The Curious Cases of the Slightly Chomped Chewie

Not long ago I brought home a lovely new jar of "chewies" for the canines in my life. Now, most of us know that I have a little ADD/forgetfulness/old age/whothehellknowswhatiswrongwithme; so after handing out a few of these delectable treats, I forgot to screw the lid back on the jar...and this is what I came home to:

THE SCENE OF THE CRIME;
DINING ROOM TABLE
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THE EVIDENCE:
EXHIBIT ONE --
TREAT JAR WITH SEVERAL
SLIGHTLY CHOMPED CHEWIES STREWN ABOUT
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EXHIBIT TWO:
CLOSE UP OF EXHIBIT 1

AND THE USUAL SUSPECTS:

#1 LUKE.

KNOWN JUVENILE DELINQUENT,

CHARGED WITH BREAKING AND EXITING PASTURE;

HAS RECORD WITH ANIMAL CONTROL

DEFENSE -

VEGETARIAN. HEAD WON'T FIT IN CHEWIE JAR

#2

AIMLESS, FECKLESS, POINTLESS, GRACELESS -

DEFENSE:

CLAIM TO NOT KNOW WHERE THE DINING ROOM IS.

FOUR WAY ALIBI

#3
SAMDAMMIT
KNOWN REPROBATE.
HAS DESTROYED SHOES,
CLOTHING, AND ONE COUCH.
DEFENSE:
WOULD HAVE EATEN ALL THE CHEWIES
THEN CHEWED THE CONTAINER TO SMITHEREENS.

#4

CLEO.

KNOWN RINGLEADER OF THE INFAMOUS "PYGMY GANG"

HAS PRIOR BREAKING AND ENTERING DINING ROOM

DEFENSE:

VEGETARIAN. WOULD HAVE RAIDED CUPBOARD FOR GRAHAM CRACKERS INSTEAD.

AND FINAL SUSPECT
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NORMAN
aka MR. McNASTY
HEAD AND ARMS WILL FIT INSIDE CHEWIE JAR
DEFENSE: IN 14 YEARS, HAS SHOW NO INTEREST IN DETECTIVE WORK
OTHER THAN TRYING OCCASIONALLY TRYING TO FIND HIS DINNER DISH

And there we have it, Esteemed Readers. It's a mystery. What's your guess?

The Travails of the Traveling Toilet Seat

I am not a terribly fussy person (I don't think).  And when it comes bathrooms -- toilets, to put it more precisely --

1.  I want it clean
2.  I want it private
3.  I want it not to move.

When we moved into this house, we put new toilets seat on all the toilets, taking care of my first requirement.  And they held up admirably for about ten years. We've been here eleven.

The privacy was a little harder to handle as a previous owner was a stained glass artist who removed two large glass panels in the master bath when she moved.  There is a gaping hole right in front of the toilet, facing a large tub.  If, while seated on the potty,  you lean forward and look  out that "window" to the right, you are able to converse with whomever is in the shower, as they have a similar large opening from the shower to the tub.  But over the last eleven years, Allan and I have managed to keep our privacy.

Now, I also like a stationary toilet seat.  Sometime in 2010, I noticed one night that the seat was loose.  So I mentioned it to Allan, who said he'd fix it. It just needed a nut.   A few months after that, as I sat down one midnight, I swiveled sharply to the left and nearly fell off.  Now the whole bolt was gone.  More mumbling, more midnight promises. 

It wasn't long after that, that when visiting the establishment, I fell right in.  There was no seat all.  Oh, wait.  Yes, there was -- it was leaning against the wall.  Louder, nastier mumbling and a  quick under-the-covers kick.

Now I had the option of going downstairs in the wee hours, or balancing delicately on a very slippery, slide-y seat to wee.  Well, over the next three months, I achieved an incredible sense of balance...before I finally went out and bought a new seat, compete with very lovely and tight bolts.....  Ahhh, heaven.

Except for that whole privacy thing...

