SUMMMMERTIIIIIIME.................

I have never spent so much of a summer indoors as I have this year. I just realised that.
First it was too rainy. Then the house fell apart. Then we were back and forth between a motel and restaurants and fast food places and the house packing and loading and stuffing ourselves with grease and sugar. Mmmmm. Oh, sorry.
Then we were here and couldn't-- or wouldn't-- leave the dogs unattended, and besides it was 100 outside and the humidity at Tropical levels.

In self-defence I discovered Trash TV. I mean really terrible stuff that I would watch avidly. Not soaps but almost. BRAVO is really good for Trash TV in my opinion. The only things I really cannot watch anymore is the Millionaire Matchmaker thing. I can't watch most reality shows because I swear they find mutants to be in them.
I watched a lot of animal planet. A lot of True TV Cop stuff. (AP has a lunchtime show called K-9 Cops--for me, the best of both worlds.)

I go painting on Tuesdays, but I have not been for two or three weeks and next week is Labor Day week and WE SHOULD BE MOVING BACK TO THE HOUSE!!!
I have to board the dogs and have them all bathed and groomed.Cooper is a complete mess. He has mats. I am ashamed but I have neither the right tools or the grooming table and he HATES having me groom him. He demands the professionals. I will have to call and see when either Annette or Dawnie are going to be available.

The Food Network is good at night and occasionally during the day. I have to remember, this Saturday, to watch the Pioneer Woman's new cooking show. See there are a thousand ways to avoid going outside.

Usually I am out all summer, walking the dogs or gardening or mowing the lawn.
I am in a shell this year.
We have mice. The outdoors is coming in.
I do walk over to the house now and then.
I have to get out more.....

THE HOUSE AGAIN/STILL

Our stay here at the rental appears to be drawing to a close. The insurance company has made it clear that the lease is up on the ninth of September and the company is picking up our rented furniture that day so I sure as hell hope the other house is done and our stuff back from storage.
The floors are finally in. The painting is done except for spots that need touching up. The wiring needs to be connected, the lights put in and the gas hooked up.

The carpeting is in for John's room and upstairs, and down the stairs.

This is nothing to most people but in all the years we have lived in that house we have never had carpeting, only rugs. And never upstairs or on the stairway.

We still have an unusable bathroom upstairs which will require re-plumbing, but it was undamaged by water and so the insurance paid nothing towards fixing it. We have decided to wait until we re-group after learning what we owe for the extra stuff we did-- like the furnace and this carpet.

The Laminate flooring is also in. We have always had the original tile on the floors and/or some other kind of tile, covered by rugs.

This floor to me is much more exciting than the carpeting. The depressing part to me is we are getting back the same junky stuff we shipped out, and it all has to be put away, oh good Lord what a chore!!

I had Cooper at the house the other day, with part of the flooring in, and he seemed to take it all in stride-- it was nothing new but they won't feel that way once we really move back. It will smell entirely different and, I suspect, need to be marked (Thank you, Nigel. He will have to be watched very carefully.)

And we need new curtains or blinds. And area rugs.

And something has to be done with the back yard.

There is so much to do.

I have contracted with my son and his glassblowing company to make us a fixture for the living room ceiling light.

My housewarming gift to me.

THE MUG

This is MY MUG. Many many years ago when the earth was green and we were young and svelte, my good friend Heidi Heinlein Paul (Now she is Heidi Paul. When I met her she was 18 or 19 yrs old and not.) Anyway she gave this to me as either a birthday or Christmas present, and I have treasured it ever since. It perfectly reflects my life.
It has gone through many changes with me (as has Heidi) and now my children are grown and gone (when I met her I still had to wait to get them off to school before I went to work at FSAH, where she was kennel manager.
Her son, who she had no inkling she would have, is a sophomore in college.

And I still have the mug.
When we had to suddenly evacuate the house May 26th, I frantically searched for the MUG, I had to have it. And so it went to the motel with us. I brought it when we moved into the rental.

I take comfort from it. Everything changes. Children marry, divorce, remarry, have major ups and downs, dogs come and leave, breaking our hearts: friends get sick and die, or just get sick, we argue with our spouses over whether to throw out the 20yr+ freezer or not, we see fantastic sights-- get caught in a cattle drive, win marathons or at least give it our best shots. We get new puppies (hope springs eternal) retire, move, make new friends.

