Tag: short stories

Banned Television

The list of television shows that I have been banned from watching has grown. The newest TV show on the no-watch list is the Dr. Oz Show. The reason, I watch part of a segment think what a great idea and try it. The results are never what the show touts. Granted, it’s not the show’s fault that I haven’t seen the complete segment, but nonetheless I am not a responsible adult when watching these shows.

I see some new exercise that looks easy, but in reality I need to be twenty something weigh about ninety pounds and have the bone structure of an octopus. I try but there is no way I will ever be able to twist my body in the pretzel shape that is supposed to relieve back pain and make me more flexible. All I did was help my chiropractor pay for his summer vacation.

I landed on the show one day while channel surfing and caught the end of another segment where a man was espousing the benefits of taking Cayenne supplements to help get the maximum metabolism benefit while exercising. He said that taking the supplement would help speed up more calorie burn even when not exercising. So I rushed to the store and bought a bottle of Cayenne capsules. The directions said to take one three times a day with meals. It didn’t say that you should also drink a gallon of water too. I can’t say that my metabolism has sped up and haven’t lost a pound but I do have the worst case of heart burn ever.

I should also add health magazines to the list of avoiding. I read an article in a small health magazine while waiting in the doctor’s office about a super food, Chia Seeds. The article told about vast health benefits of eating just a tablespoon a day, mixing the seeds in a smoothie, sprinkled on a salad or in baking. The article claimed that the seeds contained omega 3 fatty acids, had more antioxidants than blue berries and fiber. So I figured trying it would give me more energy, helping me get back into shape faster and lose weight. No added energy and I gained three pounds.

My reading selections are now limited to the tabloids and the only television I can watch are crime dramas. Maybe I can figure out whodunit and sell it to the tabloids.

Orso, Orso, Orso What am I Going to do with You?

Orso is trying to kill me, or at least maim me. This morning as I was waiting for Mitch to come out to the car so I could take him to work as I do every morning, I reached over the driver’s seat to pet Orso when he turned sideways pinning my arm against him and the barrier bars separating the front seat and the back section of the station wagon. He leaned against the bars crushing my arm, invoking a string of foul language and screeching on my part. It hurt deep down to the bone, I was amazed my arm wasn’t broken.

Of course that would have changed our plans for the morning and I wasn’t dressed for a trip to the emergency room. I hadn’t showered yet or put on any makeup, definitely not a pretty picture at four in the morning. I could see the whole scenario in the emergency room now.

The first question would be, “Are you in an abusive relationship?” and the nurse would look sideways at Mitch.

I would hesitate and say, “Yes I’m definitely in an abusive relationship, but not him. It’s my dog that beats me up.”

The nurse wouldn’t believe me and call in a counselor and then the whole day would be shot which would put Mitch in a foul mood, getting him arrested. Then after I get my cast I would have to go the ATM and get money to bail him out, go to court and try to explain why it wasn’t Mitch. I’m not sure that I would be allowed to take Orso into court as evidence, but anyone that owns a big lunkhead like him would believe me.

Luckily for all of us, Orso didn’t break my arm, but I am sporting a huge knot and a bruise that runs across my foreman. That dog is out to get me.

A Day at the Lake

Orso is not especially fond of swimming, but he really loves boat rides.

DSCF3766
“Look a boat!”

DSCF3767
“Hey guys there’s a boat out there.”

DSCF3770
“Can we go, huh can we?”

I’m Married to a Ten Year Old Boy

Don’t get me wrong, I love Mitch with a passion and ninety percent of the time he acts like any normal man in his sixties. He takes his responsibilities seriously, has a strong work ethic and for the most part makes good decisions. If you ask almost everyone that knows Mitch, they will tell you he’s an old soul. He is usually pretty serious, doesn’t smile much, which scares a lot of people. He’s reserved and holds himself back a bit around people. Mitch is definitely not in the group labeled that the collective IQ drops when a bunch of guys get together. But every once in a while the ten year old boy comes out to play.

Because we pheasant hunt, we own bird dogs which require daily exercise. Our walks include both dogs sniffing the ground checking the scents left behind by other animals. Squirrels, raccoons and possums beware; these two will sniff them out and if we let them, will give chase. Squirrels run in fear because Charlie is fast enough and has caught and killed a few; Orso goes along for the ride. Geese are another favorite that the dogs love to chase. As long as the geese are not nesting, it is legal to harass geese with dogs in order to make the area less desirable to them. Geese are pretty lazy and will stay around and take over an area if not managed by different means, such as egg shaking and using dogs to make the geese fly. You can’t let your dog attack and kill them, though.

