THE BAD CHILDREN

Having moved from pillar to post my patience has been running very thin. It is difficult to turn your entire life (almost) over to strangers; to know that what you do next is dependent on what OTHER people do next or not at all or eventually. It is the eventually part that gets me. WHEN are they going to do it?
So it was with some reservations that I turned the problem of raccoons in the a/c ducts over to Eddie, the fix it man. (At least now, living in the rental, he is our do-everything guy.)
Eddie is a big guy. Big forearms. A workman. He is always pleasant, laughs long and loud, loves animals, enjoys his work apparently. Never complains. His complaints, such as they are, are so low-key they sound like my compliments. "Oh you little rascals" he muttered last night, as the baby raccoons cringed just out of reach (by about 10 feet).

So at 11:30 last night, here was Eddie and his reluctant (and terrified helper, Brandon,) crawling through the ductwork on his belly, hoping Mom Raccoon wasn't at the end of the poorly little passageway but not really knowing. Brandon stayed outside (of the house) to guard against the Mama returning while Eddie was facedown in the tunnel trying to reach her children.

Eventually the decision was made to cut holes in the "family room" (dining room) ceiling,pull the two babies out and put them in a box right by the (now blocked) entrance to the house the Mother had been using. It was raining a  little. Brandon was terrified the Mother would return and rip out his spleen and eat it.

Three holes in the ceiling later (they moved toward the soffit) Eddie reached in and pulled one out by the tail, set it on the ladder and then deposited it in the box I held. I draped a towel over it. I could not believe it wasn't trying to get out, but it huddled in the towel. Then came the second, and then Eddie.

And you can see by his expression, what he thinks of his naughty children.

The white thing is a glove just in case: the rest is plaster dust. By now, it is midnight.

Ok I confess, the little rats are cute, ok? I don't want anything terrible to happen to them, but I don't want them living in my place of residence either, rental or otherwise.

John heard the Mother up there on the roof last night. I can climb a ladder but not dismount onto the roof. I left it there in hopes that John would feel compelled to look and see if the tenants had been moved, but he doesn't. I guess we will wait till Eddie arrives, which will probably be quite late.

So good luck little guys.

Thanks for leaving. (We hope).

ALL CREATURES MANY WITH TEETH

We moved into the rental house last Friday afternoon.
We have mowed the yard, pulled some weeds, picked up after the dogs. The refrigerator leaks water, there are not enough electrical outlets. I have had 3 dog fights, one between Nigel and Conley who ended up fighting inside a crate. The mosquitoes are frightening, some of the neighbors are very nice.
The man who came to put Freon in the a/c unit accidentally set the unit on fire, but managed to put it out and fix it altho we have yet to turn it on.
I have washed every piece of clothing we own, been to the store, fixed actual meals.
The dogs are adjusting well. There is a nice, large backyard.

It had just dried out enough that it wasn't muck, but this morning it is raining again.
This next is a photo looking from the front to the back room. It is an important photo, so take note.

Above that large opening leading into the "dining room" is some ductwork put in when they put in forced air.

Last night, all three Bassets were happily (and voluntarily) asleep in their crates when they leapt up as one, charged full speed out of their crates and, baying, rushed into that room. First they ran to the door, then the window and finally, began leaping into the air pointed at the ductwork.
To my horror, inside the duct, I heard thumping, skittering--claws on metal-- and then--------------------------------then------------------the unmistakable sound of very small raccoons calling frantically for Mom.

There is a content warning at the beginning of this blog. But my immediate thought was:
                       "Oh fucking shit, NO WAY!!!!"


You see, we had raccoons in the crawlspaces above the kitchen sink and upstairs in the OTHER house--the real one we would be living in if the roof had not been re-done in the midst of a hurricane type wind and rainstorm.

There is no mistaking the chirring of the sweet little bastards once you have encountered it. There is no mistaking the sounds of the Mama stomping down a metal duct. Also make no error in thinking raccoons are cute, cuddly, sweet, engaging little rapscallions, because they are not. Threatened, raccoons are big, fast, extremely vicious and they fight dirty. Oh. And not only are they smart but never forget they have HANDS, that they can grab onto you (or your dog) and bite and bite and tear AND NEVER LET GO. They carry parasites and rabies. They are not cute. But there they are, in our ductwork.

Supposedly the owner of this property is sending someone out today to "take care of it". SHort of tear out the duct, I am not sure how. I can tell them right where they were last night, but raccoons are nocturnal and sleep during the day, and it may be that they have moved.
Anyway today will not be like yesterday for the dogs:

Besides it is raining.

                       Looking forward to today's entertainment. NOT.