And through it all is MY MUG. I love my mug. Somehow, I think the MUG has grown fond of me.

And it still represents my entire life.

Thank you Heidi.

THE WREN

I tried to get you guys a photo of our resident (rental) wren but she was singularly unco-operative, even with the zoom lens.

There is nothing happening, at least to us. Or for us. Except of course the skylight in the upstairs bathroom at the real house has begun to leak and the landscapers (rental house) are coming tomorrow morning, read DOGGIE THRILLS and SHRILLS.

I have capitulated and accepted the fact that I can, after all, stand to substitute cauliflower for potatoes. I add onion, celery, green pepper, mayo and hardboiled eggs. I do not add dill, mustard or capers. I hate capers. I mean, I really hate capers. I do not know what capers are.I have had them once.

Years ago I worked at a bookstore called Maeyama's. George was first generation American/Japanese. His parents spent WW2 in a "camp" here in the states, along with (probably not in the same "camp" with my German teacher's parents and grandparents. A shameful thing. Horrible.) Anyway there was a woman who worked there with me who thought of herself as a Southern Belle. The closest she got to living in the south was central Illinois.

I never liked her much. But I loved the other woman I worked with, who has since vanished from the earth or at least is where I cannot find her at all.
Once we agreed to share lunches. One week one of us would make sandwiches and the next another and so on. The first week the Southern Belle made tuna and caper salad sandwiches. OMG. Nasty little dark green buggers they are. I suppose they are truly delicious but I did not like them and begged off the sandwich carousel. My acquaintance with capers. First last and only.

I also have the very last filet mignon from my late brother in law. The Last One. It is defrosted. I thought about keeping it forever in his honour but Hal would have wanted us to eat the damn thing, so I will. It's a tough job but someone has to do it.

VARIOUS AND SUNDRIES

On the Atkins diet, trying anyway.
This for someone who does not like veggies.
A lot of people I know claim you can substitute Cauliflower for potato. I cannot have potatoes on this diet, of course. So I thought well I will try to make "potato" salad, which I love.
I cooked a little frozen cauliflower. I hardboiled an egg altho I think it could have stayed cooking another couple of minutes. I added two green onions and some mayo. Not much mayo. Salt. Let it cool.
You know what? It might work. I put it back in the fridge to meld the flavors and get good and chilly. I could add some green pepper too, if I had remembered to buy any.
I can see how you could use it for mashed potatoes.
I am frankly amazed. We never ate cauliflower when I was a kid and I never learned to like it. I could maybe make an exception....

************************************************************

Yesterday I spent a good part of the day helping my good friend Susan pick up her new Belgian sheepdog puppy at OHare airport. What a pistol!! He is really going to be fun---for Susan. His name is Zip I think. He is 12 weeks old.

This is Zip. If you do competitive obedience in the midwest, get ready, here he comes. Right there you can see he is thinking about his future OTCH title.

*************************************************************

Got home from the airport late. The dogs had been with Dad all day, since about 9 in the morning. Apparently they had had a very busy day:

                                 Conley guarding the house.

               Conley and Cooper guarding the house. Conley is back-up.

      All the Boys except Cooper guarding the house. Nothing gets past them.

Conley exhausted after a day of guarding the house.

       Baby Zip at the Airport. We forgot he was not leash trained yet!

BITES

photo from google

photo from google

photo from google

photo from google



photo from google

This is a Gallery of dogs who have bitten me. Bitten me seriously enough to require either being off work for a day or two or requiring a visit to the ER.

The first bite and one of the worst I got working for the Vet, where these things are considered part of the package, was a blonde cocker spaniel. It destroyed for all times any warm and cuddly feelings I might have for ANY cocker, as unfair as that might be.
This was a cocker known to bite, but I was new and they forgot to put the neon red WILL BITE sticker on his cage card. So when I was asked to bring the dog up, I simply opened his kennel door, reached in, and he bit me three times, in ascending order up my arm. None were gentle, none were warnings. These were full-blown dog bites.
My arm was the size of Popeye's for about a week. Doc washed everything out with betadine, bandaged me up with ointment, and my Dr put me on anti-biotics which of course gave me a raging yeast infection which was almost worst than the bite.
Eventually, this dog bit the groomer in the face, getting clear inside her cheek. That particular groomer groomed the dog, but she was out forever. Then he bit the Grandson of the owner. Bad move. Even the owner knew it was a step too far and the dog, Rusty, was put down.

