Tag: satire

Daylight Savings Time

Daylight Savings Time is going to be the death of me.  This is a government plot to totally screw up everybody’s body clock and thus take over the world.  I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since Friday night, the night before this madness took over.  The dogs are all out of sync, they don’t know whether it’s time to eat, go for a walk or bedtime. 

Mitch’s work schedule mandates that we go to bed very early in the evening in order to be up and bright eyed at 2:30 in the morning.  Now with Daylight Savings Time, I feel like I’m going to bed in the middle of the afternoon and by the time I finally fall asleep, it’s time to get up and start all over again, sans bright eyed.  I know, I’m whining, sorry.

Daylight Savings Time started in World War I in order to conserve energy, but in adding more light to end of the day we sacrifice the early morning light.  In fact most farmers are against Daylight Savings Time and I’m with them.  I get up very early every day, albeit our schedule demands it, but I’m also an early riser naturally.  I figure that if someone wants more daylight hours, get up an hour earlier.  Why can’t the world change just for me?  Now I’m really whining, sorry.  But I’m the one here suffering from massive fatigue and sleep deprivation, so I get to complain.  Mitch is not the least bit out of sync; he can sleep through a nuclear blast.  Notice that now I’m getting cranky on top of the fatigue.

I see a trip to Walmart for some over the counter sleeping pills in my future.

The Great Snowmaggedon of 2013

Thursday the weather forecasters finally got it right.  We have been in a severe drought since last June, so there hasn’t been much for them to talk about.  It has been so bad that the mere suggestion of the possibility of precipitation has brought a flurry (no pun intended) of continuous weather reports.  Our weather forecasters were downright giddy throughout the day having successfully predicting the Great Snowmageddon of 2013.  It was touted as the biggest single day snowfall in decades.

They started predicting that the storm would arrive at midnight on Wednesday dropping one to two inches an hour.  We got up at 2:30 am and looked outside, no snow, what a disappointment.  We figured the weathermen got it wrong, again.  We would probably just get a dusting.  Well the snowflakes didn’t start to fall until about 7:00 am on Thursday long after we had been up and at work.  It snowed with a vengeance for about 5 hours coming down fast and furious. 

People were getting their cars stuck in the middle of the roads or sliding off the roads into ditches and just leaving their cars where they got stuck, causing huge traffic jams and wrecks.  It was as if a lot of people that have lived here for years had forgotten how to drive in the snow.  People over-estimated their ability and under-estimated the conditions.  It made for spectacular news coverage.  Nothing like a massive blizzard to give the media something to talk about.  The media had reporters out on the roadways taking pictures of snarled traffic throughout the city, interviewing stranded travelers and pretty much making nuisances of themselves, as usual.

We ended up with about nine inches of snow and in the process making tow trucks, body shops and car dealers very happy.  Business is booming for them.

Oh and Orso thinks the snow is pretty awesome!

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It’s a Jungle Out There

Our predawn walk today was almost like a trip to the zoo.  Lions and tigers and bears oh my.  Well not quite lions and tigers and bears, but plenty of other wild animals crossed our path this morning.  I almost felt like Marlin Perkins. 

No sooner than we started off up the hill from the house did we run across a small herd of deer mingling in the neighbor’s yard.  Orso lunged forward with an extremely loud woof, startling the deer causing them to bolt and run up over the hill beyond us.  After I put my shoulder back in the socket we resumed our walk.  I had my fingers crossed inside my mittens that we were now going to be animal free.  Not so.  You would think that I would be used to being wrong all the time.

As we topped the hill and started down there was a very large opossum sauntering across the road without a care in the world.  Stupid opossum.  Both dogs charged down the hill toward the opossum with a five foot one and a half inch boat anchor in tow, me.  It took about fifteen steps before I could regain control and halt the charge, because now the opossum has seen the charging dogs and decided to play possum and faint.  Really stupid animal.  Just what I need, an unconscious wild animal, two dogs ready to eat the unconscious wild animal and with my luck the wild animal would wake up and decide to fight back.  With much tugging and pulling and a few choice words spoken softly so as not to rouse the sleeping opossum and the neighbors, I finally pulled them past the critter and moved on. 

