another meeting place.  I still have the maintenance crew, but most of the big guys have left the area.

I'd like to think that the results of yesterday's effort would inspire more housework today.  Dream on.  I'm whooshed out.

Good Intentions

Yeah, well...you know where good intentions will take you.  Every single day I wake up with this marvelous list of what I'm going to accomplish and every night I go to bed with a pitiful offering of, if I'm lucky, maybe three little things crossed off.  It's hard to give myself a gold star for emptying the litter box.  I mean, really?

I had honestly intended to go to bed at a decent hour last night.  Falling asleep in the chair night after night is ridiculous, as well as uncomfortable.  Uh huh.  PBS is showing reruns of Downton Abbey, one of my favorites, and I have a number of episodes recorded on DVD.  I made the mistake of playing one just about the time I should have gone to bed.  Three back-to-back, hour-long segments later, Michael and I headed down the hall.  It was 2:30 a.m.  I wish I were a person who goes to the movies.  If there was ever a film that would tempt me out of the house, Downton Abbey would be it.  The last movie I saw was March Of The Penguins in 2005, and that only because it was an extremely hot summer and the theater had air conditioning.

Gadabout or not, things have got to get done today.  Arden is coming over in the afternoon and, in addition to the spiffing up that I should have done yesterday, Michael and I have to make a dash into town.  At least that is my intention.

Ohmigosh, it's just light enough to see out the window and what do I see?  Fog!  Fog so think I can't see the hills across the road.  I'm not going to town in that, for sure.  So much for good intentions.

Pig O' The Day

There are dozens of plush stuffed pink pigs all around the house.  Those on the floor are there courtesy of Ralph and Celeste, but there are pigs on shelves, atop book cases, and darn near anywhere and everywhere a pig will fit.  I believe this particular pig was meant to be a child's pillow.  He's pretty big and so he hangs out on the couch.  The thing about this guy is that he is so soft.  His plush is unlike any other, silky to the touch.  No one, man or woman, can sit next to him and not pet him.  Inevitably he ends up on a lap.  (I promise I'm not going to introduce the entire litter of pigs and piglets, in case anyone was worried.)

Michael can't seem to stop himself from taking off.  He did it again yesterday while I was feeding the others.  I would hate not to let him run free up here for awhile as I'm doing chores, but it worries me so when he's down on the road.  He does come back, which is a good thing, and now he knows he's done a bad thing because he slinks into the house and keeps a very low profile for a time.  I wish I knew how to stop him, since he has no self-control.

It's nothing new to hear an owl before dawn, but this morning he or she was right outside the kitchen windows, and loud.  Even the cats noticed and got up on the sills to listen.  I've read that hooting is a way to stake out a territory.  If so, there's a new kid in town.

PS:  We are in fire season.  PG&E keeps sending out notices that they may shut off power for as long as five days in high danger areas (how's that for a day late and a dollar short?).  This is just to let you know in case the blog doesn't appear one morning.

Odds And Ends

Casting about for a topic of the day (and some days are harder than others), my focus fell on these two.  With as many pigs as I have here, and hundreds would not be an exaggeration, there are bound to be favorites.  Dave must spend considerable time and energy, not to speak of money, in his search for a new and different pig.  It's a rare year that he does not present me with at least one porcine offering.  The little guy is cute and fairly accurate, but the big one is a particular favorite of mine.  He makes me think of a laughing Buddha.  I don't even mind dusting him.

Doors are open again and the ceiling fan has been called back into service.  I've switched to tee-shirts and am thinking about tank tops.  There were definitely more leaves on the ground as we took our walks yesterday.  As Bob Dylan would say, "The Times They Are a-Changin" (1964).

Helper Dude came and gave Michael a pedicure last evening.  I could hear him clicking in the kitchen and didn't want to wait too long, as I sometimes had with Bess.  Bessie had hated to have her nails trimmed.  This being my first time with Michael, I wasn't sure how it would go.  I needn't have worried.  Michael was, as Michael always is, perfect.  It was a good end to the day.

Flip Flops

Up in the 90s, down to the 50s, and back again.  We could even get rain sometime soon.  It's really hard to keep up these days as Nature does her flip flop with the weather.

As often happens, my mind went wandering at the term flip flop.  Back in my day (I'm thinking somewhere in the '50s), I became a fan of the one-toe Japanese socks called tabis.  Don't ask me how I got started because they certainly weren't common footwear, but they sure were comfortable.  Made of substantial cotton material, they were worn alone in the house.  To go outside, I wore zories, what are now called flip flops, with the tabis.