The ten year old boy thought that it was pretty cool to let the dogs chase the geese and make them fly. Well the geese only flew as far as the lake and landed in the water. That did not stop the dogs, only slowed them down a bit. Charlie and Orso jumped right in and started swimming after the geese. The geese swam up and down the lake with the dogs in hot pursuit and refused to come back when called. The two just kept swimming away after the geese to the other end of the lake. Problem one – Mitch discovered that there was no way he could get to the other end as quickly as the geese and the dogs would. Problem two – how would he get to other end quick enough to catch the dogs? Mitch had to run home jump in the station wagon and drive to the other side of the lake. He got there just in time to see the geese and the dogs turn around and start back the way they came. The ten year old boy quickly figured out that the dogs would drown from exhaustion if he couldn’t get them to come out of the water. This meant that he might have to jump in and swim out to them. Mitch finally caught Charlie’s attention and coaxed him to shore, with Orso following. I had two very tired dogs and one husband in the dog house.

One of our neighbors put a deer target out in his front yard propped up against a small tree. The start of our walk yesterday morning was just about sunrise still fairly dark, and the dogs didn’t notice anything, but on the way home the sun had come up and was a lot brighter out. Charlie saw the deer first and froze just staring at the deer; Orso swung around and saw what had captured Charlie’s eye. Both dogs stood stock still waiting for the deer to make a move so they could give chase. Of course Mitch encouraged Charlie to get a closer look, just like a little kid. Charlie lunged at the deer causing Orso to follow suit. The deer statue didn’t move, the dogs felt foolish and now I had a ten year old boy rolling on the ground laughing at the prank. All I could do was stand there, shake my head and roll my eyes.

The Sultan of Slobber

The other day I was sitting on the bench at the end of the bed putting on my shoes when I glanced up and saw a long brown streak on the wall a little higher than eye level. I walked over to get a better look and figure out what it was. You can imagine the look on my face when I realized it was dried dog slobber. Gross! Of course this isn’t the first time I’ve found dried dog drool on the walls, it is almost a daily occurrence around here. Ever since we brought Orso home we’ve had this phenomenon. So you’d think I would be used to finding it by now, but every time I spot a new blob of drool, I get grossed out.

I’m pretty sure there is a Saint Bernard hiding in that Labrador body. I’ve never seen a dog drool quite as much as him. Orso will be walking along and drool will be hanging down swaying back and forth with each step getting longer and longer. The long tendril will even pick up stray debris and add to the drool creating a sort of anchor at the end. It’s really disgusting looking. Mitch will take his shoe and knock it off, no big deal, but not me, I do not want that anywhere near me. I’ll take a twig to try and snag it, but I am not going to touch it with any part of my anatomy, unh huh no way. Yuck! I am pretty sure it is some sort of toxic waste or something like that.

What amazes me the most is how in the world it ends up splattered on the furniture, the walls and occasionally me. That is probably the grossest feeling in the world getting hit with flying drool. My stomach usually turns over a couple of times when that happens. Then I rush to go bathe.

Now my life is reduced to doing daily wall checks, where I walk around each room and check for fresh slobber shrapnel. I have found it as high as above the door jam, how he got it almost seven feet high amazed us both, but it usually is about five foot off the ground that I find most of Orso’s weapons. There is nothing more embarrassing than washing down all the walls and as soon as someone stops by the first thing anybody sees is the remains of a fresh nasty slobber blob at eye level.

That’s my dog.

I’m Going Solo Again

It’s just like old times. It’s just the dogs and me, facing life all alone in the wee hours of the morning. It has been eleven weeks since my foot surgery and one week bootless. This morning was the first morning that it was just me holding both leashes wandering around in the predawn hours. It was a nice quiet morning all by ourselves, no critters or other vermin about. It was a slow walk much to dogs dismay, my foot is still stiff and a bit tender, but I’m walking, and that is a wonderful feeling.

Charlie kept an eye on the road ahead as usual always on the hunt. Orso snatched as much tall grass to munch on along the way as always. The world is his “All You Can Eat Buffet”. I’ve never had a dog that will eat just about everything he comes across. Tall grass, mulberries and wild blackberries in the summer, acorns in the fall and hackberries in the winter are all on the menu, plus the undesirables, goose poop and deer droppings are quite the delicacy. Yuck.

This morning was quite uneventful and for that I am very grateful, because I know in the not too distant future, something will be out waiting for us. Waiting to run in front of us or make a noise in the dark and the dogs will lunge and drag me around like a boat anchor, and hopefully my foot will be able to take it, not to mention the rest of my body.

