MOTEL LIVING

Umm yesss.
This is a nice motel, actually. Lots of lawn and green space to walk Cooper, who this morning at 5:30 decided to make a full tour, peeing on every leaf and plant and pipe and stick that was upright in about an acre. I am finding that not every dog owner is picking up, which REALLY annoys me.

This motel-- maybe all of them, I don't know-- has "family suites" consisting of 2 rooms which is what we have. I sleep on a pull out couch which is increasingly uncomfortable BY CHOICE-- I do not think John could stand it. Cooper slept with me last night and we cuddled all night, my face buried in his backside... we are on the ground floor just yards from the exit, so that's nice.

Everyone has been nice. There are==or were-- three other dogs here: a cocker, a Viszla and a doxie, the last two belonging to the same person. The Doxie tried to eat Cooper as we passed in the hall and Cooper laid his ears back and curled a lip but otherwise ignored him. "You're a snack but you are too thin and boney to be practical." The Viszla, belonging to the the same people, danced and leaped and cowered and her eyes kind of bulged. It is a breed I like a lot but they are either great or terrible as far as temperament goes and I leave it to you to make a decision on this one.Of course meeting in a narrow hallway in a strange motel is not an ideal place to make an accurate assessment--or perhaps it is.

These are our two rooms. Looking from John's into mine. His room is always organized and I am always digging in drawers and piles of clothing looking for keys and phones...

                             Cooper on John's bed. The soft bed.
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THE HOUSE

The house where we lived up until whenever we began living here is slowly being gutted.

This is what John's bedroom looked like when they began, It had ugly panelling in there which we said we would tear out when we moved in in 1985. Well-- we got our wish...

                        Looks better, I guess, if you like bare bones.

                                    
                                  What's left of my room.

They have hung a clear plastic tarp between the dining room-kitchen (neither of which were damaged and therefore have stuff packing in them) with a huge blue zipper, so we can get in there to get stuff out, assuming we can find it. John has a habit of not marking the boxes. Of course, my labels, "Junk from my room" are not a whole lot better.

                                         The zippered rooms So now we are looking forward to moving into the rental, which is scheduled for late next week. I can hardly wait. The Landlord knows we have dogs and is even fixing a gate for us. It has LOTS of room and a huge yard with shade. It will give the Bassets lots of outside time investigating, and Cooper room inside to get away from the short-legs.
I would think by the end of next week the house we really live in will be empty and they can start tearing out the upstairs, too. Once everything is torn out they can dry the wood, and then, start rebuilding.

Who would have thought getting a new roof could lead to this? Amazing.

NEW HOME3 AND THE HARD LIFE

The roof is finished. The ground floor of the house is empty and the walls are coming down starting tomorrow.
Went to visit the Boyz. Llewis was frantically happy to see me. He cried. I cried. Nigel stuck his nose in my face and then stood so if the door opened he could get out.
Conley threw himself in my arms repeatedly and his eyes look awful. Hazy and gooey. I made a point of mentioning it before I left. Cooper waited in the car, his expression was one most easily read as: "You can open the crate but I ain't comin' out as long as we're HERE."
Cooper stays with us most of the time. The weather has been such that I can take him to the house and leave him in the crate in the van with all the doors and windows open. We can see the Van while we are working and check on him every 10 or 15 minutes to make sure it isn't getting too hot.
Otherwise he stays with us at the motel, but it's hard and stressful for him:

Here is the poor baby, exhausted from his busy day of laying in a crate watching us from across the street, walking around the motel, and eating.

The Good News, if any is to be had from this, is that next week we will be moving ourselves and all the dogs into a rental house about a block from where we really live. We need a new gate on one side, but the yard is big, shady, and fenced. There will be a lot of confusion, I am sure.

The insurance company rents us furniture-=- they have a whole system. I was going to tell them well we could provide this and that but they have it all figured out, so I decided just to leave well enough alone.

We are confused about the utilities and the cable, but otherwise everything is set up for us. We will have to forward our mail. We are wondering if Comcast can transfer our cable set-up from the house to the rental and then back again. I will have to call them tomorrow and see. So one more week here, and then back to real civilization.

I am sure Cooper will be equally glad to have some room. You can see how cramped and uncomfortable he is:

                                 That's MY bed, by the way.

