PIECES

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NEVER LASSO A POSSUM

This is a cautionary tale. A true one.
Once upon a time (I am just starting it that way because I like it, not because it is made up.)
there was a little black dog who preferred the company of others when he went outside after dark, either Mom with a flashlight or one of the grown-up Bassets.

Or even better, both.
So this particular night he and Conley and Mom and the flashlight went out for a routine potty break, and instantly, right off the get-go, Conley's nose went down and he began ahrooing and tore off into the semi-dark (it was early.) Doc, the black puppy, tore off with him, without knowing what was going on.
Mom and the flashlight brought up the rear.

And there, hidden behind a straw target next to the firetrap we call the summerhouse, was a large possum.

(photo from Google)

 

I do not like Possums. I shooed the dogs into the house and waited and 20 minutes later he was still there, hissing. Oh yeah?

 

So I got a kennel leash. The kind made of plastic rope that have a sliding loop at the end.

And after a little song and dance routine, I slipped it over his gnarly little neck, and I popped him out into the yard and escorted him to the gate where it ocurred to me that I was stuck since the gate falls apart if you open it. (It doesn't get a lot of use for this reason.)

 

I paused, kind of momentarily trying to think when the Possum took matters into his own paws and shot under the gate, yanking the leash out of my hands.

(Well come on, now. I didn't think he'd be that strong.)

 

I ran through the house, scattering dogs and rugs and husbands every which way but by the time I got out front the Possum was gone.

 

Now I have to deal with the thought that if the leash doesn't just shake loose like they usually do, the Possum could be hung up someplace strangling or starving. I look for that bright blue leash all over the neighorhood but I haven't seen it.

 

The dogs check that spot every time they go outside.

I have not seen the Possum again.

I feel awful.

 

 

VOICE LESSONS

Yesterday,
or the day before. The Watchdog spotted a woman walking past the house with two dogs.

 

He immediately alerted the other two watchdogs

 

 

And in the very best hound style, they began to bark. And bark. And bark, and then one of them, I am not sure which one, kind of dragged the bark out and within seconds it had become a

 

HOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWL

 

And of course the others tilted their heads back and one after another THEY began to howl, and soon all three were howling.

 

In the midst of this stood

 

 

The baby. With no idea what was going on. No clue as to why his housemates were yowling. All he knew was the pack was doing this and so he put his little black nose in the air and began howling, too.

 

It isn't much compared to the big boys.

It will never be as deep and melodious as theirs.

And right now it is more a Falsetto than anything but

the important thing is, he tried. And he belongs.

He is part of the pack. 

THE ART SHOW SORT OF

Went to an "art show" at an assisted living facility.
I have done this once before several years ago. That time I backed into the guy in the car behind me and in addition sold nothing.

This time I nearly backed into the guy behind me (who honked in time) and I sold nothing.

I didn't expect to and my friend Ann was next to me (she sold a little) so at least I had someone to talk to. I got there at 7:45 and set up and was ready by 9 when it opened. Hah Hah. Would have been difficult to know it was OPEN.

                     

How I felt by Noon                 

 

I tried to remember that this is my future. It didn't help. There were a  lot of ladies and not many men. What's wrong with these guys that they can't live longer? I really don't want to be alone. I bitch about John but I would much rather have him around than not.

 

Ann sold a little bit.

 

The Bake Sale was the big winner, I think.

 

 

How I felt by 2 pm.

 

 

 

4 pm time to pack it up!!!

 

 

This is probably the last one of these I will do. I did it as a favor to someone who I like very much and who is very ill and living at this place, which is nice as these things go.

 

I was so glad to get home to my crazy dogs and exhausted husband. I was happy to catheterize Nigel, delighted to pull the sock out of Doc's sharky little mouth, happy to have Conley almost knock me down and laughing at Llewis, who woud not shut up.

This is my idea of assisted living.

 

 

BLOG PROBLEMS

Ok pretend these are mice. The reason you need to pretend is because Google is doing some really bizarro things this morning and will not give me a photo of a mouse.
These are of the genus A. Nony Mouse.

I know some of you do not want to attach your names to comments.
I understand that.
I appreciate almost all comments, even those critical of content.
(Mostly I like the others tho- the ones with effusive praise.)

Recently A Nony Mouse has been very busy sending comments that simply direct the reader to another website that frequently has nothing to do with the blog. 

See, kind of like this, only written. The Llama has nothing to do with anything. Neither do these websites.
And the bad part is, they are being sent by A. Nony Mouse. So that if I filter the anonymous comments, I may be filtering yours as well as that of whoever is sending the comments leading to oddball websites. Blogger Spam is what it is.

Only since Google has started their new and improved SPAM folder have I had this problem. Once they made it better, they fucked it all up.

A little like this. In about 1 second this guy is going to be laying on the ground watching those feet pound around him, thinking "I should have been a CPA."

So maybe those of you who prefer to remain anonymous could start signing your comments as someone who is unlikely to be reading the blog in the first place, like Chris Melloni, or Vincent D'Onofrio, or Lassie, or even my husband. (Who, every time this subject comes up says "YOU have a Blog? I've never seen it!" Yeah well you gotta have the address, babe.
And then I wouldn't need to read the ones from Anonymous.

(Do you have any clue how many years it would have taken me to get my horse under this thing?)
(See? another totally unrelated comment.)

If you cannot change from Anonymous to say, Annie Leibowitz, I will read your comments anyway.
Just sayin.


Last one. My son the Glassblower with Marble City Glasswork's portable furnace.

OODS AND ENDS

I took Baby Doc in for shots. A woman came in carrying a little white dog and I thought, I know her.
When she sat down behind me I realised she is my very best jewelry client. In fact, I have a necklace she bought that I need to fix. I did  fix it, but I think I am going to re-do all the pieces like the one that fell off. I know what happened, and it SHOULDN'T happen to the other pieces, but it shouldn't have happened to that one, either. Anyway it was interesting to see her outside the Gallery and nice to meet her dog, who she had told me about.

My husband had a cup of Starbuck's on his way to get his hair cut.
I grew up in a household where coffee was served black, and so I drink mine black, when I drink it, and so does John. I am not sure he had just one cup...it's like having Chatty Cathy in the chair in the living room. (John is one of the quietest people I know.) If you are reading this and are too young to know who Chatty Cathy was, google it.

While we were hanging around the animal hospital I wandered back to the groomers and Baby Doc got his nails cut, his paws trimmed and a real brushing by the groomer while we talked with Doc (the one with two legs and a DVM degree.) Actually he and I didn't TALK much since it is so close to the election that nothing we talk about will end without bloodshed.

Baby Doc weighs 23.3 pounds and the Bassets are starting to walk underneath him. It still bounces him off his toes a bit but give him another two weeks and it won't. That's how I know he is growing: the Bassets now see him as a door, not an obstacle.

BAD STUFF

i read that in Camarillo, California someone soaked a Basset in lighter fluid and set him on fire. He died. His name was Buddy.

I am trying to think what Buddy did to deserve this at the hands of what are billed as the "superior species".

It has been a long time since I have heard of a Basset setting his owner on fire. I am sure there are days when Conley thinks of horrible endings for me, but I doubt setting me on fire is one of them.

This ia Mitchell.It means someone took lighter fluid and poured it all over a dog that once did things like this and set it on fire.

Or a dog like this. One that just wanted to be loved and have a little bit to eat every day. Imagine pouring lighter fluid on this dog and throwing a match on him.
Imagine what I would do to you if I caught you doing that.

                                        OR THIS

GOT ANY IDEAS?