I think there is a pair of flip flops in the closet.  They haven't been worn in years, and when I did, it was only when I planned to stay on the deck.  With all the gravel and dusty dirt up here, they just aren't practical.

I've got to invest in more Super Glue.  The repair job I did on my barn shoes worked really well.  One is still stuck together, but the other sole is letting go again.  I don't want to be going flip flap while doing chores.

Return Of The Ladies

Amaryllis are the darndest plants.  I've never been able to figure them out.  At a certain time of the year they throw out lush, long, green succulent leaves, but no flowers.  The lovely pink trumpets come after the greenery has died, springing out of the bare ground.  No wonder they are called "naked ladies."  They are always a surprise.  These bulbs were planted years and years ago, and they come back every season.  I was gifted all the bulbs by Deb and Craig who had obtained them when Craig's place of business had re-landscaped.  The ladies get points for longevity, for sure.  An added bonus for me is that neither deer nor ground squirrels will touch them.

Speaking of squirrels...there is not one single living thing in any of the many pots on the deck, and still the squirrels come on a daily basis.  Why?  I miss looking out and seeing flowers, but can't rationalize spending money for squirrel food.  They have acres of stuff here to munch on, and soon the acorns will fall.  Squirrels have become the bane of my life.  To make it worse, Camille, who lives just two driveways down the road, tells me she never sees them  Phooey.

Fringe Benefits

From the frequency with which Michael's name appears, it might be surmised that I am very glad that he has come here to live.  There is a benefit to having a dog, any dog, in your life.  Cats are cats and I can't imagine life without their pompous, goofy nature.  I had a cat as a kid, Kris Kringle (must have just seen Miracle On 34th Street, 1947), but developed an allergy and didn't get another, Smokey, until the Kids were little.  I've rarely been without a cat or two since then.

Dogs are different.  I've had at least one dog since Muffin, who came to live with us in the '60s, and as many as four at one time later.  Michael is different still.  He has been trained for a specific purpose and, as has been noted, he takes his job seriously.  I didn't expect the fringe benefits, though.  I had become pretty sedentary.  With Michael and his penchant for going walkabout, we now log at least a half-mile a day with him on the leash, more if we go into town.  Not only am I getting more exercise, I find I'm standing up straighter now.  I had developed the tendency to hunch my shoulders, very unattractive, but our daily walks have made me more aware of my posture and it is improving.  (Song for today, Straighten Up and Fly Right, 1943, Nat King Cole.)

Taking Michael with me has me talking to strangers as I never would have, clerks (I guess they are "associates" now) and the public at large.  People just gush over him and I get the fallout.

Bessie Anne and I had become like an old married couple.  We knew each other so well and didn't need to talk about it.  Michael is so quiet.  He never asks for anything.  I need to watch him to catch the clues that he needs to go outside.  He's made me more aware.  I talk to him all the time; one, to get him used to his name and, two, because he watches me as if he's asking questions with those bright eyes and I need to come up with the answers.  (He still doesn't get a joke.)  I even talk to the cats more, as if they gave a hoot.

Yes, I'm glad I made the right decision when Michael needed a one-on-one home.

Changing Times

We won't actually change our clocks until November 3 this year, but times are changing just the same in that the hours of daylight are getting shorter.  Sunup doesn't come until after 7 a.m. now, and Michael and I have to go out in the evening by 7 p.m. lest we (I) go stumbling about in the shadows.  I certainly don't live life by any set schedule, but this stuff throws me off anyhow.

There are those who could rightfully say I don't know which end is up and I couldn't argue.  I know I am used to things happening on a particular day and that helps me stay with the program.  It was bad enough that I missed Take-the-trash-down-Tuesday.  I was getting ready for Arden-Friday yesterday when she called and said she couldn't make it.  Now I'm adrift in the week.  It's probably just as well Arden didn't come.  I'd forgotten to charge the cordless vacuum cleaner.  By the time its little blue lights were glowing, I'd lost incentive.

In a new effort to show the house kids who's top dog here, I pushed Michael out of the way on the bed last night and didn't give the cats a chance to settle down until I was darn good and ready.  Wish me luck.

Softie

Who's the boss around here?  It certainly isn't me.  Cats are notorious for assuming the title of king and queen.  They think they've earned it by being such cute and cuddly kittens in the beginning.  In truth, they are just training us.  As grownups, it is only their due that humans bow to their every wish.  "You have a lap?  We want it."  They have a talent for throwing guilt like confetti.

