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.