What I Do Best

Most of yesterday was spent doing what I do best, staying out of the way of people who know what they're doing and are on a mission to get it done.  Florence and Dan arrived close to midday.  Not only was it good to see them again, but they came bearing gifts:  a box of precision-cut kindling for Stove and home-baked goodies from George.  There was a plate of iced cake squares, and I can only imagine how my eyes lit up when I saw a buttermilk pie.  My daddy had grown up as a Texas sharecropper and buttermilk pie was a Texas staple.  I still have and have used my grandmother's recipe many times.

Not ones to dawdle, Florence and Dan set to work cutting lumber to length, loading their trailer, and setting fire to the burn pile.  "How can I help?"  "Sit over there and keep us company."  What a nice way to say we don't need you, but thanks.  We chatted and laughed while they got the job done.  All those scrap boards were either loaded or burned and my yard is my yard again.  Mike plans to come today to finish sealing the deck, and then these major projects will be complete.

Michael takes every opportunity when my attention is elsewhere and he's off leash to take off down the drive and go exploring.  I'm not so worried anymore that he won't come back and since Beau and his family moved there's not much traffic on the road, but people up here tend to pick up "strays" and take them to the pound.  I wouldn't want Michael to go through that.  I think Michael really feels at home here now.  He comes bounding up the hill and comes directly to my side.  He's my dog now.

This looks like an uninteresting picture of a sleeping cat.  It's what happened just before that had me laughing.  Michael has only five places to sleep in the living room (two couches and three dog beds), six if you count the floor.  He moves from one place to the other as the mood strikes him.  Last evening, Celeste had taken one of his "bestest" spots.  Michael wanted it.  He stood looking at her for a minute, then poked her with a paw.  Celeste, queen that she is, ignored him.  He waited, sighed, and moved on to the couch.

I had buttermilk pie for dinner.