Michael, the watcher, has seen how Ralph and Celeste have their way all the time, and would like to join the ranks.  After being so good lately, he went walkabout again yesterday.  Did I yell at him as he raced down the driveway?  Most definitely.  Did it do any good?  No.  "You're not the boss of me!"

The culmination of this situation came at bedtime the other night.  Michael jumped up on the bed and chose his spot while I was brushing my teeth.  He left me about six inches on "my" side of a queen-size bed.  (How is it that we are so territorial about bed space?)  "Michael, please move over."  "No."  It was one of the really cold nights.  I tried to oodge into what space he'd left me.  The worst part was that he was lying on top of the covers and I couldn't pull enough over to cover my backside.  Then, just to make sure I was immobile, both cats came to lie on my feet.  They were all warm and comfy.  I was not.  Did I kick the cats off and push Michael over?  Three guesses and the first two don't count.

I am determined to regain the "boss" position in this house.  I just don't know how to do it.  Sigh.

Lucky Us

First off, we did not get a visit from the trash police yesterday.  Whew.

Second, the rain held off until Michael and I had our morning walk around.  The girls seem to know now that the dog (aka wolf) is no threat to them and come right up to the fence in the corner of their pen.  They and Michael stare at each other.  Michael is so low key that the only way I know he is excited (as excited as he gets) is when he sort of hums.  He hums at the girls for a bit and then we go on our way and Michael attends to his business.

Stanley and his girls are real birdbrains, without enough sense to get in out of the rain.  You never saw three such bedraggled creatures with soggy feathers.  Their coop is open so they have shelter, if they would use it.  I don't want to jinx the situation, but it's been quite awhile since Stanley has made an attack.  I still don't turn my back on him.

After months of open doors and open windows, it seems odd to have us shut in against the chill and damp.  We got a good, soaking rain without the wind of Monday.  The cats are worse wusses than I.  Rarely did I sit down without one or two (usually two) in my lap.  The rain let up in the afternoon and the sun came out.  How fresh everything smelled on our evening walk.  We log at least a half-mile a day now, good for him and good for me.  I do wonder how Michael and I will cope when the real weather comes.  I doubt either one of us is up for a soaking.

Looks like it's going to be a sunny day.  I'm all for that.

Early Start

Six-fifteen and Michael and I have already had an adventure, unplanned though it was.  For irrelevant reasons, we did not get the trash down to the big road last evening.  I fell asleep in the chair last night and didn't wake up until 5:30 this morning, which meant I didn't have to waste time getting dressed.  Our Trash Guy is always very punctual, coming to the vineyard next door at 6:05 so I knew I had time to beat him to the trash barrels on the big road.  Yeah, well.  I threw my bags in back and loaded up Michael in the front seat of Truck and we took off, only to see Trash Guy pull away as we got to the intersection.  Aarrgh.  To make it worse, a school bus had stopped to pick up a couple of kids just then.  Double aarrgh.  Okay, when the road was clear, Michael and I took off to go find Trash Guy.  He must have turned off on the only side road in the vicinity because he sure wasn't ahead of me.  I did the unthinkable.  There were a couple of somebody's unemptied barrels right there at the side and I stopped and stuffed my trash in them.  It's probably illegal, but what's a person to do?  Michael and I hotfooted it home in the dark.  So far, no one has come beating on the door so we might have gotten away with it.  Whew.

It's just light enough now to see that the sky is overcast and it looks like rain again.  If so, it would be welcome.

I don't know what the rest of the day will bring.  Michael and I have had enough excitement this morning to last a while.

Big Changes

Nature pulled one of her fast switcheroos yesterday, from the 90s to the low 50s with strong winds and a big dump of rain.  Michael and I had gone for our morning walk while it was just misting before the storm hit.  One good thing, Truck got a good washing; he needed that badly.  I went around the house shutting doors, and seriously considered calling Stove into service, but resisted, settling for a heavy jacket and a couple of lap cats.  Come on, it's only September.

The sun had come out by the time I had to head down the hill for a doctor's appointment, for which I was grateful.  That can be a nasty drive in the rain.  Michael was so disappointed that he couldn't go along this time.  He really likes to "load up!" in the truck.  Tank top on Saturday, long-sleeve tee-shirt on Monday, aarrgh.  The appointment well, so well that I can stop one of my medications.  For a person who took maybe two aspirins a year to go to 4-6 pills day was a big change.