The Chows are certainly interesting. I did not get bitten by any Chows because I was incredibly cautious around them. Great with their families, a dog who mistrusts stangers more than Chows has not been bred. Chows automatically are muzzled. And it is hard, because of their heavy coats and short faces they overheat in a new york minute. They die in grooming if you put a cage dryer on them. They go berserk in the tubs. They fight everything you do, and I really mean that. Everything. The nice Chows we had in, I can count on one hand. So they got sedated, which increased the possibility of overheating.
This one, the one I am thinking of, was coming off sedation in the tub. The bather was an inexperienced woman of exceptionally poor brain skills. I told her repeatedly to keep her hands away from the dog's mouth but in spite of that she did not, and the dog reflexively grabbed her thumb. And shook it. And shook it, and would not let go. I mean, WOULD NOT let go.
Now to be honest there is more to this story.
This particular woman had already earned my disrespect and my analysis of her was that she was basically useless in the kennel. But the dog would not let go of that thumb, and she was screaming and screaming and crying-- she was a great big woman.
Doc ran back and pried the dog's mouth open. The woman ran into the treatment area and threw herself on the floor screaming, crying and kicking her feet.
Ok. I'll be honest here. Lacking a lot of sympathy (I TOLD HER) I went up and kicked her leg and said "Oh shut up and get up and let's see the thumb."
Well laaa...it did turn out to be broken, but she quit crying and screaming and acted like an adult after that.
I don't kick dogs, I kick people....

The Boston Terrier belonged to my neighbor. Sitting on their lawn waiting for my friend Susan to bring her Belgian over so we could go on a walk with her belgian and Cooper, I was petting the Boston when a car went by. I turned my head away. WHAMMO. Nasty, nasty bite.
I went home and tried to stop the bleeding. I WAS going on that walk. No, I didn't go. I spent the time in the ER. Phooey.

Pit Bulls.
Loaded name. One from across the street attacked my first Belgian when I was putting him in the car. She hit him and knocked him under the back end of the Saturn. I was screaming and kicking and kicking and kicking at her, and she backed off just enough for me to throw (I think it was Quiller) into the back hatch and slam it and then turned to face her. Deprived of her quarry, and with me raising holy hell, she retreated.

PitBull2.
SPCA impounded a pit and her litter. They were upstairs at the clinic in an iso ward. The workers had already had trouble with her and with the puppies, which were about 5 weeks old, with aggression.
I was at work early.
I was bathing a beagle, Cindy I think. Her owner often came very early to pick her up. I did not think anyone else was there.
I had Cindy in the tub when I heard nails hitting the floor. I turned and saw this Pit bitch coming very purposefully across the room, tail wagging. I was not fooled. I grabbed Cindy (maybe it was Chloe) and lifted her out of the tub, pressing her and my front against a wall as hard as I dared. I have no idea how I knew this was a terribly dangerous situation, but I knew. The pit lunged and grabbed my forearm, hanging on and yanking. I let go of the Beagle. Instant the Pit was on her back, chewing at her neck, trying to get a hold. I grabbed the pit and fell on the two of them. I was screaming for help. SCREAMING. I kept my hands under the pits head pulling her back. The beagle screaming, me screaming, the pit silent, chewing, trying to get a better hold on the beagle's neck.
Suddenly the door flew open and one of the Vets appeared. She grabbed the pit around the throat and began to choke her, but the pit would not let go.

I will not go into details. The pit died there in hallway. The Beagle battered but basically ok, her owner standing in the hall, stunned into silence and shock. We had to kill the pit to get her to let go.
I will not discuss the puppies, which had already begun to growl and snap.

                                        I love my Bassets!!!

BIRDS

photo from images

Alas,I did not get a photo of the Red Tailed Hawk that was sitting in my driveway early this week.

I heard the calling, heard it very close, and went quietly out.