We ran across no more animals on the way to the dam so I was becoming hopeful we would not see anything else.  Well almost right this time, but not quite.  At the dam, to the left of us was the lake and to the right is a park area complete with a shelter house, picnic table and grill.  Below the dam is a nice greenway that we take the dogs to and let them run and work off pent up energy.  Well this morning at the base of one of the two large Sycamore trees was a large raccoon hugging the base of the tree frozen and making no movement just watching us very alertly.  Luckily for me the wind was blowing across us from the left to the right, masking the raccoon’s scent.  The dogs had no idea that fifteen feet from us this raccoon was waiting and watching, ready to scurry up the tree if the need should arise.  As we walked past, I turned back and saw the raccoon walk across the road to the lake and disappear in the dark. 

Maybe I need to make a standing appointment with my chiropractor.

Another Morning Walk as Sedate as Always – Not!

Once again our “quiet sedate” pre-dawn walk was anything but quiet or sedate.  Something was out there.  Both dogs were on high alert.  Orso had his head up with ears turned forward and at attention, listening intently searching for the intruder.  Charlie always on the hunt had his nose to the ground and sucking up the strange new scent through his vast number of olfactory glands.  He sounded like a vacuum cleaner sniffing and snorting sorting out the scent.  His tail puffed out and the hair on his back stood straight up like a Mohawk.  Orso scanned the dark road in front of us turning his head back and forth searching for a glimpse of whatever it was.  Charlie jerked and pulled on the leash head still down following the hot scent getting more and more agitated as we walked. 

I started to doubt the wisdom of our forward motion, thinking this is only going to end badly for us, or in reality, me.  As we rounded a curve in the road, Charlie jerked his head up and turned to the right of us, lunged forward and growled at the dark.  That’s when the hair on the back of my neck stood up too.  Orso and I both looked in the direction of Charlie’s growled challenge, not seeing anything.  Whatever was out there wasn’t showing itself and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.  Adrenaline was flowing in both Charlie and me now so I quickened our step in order to get up over the hill to where there was a street light and maybe get a look at what had Charlie so worked up.  His “I want to kill something” instinct was definitely in overdrive.

By the time we reached the street light the scent had gone cold and Charlie started to relax a bit, as much as Charlie ever relaxes.  I noticed that most of the hair on his back was laying down with only a tuft of hair at base of his tail still at attention.  Maybe whatever was out there had decided not to tag along and track us in the dark.  It took a little longer for the adrenaline rush to go away for me though.  I was a little more on guard than usual for the rest of the walk.

I think I need to start carrying a light saber or bazooka maybe on our walks.

When the Weather Outside is Frightful

 

 

When it’s too cold to go outside, the best playground is our bed.  The favorite game is King of the Bed.

 

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“My Bed”

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“Just try and get up here”

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“Game on”

Woof!

Living with Orso is comparable to living with a rebellious teenager.  Every conversation is an argument.  A conversation with a teenager goes something like this, “Honey I need you to clean up your room.”

First you get an explosion of expelled air then, “What’s wrong with my room?  It looks fine to me.”

“There are clothes all over the floor and I’m down to three dishes in the cabinet to eat dinner on, please go clean up your room.”

“I know where everything is.  Besides it’s my room and I like it like it is.”

With Orso I’ll look at him and say, “Sit.”

He looks at me and says, “Woof.”

I repeat my sit command again, and get the same response, “Woof.”

Now my voice is a little louder and sterner, “Sit!”

To which I get, “Woof woof!” 