My newest grandson arrived yesterday.  My son had rejected the name Elmer (no ET phone home), and named this little guy Ozzy Jack.  Ozzy came a month early and weighed in at just over three pounds.  He seems to be doing well, as does his mama.  Big changes in their lives.

The sun is coming out this morning.  Let's see what today brings.

Waiting

I'm sitting here without a thought in my head, just waiting for the coffee to kick in.  Some days are like that, dontcha know.

Yesterday was a do-nothing day.  NASCAR was, for me, a dud race because Bowyer started first and ended up twenty-first.  I swear there are times for that man that if it weren't for bad luck, he'd have no luck at all.

It seems I'm on an unplanned country music roll.  After the program of the night before, last evening I watched a tribute to Willie Nelson, one of my favorites.  Back in the day, I went to see Willie whenever he was in the area, from Lake Tahoe down to San Jose, and a number of times in Sacramento.  That was followed by the Ken Burns documentary, "Country Music."  That was a two-hour special.  You just can't overdose on country.

After days back up in the 90s, we're waiting for the promised drop down into the 60s today.  It's definitely overcast this morning.  Wahoo!

Updates

Unbidden, sometimes my computer does "updates."  Usually, this is behind-the-scenes stuff and I never know what's going on.  The last time, all of a sudden everything on the screen was enlarged.  It was a little disconcerting at first, but when it came to writing the blog, I found I didn't need my glasses to see what I was/am typing.  That's pretty cool.

Yesterday being Saturday, I got my oh-so-looked-forward-to call from Deb.  She and Craig had caught some coughing bug a week or so ago, and they're finally feeling better.  I like that kind of update.

In the afternoon, I got a surprise call from Larry, my kid in Hawaii.  Larry's last name starts with a T.  He has rejected my suggestion that they name their baby Elmer.  I just want the boy to get to a certain age so Larry can say, "ET, phone home!"  Larry and I don't talk often, so it was nice to catch up.

As often happens, I fell asleep in the chair last night.  Michael had given up on me and took himself to bed.  I woke up to a late night/early morning program of Country/Western music with lots of big-name stars.  My dad was a fan of C/W music, and I watched the program and remembered him singing in his tenor voice.  When I finally did turn off the TV, it made for some nice dreams.

Mixed Up

My friend Tinka called yesterday with a skunk report (another story for another day) and mentioned she'd seen Michael's latest picture.  "You know, I think he looks like a Sheltie (Shetland sheepdog)."  I knew he was a mix, but had no idea what the mix included.  With the world at my fingertips, I looked up the two dog breeds and found there is even a name for Michael and his kin...Shel Aussies.  The photos shown and the information given fit Michael to a T.  Tinka was right, it was his longer nose that gave him away.  Given Michael's size, the Aussie side is more dominant, but his coloring is right for both breeds.  Touted as highly intelligent, it's no wonder Michael took so well to training as a support dog.  Camille is worried he isn't getting enough exercise with me, as Aussies are athletic dogs.  I will never be able to run with him so he'll have to make do with our daily walks and his "free time" outside while I'm feeding the critters.  If he had any interest in playing, we could play fetch or some such game.  He doesn't, so we don't.  The best I can do is let him win the race to the house...every day.

It was Arden Friday and as she was leaving, Beau drove up.  It was a nice mix of company.

It was a good day.

What's Buzzin', Cousin?

The hills might be "alive with the sound of music," but the fields are alive with the constant buzzing of honey bees.  Even after Helper Dude mowed down everything, the star thistle, desperate to procreate, sent up new plants that are about six inches high, covered with bright yellow flowers and sharp thorns.  Because of drought, deer, and the dratted ground squirrels, I have no flowers anymore to provide pollen to draw the bees.  The poor things are making do with star thistle (I can't imagine what that honey tastes like), and they're out there in the hundreds.  Colony collapse is a real disaster and I didn't want to be a contributor, so I'm very happy to see these guys.  What I have not seen this year are the bumblebees.  I've always enjoyed the big, clumsy black bumblers and the smaller black and yellow variety, and there hasn't been one out in the west field.  I mentioned this to Camille recently and she said they're all down at her place.  She, not having ground squirrels, has flowers (phfft).  Regardless, I'm glad to know they're still around.

Michael and I made a quick trip into town yesterday, "quick" being a relative term since the round trip alone takes over an hour.  Michael did what Michael does.  He makes friends with everyone, men, women, and children.  He is a people magnet, a charmer, no doubt about it.  I'm privileged to be his acolyte.