But I was barefoot and the yard has been dug up and it is just dried clay now in half the front, very hard on bare feet. At least mine. Not being Cody Lundin.

And I got distracted because the calling was so close that I even peered into the bush next to me, but there was nothing there.

Then I noticed a Red Tail overhead, also calling. I could see the very bright rusty red tail in the sun. It was the first thing the eye was drawn to.

  

© Gil Miller (photographer)

I walked (tippy-toed thinking ouch ouch ouch with every step) around the corner of the house and the hawk had been in the driveway. I do not know which of us was more startled, me or the hawk, but it exited instantly, so fast I was stunned by it's size. The wingspan was at least two and half feet across. A huge bird, by any standard, so massive I was surprised it could lift off in such a small space.

The other hawk was circling overhead, calling. The one on the drive launched, lifted and vanished in the trees before I could do anything sensible.

I wish it had stayed a moment or two longer.

DOG CRAZY

We love our boys, we really do.
But you know, some days the dogs really make us nuts.
Over the years they have learned that the male spouse is a real soft touch for treats. He cannot stand the pleading looks, the laid flat ears, the hopeful tiny tail wag (just the tip--they all learn it). Consequently, when he moves around they think they might be able to con a treat out of him, and they mob him. They bark, they leap, they yell and holler and trip him and shove him from behind and are generally very obnoxious. And what does he do? He gives them treats to shut them up.
I, on the other hand, make it plain that I am not an automatic treat dispenser. Sometimes......SOMETIMES they don't even get a treat when they (gasp) come in from outside!!!!

                                                        Imagine the treachery!

Some days, however, they just won't quit. I don't know if they are especially bored, feeling good, feeling bad, hungry or just......obnoxious. But they really are. They clamor, they yarr at people down the street when they shut a door, they scream at the mailman on the next street (they can see the next street) and they leap and beg and boss and bug us for treats, to go out, to come in, to get a treat, to pet them, to get a treat.....They remind me of small children on a bad day: Mommy watch me! Mommmy WATCH Mommy watch me watch me...Mooommmmmmmy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!No watch ME. Mommey watch ME....

I remember my children as actual children fondly, but I cannot say I am sorry they are grown. I also remember the many days I felt as if collapsing, fully clothed, face first on the floor was my only remaining option.

Watch me, Mommy watch me watch me

And on those days with the dogs swirling between our legs and banging into our kneecaps and leaping on our backs, clawing and yelling and being horrible, I remember that I asked for this. I wanted this. This is what I love most.

But couldn't they get jobs?

DECOR

I have given serious thought to the question of what type of decor I am going to have at our real house when they get to that point, assuming they ever actually DO.
I think it will be similar to what is here- a kind of minimalist design with just two or three accent colors:

                                       Looks fine to me.

WHINE POWR BY LLEWIS

Dis be Llewis. Me with da rogue leg an funny back. Cause of dese things I cannt get up on the furnitshure less it got a stair and not everthing here do. DOes. (I m  trying to yuse my books so this eezeeer to read for youse peopels what dont like bassetese..)
We all got crates scept Cooper the Belgian sheepsdog. He like to sleep in mine durin da day and he drool all ober my speschul crate pad bought speschul so I dont haveta try an liff my rogue leg ober stuff: it flat.
At nite me and Conley an Nigel sleep in our crates an Cooper he get to rome loose. Sometime he sleep wid DadPerson sometime MomPerson an sometime needer.
At da house we usta hab--dont nose where it wented. One day it rained inside an we zip off to da--nebbermind. Story for anodder time.

Anyways at da odder place I sumtime get to sleep loose too. I cannot get up onna bed or nuffin nothin like dat so I leeb MomPerson alone an sleep onna couch (got stairs) or dog bed in da odder room. Dat fine. Dis place I go back inna crate.

Here I is in my crate an Cooper done took ober Nigel's. Youse can see how my leg don't bend an so affer awhile I gets uncomfurmable. (Dat NOT right...) Uncomformable. no. Uncomfortable. Dere we go.