Now I’m about to lose my temper and the ninety-five pound stinker knows it so he sits and has the audacity to sit there and wag his tail like he’s done something wonderful.  As every parent does, I look skyward for guidance and patience, lots of patience.  Everyday it’s the same, I tell him to do something or pick up my purse to go somewhere and all I get is sass.  Just like a teenager. 

I wonder when and where I lost control and what made this dog start to question and argue with me every time I speak.  Just like a teenager.  According to medical science dogs supposedly age seven years for each 365 day cycle.  That would make Orso forty two, hardly a teenager, so is science wrong or is he just eternally going to be this annoying? 

I must be cursed, I have already raised two sons to adulthood (luckily they survived) and thought I was past teenage attitude.  Evidently not.

It’s Time to Start Writing Again

I realized the other day that I hadn’t been writing since AJ died.  I had nothing to say.  Nothing funny or witty came to mind; I just felt this empty loss.  I guess I needed the time to get past his death.  I still miss him, but now I know that it was for the best for him.  No more pain.  I’m just sorry that I didn’t clue into his pain sooner.  That makes me sad that I didn’t see the signs, the growing rib cage, the slowing down and most of all not picking up on his refusal to eat with the usual gusto he had exhibited in the past.  Does that make me a bad pet owner?  I hope not.  But I hope that I will be a more aware pet owner for Charlie and Orso.

When a member of the family dies all you feel at first is the sorrow and pain of the loss of a dear loved one.  All of their faults are forgotten.  I could only think of how much I loved him, what a devoted dog he was and that I would never get to see or pet him again.  AJ wasn’t perfect, far from it in reality. 

He had severe separation anxiety issues that we could never overcome, even after ten years in a stable loving environment.  AJ was a consummate counter surfer, stealing and consuming multiple loaves of bread and many coffee cakes that were still in the baking dish.  How that glass pan survived multiple crashes to the floor is a testament to the strength of Pyrex.  He even broke into the pantry and ate his way through two loaves of bread, chocolate cake mix, taco shells, dry pasta and a bottle of Magic Shell in one scavenger attack.  He survived without getting sick, even though I would have felt some sense of justice if he had.

I can look back now and remember the carnage and mess and smile, but not then.  Mitch and I went through a period of trying everything we could think of to contain the dogs, with AJ as the ring leader, and keep the kitchen contents safe from theft and destruction.  The pantry doors will have to be replaced because of the scratches from AJ working to pull the doors open.  I can’t remember how many times AJ knocked over the trash can and dragged the bag out into the room and searched for something that might be tasty, leaving a nasty mess for us to clean up. 

AJ chewed his way through a pair of Mitch’s boots, a pair of my gloves, a pair of 360 ear muffs (my favorite ones of course) and a couple of my cookbooks over the years.  I don’t know if it was out of boredom or fear, but it was so frustrating on my part, looking at the destruction and the cost to repair or replace what was torn up.  We even tried kenneling him when we were gone.  There wasn’t a crate made that could hold him for long.  AJ had an uncanny ability for escape.  His nickname should have been Houdini.  First we tried a wire crate.  It took him maybe four hours to force the welds at the corners to pop and collapse the crate.  I’m only guessing at the four hours because that was how long I was gone.  After the failure of the wire crate we tried an airline crate, formed plastic with wire windows and door.  The door lasted three days before AJ had pushed against the hinge pins long and hard enough to bend the catches so the door would swing open.  Mitch tried to get creative and cut a door out of clear Lexan, drilled vent holes and hung it in place of the bent wire door.  That solution lasted one week.  Long enough for AJ to chew through the formed plastic base all the way across under the door, causing the door to just fall out.  Done, we were out of ideas on ways to lock up Houdini. 

What can you do with a dog that is that determined to be untethered with a myriad of phobias and bad habits?  The only option we had, love him and deal with the phobias and bad behavior on a day by day basis.  For all of the destruction and mayhem, I wouldn’t have missed one moment with AJ.