TEMP HOME 2 (no neat photos)

Well it will probably almost be fall by the time we are back in our house. I am ferrying Cooper, who is the least boardable, back and forth from the motel to the kennel. If John and I both have things to do at the house then Cooper goes back to the kennel, and then I pick him up in the afternoon and he spends the night here with us.

Today they told me Nigel and Llewis were not eating. Oh good heavens!! You all know when a Basset refuses food we are in serious trouble. I said, try anything. Then I went to visit with them. They went nuts. I felt awful. Llewis began keening-- it is the only word that fits: a high-pitched steady wail. Nigel jumped all over me, frantic. I only stayed a moment and then left. I did not go see Conley.

Also today I called the Head Honcho of all this Mess and said if it is going to be weeks before we get in, we need somewhere else to live: a house with a kitchen and washing machine and mostly, a place where they will allow dogs. He said nobody would allow 4 dogs. I said fine, tell them there are two and we'll rotate.

So apparently the ALE (relocators) are looking for a house for us. That might make life a little more bearable.

Meanwhile it has gotten hot hot hot-- 90 degrees on Monday, 85 today, maybe higher. Working in the house is almost unbearable. Everything has to be packed out, and while we have professionals doing a lot of the work, it is tedious and dirty and boring and backbreaking. I worked all morning on my room, packing tiny little things. By the end I was dumping whole drawers into boxes, taping them shut, shoving them at the packers and saying "Here, this is ready to go."

I set aside the good crate pads, knowing if we get a house I will need to crate the monsters at night and will need the pads, then forgot them, and tonight, when I went back to get two or three small, delicate, ancient items, they were gone.

I don't have a scale and have no idea what I weigh but I bet I have gained about ten pounds eating the way I have, even though I sweat it off in the house. Without a stove it's tough to cook properly and so I have been subsisting on Panera and Dunkin Donuts. Luckily for my cholesterol, the local DD has closed for remodeling-- much as we have. But I FEEL fatter.

The Maids, of course, are terrified of Cooper who doesn't help much by barking and whuffing at them, and backing away. He doesn't like them any better than they like him so when they come to clean our rooms (we have 2) I sit in the Van with the a/c blasting until they're done. For some reason we seem to be almost last on the list.

The pond where my mama duck and her cutie babies were has dried up completely. I don't know where they went. I hope they're safe.

TEMP HOMES

We always expect things to continue on as they have. People and things we care about last forever. We are most of us, by nature, stability-seeking creatures. Both enthusiasts and victims of the status quo. We want a thrill now and then, but as a steady diet the majority of us will pass that up.
We are no different. We never really expect our dogs to die, or parents, or....homes. When my first Belgian was diagnosed with cancer he was 8. I half-jokingly told Doc "You just get them trained the way you want and then they die." (He didn't-- he lived another 2 years).

The same might be said for homes. You just get them broken in, and then they break. At least ours did. Due to some inclement weather

 and an inexperienced roofer-helper, we had a disastrous and very personal encounter with Mother Nature--INSIDE. Rain poured through the inadequately tarped roof-- a roof of nothing but boards. Rain poured into the house. Soaking ceilings, walls, floors, artwork, clothing, dogs (we got them out right away) and us. By mid-day the living room ceiling was pulled down for safety. We had to get out. Luckily we have insurance and they found us a place to put our heads while we have work done on the house. And I bailed Cooper out of Camp Chez Doc Coyne and he stays at the motel with us, unless we both are at the house working, which we will be today, and then he goes back to the kennel for the day.

But Cooper must now be walked rather than just sent out into the yard to play. He cannot go far-- doesn't even want to. He pauses often. He sleeps a lot in the room. He isn't terribly interested in the maids. He has always been well- behaved in motels. Now he is especially quiet. On our walks, we go past a little, filthy dirty pond. And guess what! It is DUCKLING season!

                                                        A Saving Grace

THE DELUGE

And it's aftermath. Nothing like Joplin or the areas down there but our own, private little hell.
And the question is, after 40+ yrs of marriage is living in two rooms for a couple of weeks together going to end it? I am kidding. Sort of.

The roofers arrived to re-roof the house, a tear-down so the wood was exposed. They did a lot the first day and the Boss left two guys to tarp the house. I even asked one of them about the tarp because it didn't look very tarped to me, but what do I know, and peering at it from the ground too, a fat, grey-haired old stumpy woman whining that it didn't look very secure.......and guess who was right?