So enyways I starts whinin. Yousually I starts about three inna mornin. An I not quit no madder whut an MomPerson she get reel mad. Finely she wise up an lass night she done leff me outta da crate. She let me sleep onna bed wif she. I no move around an let her shove me outta she way. Dis place she gotta bigger bed. It reel nicey. Conley an Nigel juss stare at me an not sayin nuffin.
I nose dey JELLLOOUUSSS BWAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAAHAHH.
oop.
Sorry. I not da ebil type. (snicker.) Hey! Dat a candy bar. I think I'm hungry. Wheres MomPerson? Mebbe I kin get a bisquit.

So keep whining my brudders. You win in da end.

Love an Drool, Llewis

THE QUIET MORNING

The neighbors have a beagle, Maddie. She is out and loose far more than she is in, and she barks, and my dogs bark at her, and they fence fight-for real- not just running the fence but trying to tear each other apart through it, which is possible. Anyway it is cool and I thought I would pick up the backyard which really really needed it.
First of all I needed to dump the old bag of poop into the garbage. Easy enough, except the garbage can is on the other side of the fence and the fence is too high for me to reach the bag over without either ripping it on the wire or tossing it over and risking having it break open when it hits the cement. So I went to unlock one of the gates but could not find the key or else it isn't working.
Meantime the boys and Maddie were screaming at each other through the fence. I got that settled down. Then the cloud of mosquitoes, horseflies and flies descended on me and I am serious about it literally being a cloud, mostly squitoes. I sprayed the bejesus out of myself even taking off my glasses and doing part of my forehead and under my chin, the back of my neck, my head, etc.
While I was doing this the dogs started fence fighting again. I got that stopped, went in and got the keys to the garage, carried the bag of dog shit through the garage to the garbage can.
Maddie started barking and the boys went off again so I got everyone shut up and began picking up. (Maddie's people are home, they just leave her out.)
I finally got started picking up poop in the yard and was attacked again, sprayed myself again, started over. I had spent about 3 minutes picking up in silence when the meter reader appeared in the yard behind us, setting off the dogs on THAT street, Maddie, and mine.This time I sent them in the house. So I knew the meter reader was around but he was on the next street. I continued picking up. I knew John had gotten up because I could smell coffee.
Five minutes into this, the dogs went ballistic along with Maddie and Angel across the street, Coco next door and the two labs kitty corner. Meter reader. He needed into the yard.
Ok the gates are locked shut and I cannot open them. I have him come through the garage. John is shutting windows. MReader has to walk past the big window in the back which is about a foot & a half from the floor, and there are 4 dogs screaming and foaming and leaning on the window as he passes it, to his horror--and the biggest one only has three legs, probably lost that leg going through a window to eat a meter reader....

 

I get him out of there but the dogs are going to keep it up until they have been out and know he is gone. As he goes in front he is intercepted by Maddie who goes apeshit and this causes all of my dogs to rush to the front window and onto the couch to make sure the MReader is not breaking in the front. By now the guy looks as if he might be about to cry.

I let the dogs out the back to prove to them the guy is gone and Coco is out on the other side of the house (She is a very sweet GSD) and of course, the barking starts again, the dogs are wired, stoked and ready to roar at anything. I bring them in and they rush the front window and begin barking because Maddie is standing in our yard. I yell at Maddie, who leaves, and throw my dogs into crates until they can get themselves under control.
(Yes, I went back out, threw out the dog poop, locked the garage door.)
It is now 8 in the morning. I am ready for the day to be over.

NOT MUCH

There is simply nothing going on. The heat and humidity continue to be
seriously oppressive. By mid-day the sparrows that use the bush in the front yard as a resting spot have moved to it's innards, and even so their beaks are gaping as they pant.
The dogs go out and walk around part of the yard, then want in. Half the time, Cooper won't go out unless he is desperate and/or I force him.
I have no new photos, nothing to photograph.
I am waiting for my Jimmy Buffett songbook to arrive so that I can tease myself by looking at songs I want to play on the piano and are so far above my level of ability that I might as well forget for a couple of years, or perhaps eons.
Conley is pretending to throw up on my bare foot. I moved.
(He went outside.)

I have all the swatches and samples for the house but they are so far from that point as far as I can tell that I might have saved myself the trouble.
Llewis just asked to be lifted onto the bed. This annoys Nigel who thinks it is HIS bed. Tough luck.

See? Not much.