One Day Two Countertops and Only Three Meltdowns

One more project down and only a gazillion to go.  I gave Mitch two weeks off from home improvement projects and threw in a weekend hunting trip to boot to relax him before tackling the latest project, new kitchen countertops.  Should have been a cakewalk right, especially since both countertops were only six feet long and no corners.  Wrong, never is in this house. 

First surprise of the day was when I just pulled the one side off by myself, shocking Mitch that the old countertop was not anchored to the cabinets.  Not surprising to me, by now nothing surprises me about this house.  We switched out the old countertop for the new one, done easy peasy.  I thought that the second would be almost as quick, unhook the drains, garbage disposal and faucet, and lift off.  That part went fairly fast so things were looking hopeful. 

Cutting the new hole and fitting the sink was a bit more challenging.  Many measurements with the tape measure were taken, just to be sure that the hole wasn’t cut too big.  You can always make a hole bigger, but you can’t make a hole smaller.  I walked into the kitchen to find Mitch drawing the outline of the sink in permanent marker on the top of the new countertop.  I rubbed the center line he had drawn to the edge of the countertop that would be exposed, it didn’t come off.  I looked at him and said that this will not work having a black line across my new countertop, oh no.  He turned and left to find something that would remove the marker and thus would get to reside on the planet another day.  Luckily, Windex worked like a champ.  Mitch is off the endangered species list for now.

The jigsaw wouldn’t get quite close enough to the back splash to make the back side cut, so that took different blades, cutting angles and eventually a different saw to get a close cut.  Next came the fitting of the sink into the new hole.  It didn’t, surprise.  How can you measure, measure and measure again and then it doesn’t fit?  That caused Meltdown number one.  Out came the rubber mallet, at least it wasn’t the sledgehammer.  Two new dents to the stainless steel sink and it fit.  Woo hoo. 

The container of plumbers putty was dried up and hard, so Mitch had to add water to soften it up.  Meltdown number two came when he asked for my help holding the sink in the hole so he could attach the fasteners that clamp onto the underside of the sink and secure it to the countertop.  I walked to the backside of the countertop which was sitting on blocks in the dining room and waited for direction.  Evidently I had turned off my mental telepathy switch and didn’t know that I was to immediately grab the countertop and sink in a death grip to hold it in place.  Mitch bent down and flipped up the front side causing the sink to slip.  Huge meltdown.  I told him he needed to use his words.  Not very smart on my part, using sarcasm in the face of unmitigated rage.  At least he didn’t toss me across the room, just sent the dust brush flying.  Second attempt and this time I grabbed the sink but it slipped again, causing Mitch to say that he would just secure the sink to the countertop on his back in the kitchen with the countertop supported by the cabinets, among other more colorful words.

We carried the countertop sans sink to the kitchen and placed it on the cabinets.  He set the sink in the hole in the countertop and I thought that maybe it wouldn’t be very long before this would be finished.  Wrong again, I should be used to being wrong a lot.  I made myself scarce when I heard the comment, “If one more thing goes wrong, I’m lighting a match.”

The third meltdown was almost anticlimactic compared to meltdown number two, sort of like an aftershock.  Mitch decided there weren’t enough sink clips to secure the sink to the countertop.  That set off a string of ranting and raving about why nothing is ever simple and easy about the house.  I wisely chose not to remind him that the house was in his family long before I came into the picture.

Ten o’clock at night and the new countertop project was finally finished.  It only took fourteen hours and three meltdowns, a new record somewhere I’m sure.

Our Sunday Hunt

While Saturday was cold and raw, Sunday was just brutal.  The high temperature for the day was at 4:30 in the morning when I took the dogs outside after they ate.  It went downhill from there.  By the time we got out of the car to start the morning hunt, the temperature had dropped to about twenty degrees with twenty-five mile an hour winds out of the northwest.  I seriously doubted our sanity.  I had on a turtleneck, button up shirt, insulated vest and an insulated field coat on top and pants and insulated over-pants on the bottom.  I also was wearing silk glove liners and insulated shooting gloves.  It wasn’t enough.  That wind just cut right through me.