It is the time of the full Harvest Moon.  Last night, just about the time I was ready to go to bed, Michael asked to go outside, which was unusual for him.  Hey, when a guy's gotta go....  I put his leash on him (I may be a slow learner, but I learn) and out we went.  Turned out he didn't have to piddle, he just wanted to look at the moon.  I didn't blame him.  It was huge, yellow, and lit up the night.  He sat in the driveway and just looked.  We listened to the night birds and enjoyed a light breeze after the heat of the day.  I stood with him as long as I could, and then we called it a night.

It was a good day.

Where Were You?

Li'l Miss was waiting for breakfast again.  It's always such a nice surprise to see her.  She is always so appreciative, and waits to be petted while she eats.  She is still tiny, about the size of Ralph and Celeste when they came here as older kittens.

As Yogi Berra would say, it was deja vu all over again, because, having put in a call to Go-To, there were no problems with the water yesterday.  Most of my day was spent cleaning in the kitchen and I needed that water.  There are yards of countertop and, like the rest of the house, dust is the big problem in there.  I didn't get it all done, but made a good start and that will be the incentive to finish the job.

Go-To and Mrs. GT came in late afternoon.  Mrs. had not yet met Michael, and he made another conquest while GT worked his magic on the pressure pump.  I like that GT makes me his last stop of his work day so they had time to sit and visit.  (They live very close by.)  It being September 11, of course the conversation got around to, "Where were you?"  We each knew exactly.  In my case, I had just come back from making an early morning delivery of transcription.  Steve came out of the house and said, "We're at war!"  I asked with whom, and he said, "Here, in America!"  (I can't help the way my mind works, and I thought, "My God, they said the South would rise again, but I never thought they'd do it.")  I know I cried for two solid weeks watching the total devastation.  Then we went on to, "Where were you when the Kennedys were shot?"  Those terrible days are indelibly printed on our minds.

I didn't have to ask Michael, "Where were you?" because we took our evening walk with his leash in hand.

How's That Working?

It's been ages since I've seen Missy, but there she was in the barn yesterday.  I wonder where she goes when she's not here.

Taking my cue from the weather, it was back to a tee-shirt instead of a tank top, and a jacket felt good in the evening, as does a robe this morning.  Nature is a quick-change artist and I just try to keep up.

As the saying goes, don't go looking for trouble, it will find you on its own.  I had been so embarrassed when Go-To Guy had come and there was no problem with the water, but relieved, all the same.  With the increase in home insurance looming, I didn't need another bill.  The project for the day yesterday was to get a start on deep cleaning the kitchen.  Yeah, how's that going?  I turned on the water...nothing.  Repeat.  Again, nothing.  On the third try, the faucet acted like nothing had happened and water gushed forth.  Reluctantly, I put in another call to GT, saying that I hadn't gone dotty, there really was a problem and explained the situation.  He said, "It's the pressure switch.  I can fix that."  Even if it's erratic, as long as I can get water it isn't an emergency and GT can fit me in as his schedule permits, good guy that he is.

It being trash day, toward evening I put my stuff in the truck and opened the door for Michael.  That doggone dog took off the other way and hightailed it down the driveway.  Ratchafratch!  I waited...and waited.  It was getting dark.  When he finally came home, this time I roared at him.  He tucked his guilty tail between his legs and couldn't wait to get in the house.  No ride in the truck, no walkies.  He was in deep doodah and knew it.  He hid out in the bedroom for the rest of the night.  I doubt if it cured his wanderlust, but it was a reaction he hadn't expected.  Maybe it worked.  Try explaining to a dog that it's for his own good.

It was an eventful day.

Cool Down

Michael set us a brisk pace yesterday, possibly because it was so much cooler on our walks, morning and evening.  With all this property, I feel bad about keeping him on a leash and so let him choose his spots to piddle, sniff, and look around.  I'm certainly in no hurry and I think it gives him a sense of autonomy.  He is usually content to walk at my slow pace.  Yesterday he was, as my dad (a WWI soldier) would have said, "picking 'em up and laying 'em down."  Before our daily exercise, I never could have kept up.  I won't say I wasn't huffing and puffing, but I made it.  Michael is a therapy dog in more ways than one.

Instead of sitting in a puddle of sweat as I had been, the weather inspired me to take care of a couple of household chores that have been hanging fire, and I feel better for it.  By evening, my summertime tank top was almost too cool.  At bedtime, I put the blanket back on the bed.  The animals also felt the change.  Michael, who has been keeping his distance at night, curled up right next to me, and the cats, who have pretty much slept elsewhere in the house, assumed their customary places on and around my feet.  It's a good thing I do not toss and turn at night or I'd be flinging critters everywhere.