THE RENTAL DOGS

This is Cooper, obviously overly excited about his "new" temporary home.

Here is Conley after he got chilled slogging through the water in the backyard. (I had the towel OVER him for a long time.)

It's hard to tell but Cooper is so overwrought he moved his head an inch or two.

Conley and Nigel share my bed, obviously too upset about the move to continue their usual snarling at each other.

Excited and anxious, Conley has moved his head.

His usual energetic self, Llewis is playing hide and seek using the DadPerson chair as his base.

And so it continues, the hounds raising hell and we trying to cope. Is today Father's day? Whoops.

THE BIG CHANGE

Tomorrow we get to move into a house. It isn't home but it is a house and it has plenty of room and carpeting and I see a steam cleaner looming in my future.
Just like home, however, the backyard is flooded. Well, everything is flooded today even highways and underpasses and places that are normally dry are flooded. Of course we are expecting more rain, why not?

Last night it thundered starting at about midnight and I spent from then to about 4 in the morning with Cooper sitting pretty much on my head. PAnting.
I gave him the Composure but I got it into him too late and he was already hyped up. Anybody who has ever tried to tranquilize an excited dog knows this is not going to work well.

This morning we walked outside in the rain but then it thundered so we came right back in. Later we went out when it was not raining but everything was soaked. John went out and so Cooper dug a nest in his bed and dried out on his sheets and pillows. (I had dried him with a towel, but....)

They (not sure who They are, anymore, there are too many of Them) are delivering furniture (not ours) to the rental tomorrow afternoon. The cable guy comes in the afternoon. The inspector comes (again) in the afternoon. The inspectors are crazy people. He made the owner fix a screen that was slightly bent, replace a light bulb, fix two doorknobs that have sharp edges, and the owner is going to put in a gate and have new siding put on. He has 7 days to get that done and I guess if he doesn't we have to move out. I am not even going to think about it. Not at all. Nope.

Our real house is still being torn apart. Then the fun starts. Wait till the inspector gets a look at OUR house! Holy Shit, batman. It's gonna be bad.
Maybe it's not as bad when you own the house as when you rent it out. I cling desperately to that thought. This screen the guy had to fix was bent out maybe a quarter of an inch. We have screens that are cut all the way across the bottom because I locked myself out. They let in stray bobcats.

Ok I am blathering because I am excited about getting the boys back with us. It will be interesting to see what they make of a whole new place.

YOU CAN'T GO HOME AGAIN

Today I went over to the house to work on packing up the upstairs so the tear-down-men can tear down the walls up there. I cleaned out, or started to clean out, my daughter's closet.

I left Cooper outside in the Van, parked where I could see it, with the doors and hatch open, in his crate. He is happy in his crate in the Van. He considers it a home base. I can leave him anywhere in that Van and he will wait quietly for me to return. When my Dad was dying in the hospital I would park the Van in the underground garage and crack the windows (it was winter, in Iowa) and Cooper would be happily snoozing when I got back two or three hours later.

It is one of his most endearing qualities that he is a world-class traveler. He rides elevators, doesn't pee in art Galleries, (in fact is trained to not pee if I tell him not to pee on something outside, like someone's prize rose bush). He doesn't bark unless someone approaches the car and then he is protective.

So there he was when it began to rain. And it was raining into the Van. And it was pretty warm and extremely humid (well yes, if it was raining...) and then it thundered. Uh Oh.

I grabbed a leash and got Cooper out of the crate and he dragged me to the front door.

Now please keep in mind that Cooper has not been inside his home since the day the water fell and the roof failed. So he has no idea what has happened in there, only that he has been living like a spoiled little king in a motel, without the short-legs, eating McDonald's and Subway and getting to sleep on a king=sized bed if he wants, or a pull out couch (with me) if he prefers.

Life has been good for Cooper.

I opened the door to the house and he lunged inside and came to a dead halt. Within seconds, all his hair was standing on end and from within him came a low and extremely menacing snarl. And then the barking started. Very angry, aggressive barking. The kind he uses on people he knows should not be where they are and/or whom I do not like. (There was no one else there.)

I got him quieted down and we sat together at the foot of the stairs-- there are nails all over the floor. The moment the rain let up I opened the door and he charged for the Van and leaped into his crate. Later I went out again and sat on the tailgate and opened his crate, thinking he might like to join me for a little snuggle but he looked wary and disturbed and refused.

He was delighted to come "home" to the motel.

It made me realise what a stressful and discombobulating summer this is going to be for the dogs--- out of their lifelong home into a motel (or kennel) and then to another home, and then back to the original which will not smell the same, look the same, or even BE the same.

What must they think?

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.