Shaking my head at our insanity, I grabbed my camera and headed out with Mitch and the dogs.  Trying to catch a scent of any birds in this wind was going to be sheer luck on the dogs’ part.  AJ flushed the first bird which Mitch shot and AJ retrieved it with Orso in hot pursuit.  Maybe there would be birds in spite of the bitter conditions. 

As we rounded an out cropping of trees that opened up to a small field of knee high prairie grass.  I walked on the outer rim while Mitch walked along the tree line.  As I got to the middle of the field I noticed that all of the dogs were with me (sans gun) and Mitch was nowhere to be seen.  I thought to myself, what was the number one rule of hunting?  Stay with the dogs.  I hoped that the dogs wouldn’t find any birds, because I sure wasn’t going to kill a bird with my mind.  I kept calling the dogs back to me hoping to stall and Mitch would miraculously show up just as the dogs flushed some birds.  But no such luck.  Charlie flushed one into the tree line at the edge of the field and I found myself running to where the quail flew despite the fact that I only carried a camera.  Old habits.  Mitch finally showed up just as AJ flushed a small covey of about five quail.  Mitch shot two into the trees when a third one flew out over my head and as Mitch swung around for the shot I quickly dropped to the ground to avoid either being shot or slapped in the head with the gun barrel.  He got the bird, by the way.

So far the day was shaping up to be a very fruitful harvest.  The only drawback was the bitter cold.  I headed down into the draw to try to escape the wind, but by then my hands were too cold.  They hurt so bad even with the gloves on I was afraid that I could cause some permanent damage so I told Mitch that I was going to head back to the car and warm up.  Walking back to the car I heard a noise behind me so I turned to look back and there was AJ, who lives to hunt, walking along with me.  He had had enough too.

I think that AJ and I are the wiser of the bunch.  But that’s not saying much since we all went out there to begin with.

Orso Finally Got It!

We went hunting in Central Nebraska this past weekend.  The original plan was to hunt pheasant but there were no pheasant, so it was decided that we would hunt quail instead.  Pheasant are not an especially hardy bird at the best of circumstances and with the severe drought have not fared well at all.  Now since it was determined that quail was the only option to hunt I decided to forgo carrying a shotgun and carry a camera instead.  I am not fast enough to shoot quail.  On the occasions we have flushed a covey of quail in past hunting trips, I was always startled at the delicate fluttering of birds and as soon as I realized that I could shoot at them, the birds were way out of gun range.  So I figured I would stand a better chance of getting some shots of the dogs and Mitch with my camera than hitting a quail with my gun.

Saturday was cold and cloudy, with temperatures in the forties with a mild breeze, making day seem pretty raw.  The dogs headed out with Charlie ranging a bit too far in front as always.  We have to call him back often otherwise he’ll flush a bird three counties away.  AJ wandered a lot slower and more methodically this year, his age showing.  Orso as usual headed off lumbering along just happy to be out with everybody bumping into the closest body to wherever he ended up in the field.  Charlie was the first to flush a bird and Mitch actually shot it.  I was shocked.  I didn’t really think that any birds would get shot the entire weekend.  Charlie fetched the bird up with Orso sniffing away at this new creature.  He has shown no interest in pheasants at all.  But this new one smelled pretty good to him. 

Orso started off and actually put head down and used his nose to search for a likely scent.  This was a bird he liked and wanted to find.  Who knew?  Orso wandered farther into the field head down, stopped for a brief moment then lunged forward catching a bird in his mouth before it could fly.  He came trotting up to Mitch with the bird in his mouth, its’ little white head poking out to the side.    He did this not once but three times.  Orso had great success at quail hunting.  He only needed us to carry the birds after he caught them.

Maybe there is hope for him yet.