"They" say we're not done with the heat just yet, but this cooling-off period sure is welcome.

It was a good day.

Identity Crisis

In a household of females, Ralph has never had a male role model to emulate.  With the arrival of Michael, that has changed.  It took two weeks before Ralph would come out of his room when Michael came, but when he did, not only did they accept each other, they became best buddies.  Ralph will bonk noses with Michael as he walks by, and the dog has agreed to lie down and be a hurdle as Ralph races around the house at top speed.  They're an unlikely couple; I'm just glad they get along.

The thing is, as Michael has gradually warmed to me, he now voluntarily comes to me for a butt scrub and then flops over for a belly rub.  It's become a ritual.  Evidently Ralph has been watching, because now he will come to lie on my lap, but now he also rolls over and waits for his belly rub.  Cats, in my experience, do not like their stomach touched.  Is it a simple case of jealousy, or does Ralph now think that is what boys are supposed to do?  Regardless, I am happy to comply.  It's a good thing Michael doesn't bark.  I can't imagine how Ralph would copy that.

Clint Bowyer came in fifth at Indianapolis yesterday.  That at least gives him enough points to run in the play offs.  I turned on the last quarter of the Pittsburgh-New England game, score 3-33.  Appalled, I did not watch to see the Steelers' final humiliation.

We barely got into the 70s yesterday (yay!) and down into the 50s last night.  Let's just say the bed was crowded again, and Ralph snuggled in the cat cave as he used to.  I just hope Michael doesn't decide he can do cat things.  One identity crisis in the house is enough.

Busted

It was, for a change, pleasantly cool when Michael and I took our morning walk yesterday.  Either the vultures are used to us or they're playing a game, but they wait on the posts and poles at the corner of the pen until we're nearly up to them before they take off in a black cloud.  Michael finds that exciting.  It seems to me that there are a lot more immature vultures this year than usual.  Their dark heads won't turn red until they're older.

After our walk, Michael got his treat and I had a sit down before heading out again to feed the critters.  After having had his hike, he's been so good about staying at the top of the hill while I do chores.  He checks out the turkeys when they gather, goes over to the chicken pen with me, watches whatever livestock might be grazing at the neighbors', then waits in the shade for me to finish up.  Then we have our pretend race back to the porch, the race he always wins.  Yesterday he wasn't waiting.  Hmmm.  I waited a bit and then headed toward the house.  Suddenly Michael came racing up the driveway like his tail was on fire, skidded around the corner and made the last dash to the porch.  "I won, I won!"  "No, you didn't win, you rascal.  Do you think I don't know you went down to the road again?"  He was so busted.

Later in the day we went to Mt. Aukum.  This time the nice lady didn't ask or wait, but came right around the counter with a handful of baby-size milk bones for Michael.  Another woman was waiting.  "You have to see this!  You've never seen such a polite dog," and Nice Lady gave him another treat, which he took as if it was his due.  While I was tending to business, a group of bikers came in.  (When I say bikers, I don't mean they are riding bicycles.)  Michael was in his element.  He doesn't hide the fact that he likes men, and he made friends with every one of the leather-clad guys before we had to leave.

Michael had quite a day.

Highlights

Taking Michael for his walks are high points in my day.  We stop several times, even when he's not piddling, just to look around at the hills.  Michael doesn't ever pull on the leash, and he adjusts his pace to mine.  His ears perk up when he sees vultures on the ground, knowing now that they will fly off when we get close.  I guess that's a highlight for him.  He doesn't give the turkeys a second glance, not even when there's a traffic jam as they cross in numbers in front of us on the drive like they did yesterday.  They don't fly, so what fun are they?  I don't know how we'll adjust when winter comes.  I don't think either of us will be up for a lengthy walk in the rain.

Michael doesn't shed hair in the traditional sense.  He fluffs.  I find little black fluffs of fur here, there, and everywhere.  I don't know enough about his breed(s) to know if this is typical, or perhaps his fancy haircut has something to do with it.  It does make him easy to clean up after.

Arden's Friday visits are a weekly pleasure.  We share a snack of some kind, taking turns to provide the victuals.  She does a load of laundry; it saves her a trip into town.  (I was glad I had water yesterday!)  We watch a news show or two.  That broadens our horizons and provides topics for conversation.