In the morning, the deluge came. Standing in the house was no different than standing outside. It started when I heard the unmistakable sound of water hitting a hard surface very close by: my bookcase, as it happened. I yelled for help and as I did I saw the water pouring from the ceiling in the utility room, and suddenly there was water everywhere: I might as well have stood in the shower or under a waterfall.

I began ripping artwork off the walls, throwing towels on bookcases but, as you can tell things were drenched quickly. I did save most of the art. We ended up putting out buckets, bowls, and whatever else we could grab and dumping almost the second we put it out. I called the roofer. I believe my exact words were "We are in deep shit." (I have a way with words, don't I?) And he said they would be out immediately, and they were, and they worked all day without a break trying to make it right. They shop vacced and tarped and hauled wet stuff out and tried so hard but keeping up with it was not in the books. And then......the living room ceiling.....

Upstairs, above part of the living room, is an unfinished "crawl space". I know they are supposed to be under the house, but ours is not. And that is where the roof was bare, where the tarp had not been applied properly, and/or had slipped or blown off and that room was full of water-- maybe two inches. The insulation, dripping, had fallen...and in turn it seeped down into the ceiling below, the living room ceiling which now had growing splots of off-color and then tiny pinpricks with little drabs of water............

                                  The crawl space beams.

                                   The living room windows.....

At which point I called the insurance company. And they have been fabulous. When this is all over and bills roll in, we will see exactly how fabulous they really are. This is so beyong the scope of the roofers to fix...the insurance company sent a guy to evaluate how wet everything was. He was impressed, especially with the way the ceiling in the living room was now bulging slightly downward. He called the adjuster. They called a company that comes in when there is a disaster and cleans up. They pack your belongings right out the door. They bring in huge four foot high de-humidifiers (in our case) and industrial fans. Suddenly there are more people in the house than have lived there for 15 years.

(The dogs were bustled off to the kennel shortly after it began to be obvious that this was going to be an emergency.)

By mid-afternoon the ceiling had been pulled down, the living room furniture sent to storage, and  two "safe" (as in dry) areas established. It continued to rain.

So that is how we came, today, to be living in two rooms in a motel. I have sprung Cooper from the kennel but tomorrow when I go back to work at the house he will be returned to the kennel. He comes back with us at night. The Boys are stuck. I wish it could be otherwise but they're too rowdy to be here.

What a spring it has been.

WALKING THE CAT

Regrettably, no photos of these attempts exist. (Or perhaps it is just as well.)

We have had, since our marriage began, three cats. Ambulance, Arsenal and Beemr. Ambulance was an indoor/outdoor cat and lived to be 17, a beautiful long-haired black and white kitty with a perfectly feline self-image, a twisted sense of humor and a Supreme Court Justice's sense of fairness. (The photo shows him at an advanced age.)
At the time we had him we lived across the street from a school and, most importantly for Ambulance, the Forest Preserve. For many years he hunted there and sometimes brought home "treats" for me.
And then a neighbor complained. A neighbor who we had had trouble with before.
He said my cat and another cat (Gandalf-- a big Russian Blue who lived next door) were hiding under a bush near his house at night and scaring the bejesus out of his tiny white poodle, Chippy. Thus, late at night, last thing, Chippy would go out before bed but be too terrified by the huge lions in the bush hissing at him, to do his "business". I thought this was hilarious. Trying not to laugh,
I told him I would discuss it with Ambulance and explain that this was not appropriate, then quickly shut the door, turned off the light and sprinted for the stairs before he had a chance to realise what I had just said.

Anyway in our town, cats are SUPPOSED to be on leashes.
So I thought well, ok.
And I bought a cat harness. One of the figure8 ones that they cannot pull out of. Little dog harnesses do not work.

I put the harness on Ambulance who instantly flattened himself into the grass. I clipped on the "leash" and took a step. Hissssssssssssss.
I gently tugged the leash. Repeat Hisssssssss.