**Now some of you may wonder why Allan didn't fix the bolt or why I just didn't do it myself.  Our bedroom is on the second floor, so we usually just use a spare bathroom on the first floor: Until bed time.  Sometime between the hours of midnight and 5 a.m., I would often feel a need to visit the potty.  Due to anatomy, I am the chief "sitter" in the house. I'd sit, spin, stumble back to bed, and mumble to please fix the damn seat.  Of course, we'd forget by the time the alarm went off.

Extreme Sports

FETCH-1 (fech) v.t. 1. to go and bring back, return with, get.

FETCH-2 (fech) noun. a game played with dogs to retrieve.

EXTREME (ik strem') -tremer, -tremest. adj. 1. exceeding the bounds of moderation, normalcy. 2. going to the utmost or cvery great lengths in action, habit, etc.

EXTREME FETCH (ik strem' fech) n. 1. any game played with Sam in muddy, wet, or dark conditions. 2. any game played with Sam in which I become extremely uncomfortable, e.g., cold, wet, etc. (see picture)

I Promise

Boy, I just have not been in the mood or had the time to blog lately.  But I promise I have some in the works:

1. I Can't Make This S**T Up
2. Extreme Fetch
3. (Goats) Breaking Bad
4. Woman Makes Scientific History on March 1, When She Actually Becomes Younger than Her Son.

Film At 11.

Thankful...

Heavy digging leads to heavy thought.  While Superior Ditchdigger SamDammit and I worked on another drainage ditch in a paddock, I had to time to think about what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving Day.*

• I am thankful for my family and friends.
• I am thankful for my health.
• I am thankful for my freedom -- my right to vote, the right to bear arms (and not arm bears!), and all the other freedoms given to us by our forefathers and maintained by our veterans. 
• I am thankful that -- while I gripe about the calories and needing to lose weight -- that none of my nearest and dearest go hungry.
• And I am thankful for my toes.

December 31, 2007, was my first round of chemo.  Six sessions in five months left me with not only no hair, but my nailbeds got infected and I lost most of my nails.  It's taken nearly three years for them to fully grow back, and this week I got a pedicure!  I feel like I've kicked Cancer again. Take that, you nasty BUG!  HA!

And, yes, I am thankful for SamDammit even though he had to be in every picture.

* One might think that the amount of kvetching we do about rain and mud, that we Californians must be inundated with rain and mud.  In fact, it's the opposite.  The lack of rain we receive makes every rain shower an absolute crisis around here!

Excuse Me, Young Man, May I See Some ID?

So Liz and I took Nate and
 Sam.............

to Happy...er....Yappy Hour at a local tavern

where they have outside seating and serve dogs, too!

On the menu that evening were "Puptini's"

a lovely (if you're a dog) concoction of chicken broth garnished with a hot dog on a pretzel stick.

..

Sam U.L. Fraser sips his first puptini...

But decides to hell with the chicken broth...pretzel be damned!  Give me the hot dog! (bars are notorious for encouraging bad language in puppies)








Oh, my aching puppy-head.  I'll never drink like that again!

The Hurrieder I Go, the Behinder I Get.

I am late nearly everywhere I go.  Not hours late (usually), but often somewhat late.  My mind seems to come up with some sort of mathematical formula regarding how late I can be.  I can be three minutes late to work.  I can be an hour or two late to watch Jess ride at a horse show (shows last ALL day long for three days).   Dinner invitation, fifteen minutes; party, thirty minutes to an hour.

I'm not saying there is any justification to my tardiness, just  stating how my brain seems to work.  I think my inability to be timely stems from two things: (1) my complete lack of ability to entertain myself, so I HATE being anywhere too early and having to WAIT.  (2) My inability to accurately gauge the amount of time it takes to do things.

In order to get to work on time, I need to leave at nine-thirty-five.  Nine-thirty-three is too early; nine-thirty-eight is suddenly too close to nine-forty and that is too late.  In my mind, if I need to leave at nine-thirty-five, I start towards the car at nine-thirty-four.  It can't take more than a minute to get in the car and turn it on, can it?

So this morning at nine-thirty, I did a final check on the animals and started toward the car.   I hollered at the dogs, grabbed my purse and my keys, and went out front.