But there is hope, our wonderful friends that walked the dogs for me while I recovered also worked with them daily, training them to heel, do stupid pet tricks and not lunge at other dogs on the walk. I intend to carry on and continue the training; otherwise we’ll have dog stew for dinner. Just kidding, we don’t eat stew in the summer.

It felt good though, almost as though life is almost in balance again.

Wanted: A Big Honkin Guard Dog

We have a prowler. I made this disturbing discovery last evening when I went outside to water the tomatoes. I found a beer can in my garden outside our bedroom window and a cigar butt about five away from the beer can. The beer can still had about a quarter of beer left in it and the cigar had been smoked down to about two inches left. It still had the cigar band on it. So somebody stood outside our bedroom drank beer and smoked a cigar, and our two “watch” dogs never made a peep.

Can you believe it? There is somebody out there that has the nerve to stand outside our house drinking beer and smoke cigars, or maybe I should say the stupidity to stand outside drinking beer and smoke cigars. What did they think they would see? The windows are closed and the blinds are drawn, it’s summer, moron. It is hot outside, the air conditioner is on.

But more importantly, our pampered pooches didn’t make a sound. No they were sound asleep in our bed snoring away. Charlie snores louder than Mitch and Orso sleeps like a puppy, totally unconscious. I’m not going to get any help from Mitch either, because he can sleep through a gun shot, so I either become a lighter sleeper or get a bigger dog.

So I think I might place an ad in the paper:

“Wanted” A big honkin guard dog. Looking for the biggest, baddest, watchdog. One with fangs three inches long and jaws with a two thousand pound crushing force. One that can run faster than a speeding bullet and jump higher than six feet (I figure the creep can’t be too tall) and have an impact force of a runaway freight train.

Maybe if I get a dog to fit that description no one will come and hang out in the dark again

Monday Morning

The alarm clock shrieking in my ear
Head pounding a leftover of last night
Sitting upright slowly with great effort
Feet slow to hit the floor.

Shuffle to the shower
Stinging spray brings a gasp
Adjust the faucet to a more tepid degree
Shampoo in my eyes causing tears.

Stubbed toe getting out of the shower
Could this day get any worse?
Getting dressed and nothing matches
Monday morning has come to visit.

Naked!

The boot is off! I am a free woman. Oh what to do, what to do? Now I can do all the things that I have put off for nine weeks. Now I can go get a pedicure, go shoe shopping, do all those mundane glorious chores that I haven’t done for the last nine weeks. I can get back to hiking, working in the yard and walking the dogs among all of the other things on my to do list. Right now even vacuuming sounds fun, sick huh?

After a two hour surgery, five screws and a plate, thirty-six stitches with bones moved and removed and nine weeks of recovery, I am finally completely healed. My doctor said I did awesome on the healing and recovery. He asked if I brought a shoe and I pulled out a pair of three inch strappy sandals and said that I was planning on wearing them home. He looked at me like I was nuts, and I said that it was a joke, that I had brought many pairs to try on. We settled on the mate to the one I already had on

What I couldn’t believe was how weak my leg is and how tender the bottom of my foot is. I went to stand up and my left leg almost collapsed from the weight and pressure. My foot is still a bit swollen and my toes sort of jut upwards, but the doctor has assured me that they will lie down as I walk more. Toes pointing towards the ceiling, cute huh? I have been walking around in a walking boot for seven weeks and thought that shedding the boot and going back to shoes would be a piece of cake. Not so, this is going take bit of time getting back to a hundred percent. I guess this means I’m not running in a marathon next week.

Poor Frankenboot, what should I do with him? Maybe we’ll have a giant bonfire and burn Frank in effigy, Viking style or have him bronzed like parents used to do to baby’s first shoe. Or on a more practical note, maybe I should save him for future use. At the rate I’m going, I’m pretty sure I will probably break something in the future that would require a walking cast. I could even sell it on EBay and maybe get ten dollars for a slightly used black neoprene walking boot.

You have no idea how excited I am to be mobile again. I feel like I’m coming out of a kind of suspended state where most of my life has been on hold and in reality I guess it has, I’ve spent most of my energy healing. Now I’m ready to get back to full steam ahead, even if I have to take it a little slower than I originally planned.

Early Morning Photos

IMG_2606 (640x427)
Early morning

IMG_2610 (640x427)
Early morning sky

IMG_2614 (640x427)
Black Eyed Susans

IMG_2615 (640x427)
Black Eyed Susans