Now Ambulance was not a pissy cat. Hit him with a book when he was sleeping and he'd slit your eyelid open, as my 3 yr old son learned. Fair is fair.
This, he felt, was not fair. I tugged again and suddenly he came to life, leaping, screaming,  turning somersaults in the air and finally, attaching himself tooth and nail to my upper rear thigh, chewing on me as if I were some little rodent. Screaming, I managed to detach my body from his but he wasn't done and wrapped his legs around my arm and began tearing at me again. I scruffed him off and threw him on the ground where he instantly flattened out-- ears and all, and regarded me with loathing, his eyes huge and dilated, panting. He knew he had won round 1. There was no round 2. The entire debacle lasted about 20 seconds.
I quickly removed the leash and harness as I simultaneously attempted not to drip blood on everything. He remained flat in the grass, glaring, in case I was stupid enough to try again. In case I had not gotten the message:
"Put a tether on me and I become SCHIZOPHRENIC CAT."
I never tried that again.

Arsenal was a short-haired grey Tabby that I brought home from the Veterinary Hospital where I worked. He was my son's cat, really. He was an indoor cat and as soon as he shredded the shower curtains and began working on the new stereo speakers I had his front declawed. (For the record, I did this again with Beemr because neither cats were allowed outside without supervision, but I would not do it now.)

I started Ars with a harness very young and so he was ok with it, altho he wouldn't "walk" with you. I put a very long very lightweight line on the harness and would sit outside with him while he managed to tangle himself around every plant, bush and tree in the yard, usually ending up under something with deadly long thorns and near a wasp nest. Once he cornered a shrew and was about to start playing "kitty tag" (which consists of taking some harmless little creature and slapping it with a paw: BAM!"You're it--I dare you to move...") but the shrew had other ideas and standing up on it's little back legs it SCREAMED at Arsenal-- if I had not been right there I would never have believed him-- and poor Arsenal paused, stared, and then basically showed the shrew the way into the neighbor's yard.

Beemr came along some time after Ambulance had died and she was also from the Hospital. A tiny, malnourished long-haired tabby, she grew up into a beautiful, ill-tempered little bitch. She hated the harness. She would wear it but she hated it. I do not think she had been outside before because when she did go out she was afraid of grass.

 She was afraid of flowers, trees, grass and generally, anything outside the window.
Altho she acted as if she longed to be outside, take her out and she would bunny hop to the nearest sidewalk and wail to be let back in.

About twice a year she would somehow manage to get out the door with the dogs and then, finding herself in GRASS,  panic.  I was always afraid she would lunge under the fence in her terror, and run away, but I was always able to get to her before she had a chance.
For Beemr, the harness was a tool of torture.
Beemr bit people. She rarely bit me because I learned quickly to read the "Beemr's had enough, thank you" signs. She would snuggle down next to you in a chair or couch and then, if you moved....

They were wonderful cats. But it will be a long time before I try "walking" one again.

WIND THINGIE

John, my husband of thousands of years, has a very expensive weather station and one of it's components is a wind thingie. That is not the technical term. Anemometer. A thingie used to measure wind speed.
Years ago Roger helped John put this up so it was above the apex of the roof. We have a Cape Cod with an addition where the garage used to be. We moved in here in 1985 and there were 3 layers of shingles on at that time and there are still three except that they leak terribly over the freezer, washer and dryer in the utility room.

So we decided it was time to re-roof, and it happened that I knew someone (well) whose husband does this for a living. So tomorrow the roofers are due to appear.

John decided the wind thingie, the anemometer, needed to come down.

So he climbed the ladder up onto the roof and began to disassemble the wind thingie.

(In the foreground is more of the weather station. The anemometer is visible on top of the corner of the roof, happily spinning away in the summer wind.)

John gets up on the roof. I can climb ladders, or I can stand on a roof but I cannot climb a ladder and step OFF of it onto the roof. The act of stepping off the ladder fills me with a dread that I am helpess to put words to. I'm not sure it is a fear of falling. But it might be. Clearly, John doesn't share that sense of impending doom.

Anyway once up there he discovered that the brackets were frozen. He used WD-40 (which rolled off the roof) and worked on it for a long time and then determined that the bottom of the pole would have to be cut off in order to get it out of the brackets.

He was up there a long time working on it. I kept thinking the roofers could work around it, (it has wires that crossed the roof and apparently John felt it wasn't safe.)

I guess Nigel agreed.

Eventually he got it down. So now the roofers can roof the roof. Tomorrow morning. Should be really interesting with three Bassets to help them......