After seeing where Dorian is heading, I called my niece in New Hampshire to make sure she had her hatches battened.  She said they're only expecting rain.  My gosh, the Bahamas look like a war zone, a repeat of Puerto Rico, and the flooding along the southeast coast is devastating.

It being Saturday, I anticipate a call from my daughter, always a highlight of my week.  Later today I need to go get chicken scratch.  Going to the Cookie Store is a treat for Michael.  He's easy to please.

Reprieve

It was like having a toothache, going to the dentist, and before you get there the pain stops and you don't know why you're there.  I know what I saw with the water, or lack thereof.  Even the toilet didn't refill when flushed.  I put in a call to Go-To Guy and, bless him, he made me the first stop of the day.  He turned on the faucet by the chicken pen and, wouldn't you know, it gushed like a fire hydrant.  He looked at me, I looked at him, and all I could do was shrug.  GT and his son Tucker checked everywhere there might have been a leak, even going down to the well.  Tucker took some gizzywich out of the pressure tank and cleaned it.  I wondered if it was a problem just in the kitchen, so GT came in and checked that.  All systems were go.  What the *%/$**!!  It certainly wasn't that I wanted there to be a problem, it was that I hated to think I'd called Go-To out for no reason.  I've known GT since we moved here, and he was patient and kind as always, and didn't make me feel any more embarrassed than I was.  He didn't have an explanation for the aberrant situation.  Maybe the house, like John NSD, responds better to a man and just the threat was enough this time.  What do I know?  Later in the day I even did a load of laundry.

Another positive thing yesterday was that it wasn't nearly as hot as it has been.

Feeling like I'd dodged a bullet, I can honestly say it was a good day.

One Of Those

We all have them...those days when nothing seems to go right.  I had one yesterday, and I'm pretty sure I'm heading into another one today.  Yesterday it was the television.  For lack of the technical terms, I was trying to watch a movie and it kept having hiccups.  I called the provider.  The nice young man spent a long time trying to track the problem, having me go back and forth between the receiver and the modem, turning this and that off and on, and doing who knows what on his end.  He ended up saying I needed to contact the internet service.  I did.  They also did lengthy system checks and they said there was no problem, it had to be the TV something or other and to call them (again) and ask about this and that (again).  I did.  Nope, not their problem, it had to be the modem.  It seems I'm the only one with a problem.  All this back and forthing took literally all afternoon, and nothing else got done, and I never got to watch the movie, either.  Aarrgh!

The last day or so I've noticed something funny when I turned on a water faucet, a little hesitation before the water flowed, but didn't think too much about it.  This morning, the same thing happened when I was going to make the coffee, but then I went to fill the dog's water dish...and there was only a trickle.  Oh crum, looks like I'm going to have another one of those days.

Birds And Turtles

Timing is everything, but sometimes I don't understand the timing.  I've never understood why chickens go into a heavy moult in late fall, just when they're facing cold, wet winter weather without their down jacket, but they do it every year.  The vultures are gathering for the big migration.  You'd think they'd need all their plumage for the long flight, but no.  There is one pole they sit on and (I guess) pluck not just long and short feathers, but also fluffy down.  Do they just fall out or are the birds doing the grooming?  Michael and I find more every day.  Are they lightening the load?  Inquiring minds want to know.  According to Google, it takes a year to replace a feather.  Are they spiffing up so they look good for their return next year?  There is a lot I don't understand.

It's not just moulting that can cause a bird to go bald.  Rotten Stanley has two girls in his harem, and he plays favorites.  One hen has lovely, full feathers in the Delaware pattern.  The other one, obviously picked on, is scruffy all over and has a naked neck where he's pulled out a bunch.  When I put down the feed, Stanley and Wicked Sister get right down to business.  When Cinderella tries to sneak a snack, Stanley gives her a hard thump and she runs whimpering behind the coop.  I guess she gets the leftovers, poor girl.

Just FYI, there was a recent report of a woman in Australia who was pecked to death by her rooster...true story.  The bird hit a varicose vein and the woman bled out.  After seeing the damage Stanley has done to me, I can easily believe this.  Maybe there is an Aussie branch of Stanley's family.

In true turtle fashion, when the news of the outside world scares me, I pull into my shell and watch "feel-good" programs on TV.  It's a good time to put the servants to work to wash clothes and dishes so I don't overload on guilt.  At least something gets done while I'm hiding out.

Antidote

Not in a biblical sense, I feel I am in the world, but not of it, sitting up here with my animals for company, and I prefer it this way.  I watch local news every morning to get a weather report and, of course, catch a glimpse of what's going on down in the valley and a smidgen of world news.  I can't remember a morning when there wasn't a report of at least one or more shootings, either personal or random.  They are commonplace now and seem to merit no more attention than a car crash or a food fair.  What I find frightening is that there are more and more mass shootings.  When did life lose its value?  There is a vast difference between a "reality show" and reality, and lately it seems that the edges are blurred.  The other day I came home to find there had been another, yes, another slaughter in Texas, the state where more guns are supposed to keep the citizenry safe.  Nearly everyone I know is a responsible gun owner, and I don't believe that any one of them would resist a background check and common sense laws.

I, like the rest of the world, have been watching the agonizingly slow progress and devastation of hurricane Dorian.  Nature is showing her ugly side and power.  It makes me ashamed for whining about a little heat or rain.  It is the naysayers of climate change who should be ashamed.

Okay, enough of the diatribe.  After hours of watching the news and becoming more and more depressed, I needed an antidote.  Thankfully, PBS has been rerunning episodes of Downton Abbey and I had recorded four or five.  Yes, there were tragedies involved, but what I needed yesterday was the sense of civility, courtesy, and respect, and I watched them back to back.

I needed the comfort of taking Michael for more than usual walks, and the weight and warmth of cats on my lap.  The touch of fur is a balm by itself.  I needed to sit on the porch with Michael and feel the breeze (albeit warm and not cooling) and let the peace of this place soothe my soul.

Peace be with you, find it where you will.

mmmMemories

This trip down food memory lane began with a muffaletta sandwich on a Saturday cooking show.  I used to make a muffaletta when we'd take the Kids on a picnic.  It was easier to make one big sandwich on a loaf of round crusty bread stuffed with all kinds of Italian meats and cheeses, dressed with a tangy olive tapenade than enough single sandwiches (10-12) for a family of six good eaters.

My then sister-in-law was a big influence on my learning and love of cooking.  We took turns hosting an annual grownups-only family dinner party, one trying to outdo the other.  One year I went Greek, even making dolmas (lamb and rice stuffed grape leaves) with leaves from my own vines.  I served avgolemono (lemon and egg soup), moussaka (eggplant, meat, cheeses, and two kinds of sauce, baked), and baklava (crisp filo, walnuts, and honey) for dessert.

I learned how to make croquembouche, a French tower of tiny cream puffs drizzled with honey.  I learned how to make authentic Mexican tamales.  I made blintzes by the dozens, and knishes.  I cooked Italian and German.  I made Japanese gyoza and sukiyaki.  I just loved to cook.

I would take at least three cookbooks at a time from the library and read them like novels.  Even now, I have a bookcase full of cookbooks, but, alas, now they just gather dust.  Good memories.

Dinner last night was frozen potstickers.  Sigh.

Lucky Dog

NASCAR Lucky Dog rule:  the first driver who is one lap down when a caution flag comes out gets a lap back.

Farview Lucky Dog rule:  Michael.

With rising temperatures, a trip to town in the truck with A/C wasn't as onerous as usual, and it wasn't as if I had a choice.  I put Michael's official girdle on him and off we went.  I've had to make so many trips lately that our first stop was to get gas at the Cookie Store.  The nice lady said hi to me, and then, "Oh, hello, sweetie.  How are you today?  Wait right there, cutie," and without my asking, brought a handful of little milk bones out and gave one to Michael.  "Oh, he's so polite and gentle!  My dog would have taken my hand off."  She almost forgot to have me pay for the gas while she gushed on about Michael.  She indicated I was to take the rest of the treats.  Remind me to empty my pockets on laundry day.

Off we went to Wally World.  There are four, maybe five stop lights to get there, and with Michael riding shotgun, every one of them was green.  He's lucky for me, too.  We found an empty parking spot close to the front door right away and, oh joy!, a plot of plants he hadn't piddled on, and he took full advantage.

Mission accomplished, we headed home and again didn't hit a single red light.  I had one more stop at the little convenience store.  This time it was the nice man, "Well, hello there, pretty one!  How are you today?"  He wasn't talking to me.  "Would it be okay if I gave him a treat?"  This time, he was, and he immediately opened a jar of milk bones.  "Oh, he's so polite!"  (Michael knows how to work a crowd.)  I attended to my business, and then, "Here's another treat for the road, buddy."

Yup, Michael is a Lucky Dog.