Living with two dogs that shed astronomically in the Southwest is beginning to change my habits. I thought the snowfall drifts on the hardwood were all Gracie till I took Brody to the vet to get stiletto, killer nails trimmed just two months after they last were cut. Mopping and sweeping intervals have picked up.
(Brody, my city dog, isn't too fond of grass and icky dirt. He runs around only a little. I have to shove him off the deck to pee. Gracie lures him into games of chase every so often. Gracie mucks about in the yard and her nails grow more slowly.)
When both sprawl, you really see Brody's half-Corgi factor: both lie on their bellies, legs behind, white feet and ankles making dashes at their ends. Schematic: head:o body:-- feet: |, hyphenated by two feet. So they both lie o--|
And sometime soon, I will learn how to insert photos to illustrate.
Brody remains highly unsocialized with other dogs. The bigger they are, the more scared he is and the more he growls and lunges. I have a good collar on him now to catch him at it. Right now, I doubt if I can ever take him to a dog park. Fortunately, he and Gracie hit it off except for a few jealous skirmishes immediately. They are both "of the home." Both understand that.
On the other hand, with new people he lunges, they both do, for attention. They are horrible for my friends, and it is my fault. I have at least begun training again with Gracie and for the first time with Brody. I do not know what to do except to make both absolutely obedient to sit and stay. So I'm beefing up on that.
I have stopped responding to Gracie when she does her demand yell--a loud, almost window-shaking bark. That's helping slowly.
Gracie loves to work. Brody also likes to keep busy. Lessons help them stay content. They also need about twice the personal attention: talking to, walks, petting, of any other dog I've ever had. Corgis are smart. You don't let them dwindle away to boredom. Other dogs will sleep. Gracie and Brody will, too. Awhile. They also find something else to do. Given that Gracie is one and Brody 2, a great deal of what they find to do is chewing.
Gracie digs holes that look like a posthole-digging madman has run about the yard. If only I could train her to dig where I wish! Oh, Gracie, the beautiful back yard we would have!
I still catch Gracie jumping in my vegetable garden now and then. When I do, I yell. She pauses a second before jumping out. Huh. More alpha work.
And last night, I found a half-eaten large tomato. I hadn't seen it--I have a bunch of ripening ones on my four plants.
Oh, Gracie. Now you've torn it. Shoes, books, paper, clothes, electronics, you have chewed them all. But Gracie, this is tomatoes.
Gracie, you're in real trouble now.
Showing posts with label Living with Gracie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Living with Gracie. Show all posts
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Laughing in the rain
I was wearing my souvenir T-shirt from Oregon.
"Nice shirt," the clerk said as I walked up to the counter.
"Thank you," I said, just as a deeper, male voice behind me said, "Thank you."
"Oh, yours is nice, too," she said, flustered.
I turned around to find a rather muscular young man wearing a U.S. Army T-shirt. I grinned.
"Looks like we're both wearing shirts that show where we've been," I chuckled.
He grinned.
"But I bet I had more fun," I added as the clerk sacked up my purchase.
We all laughed.
"I hear it's beautiful," he called as I turned away.
"It is," I called back. "Hope you can make it a destination sometime."
***
It's been a funny spring. We've never, ever planted in early March. I waited till almost April, but sure enough, neighbors and friends already have squash, tomatoes, onions, broccoli, spinach--some have green beans flowering. In May!
The fruit trees are loaded. Peaches missed that last, late spring freeze that sometimes comes. Right now, we are in abundance. Just got another inch of rain over the weekend, though it's slowing down. Although I watered, the pecan tree in my back yard lost its crown this year. Foliage only on the lower branches, so it will come down. We are still sawing down the trees that died last summer and will lose more, the experts tell us. My sweet gum lost several branches on the west side but is regenerating branches.
It may be as hot this summer as last, though it is doubtful. The water makes all the difference. There was almost no local produce last summer. The town Farmer's Market had packed up by July because the heat and lack of rain burned everything. Produce we did have came from hundreds of miles away. Priced correspondingly. In the fall, we had some, but in a miserably hot summer, we had no bounty, no juice. We didn't really suffer physically. We had enough. Just no bounty. No extra gifts of the fruits of summer. It wore on us.
Townships around here are still regulating water usage. We need to. We have to.
I've gotten my first cherry tomatoes with three other bushes, all different varieties, making fruit. I've planted Anaheim and New Mexico chiles. Parsley, sweet basil, Thai basil, oregano. It is a fine start. This year, I've been fascinated with the varieties of basil. I could plant a whole garden of nothing but basil if I wanted.
I caught Gracie in the middle of the raised bed this morning, despite the fence. I knew she could jump it; I just thought it would inconvenience her, which it does. "Gracie!" I hollered. She waited a sweet, 'you're not the boss of me' moment, and jumped out, hurrying across the yard. She knew. Tsk, tsk.
We've had mostly a kind of Oregon summer--warm for Oregon, with lows in the low 60s, highs in the 80s. Soon we will get to the Texas summer. Here it comes.
Parts of Texas are still subject to wildfires. We won't forget so soon. Some caution will stay in place.
But my granddaughter's strawberry patch is producing berries, and I hear the blueberries are making this year. A friend offered me some of her tiny but sweet plums yesterday.
It's shaping up to be a fine summer.
"Nice shirt," the clerk said as I walked up to the counter.
"Thank you," I said, just as a deeper, male voice behind me said, "Thank you."
"Oh, yours is nice, too," she said, flustered.
I turned around to find a rather muscular young man wearing a U.S. Army T-shirt. I grinned.
"Looks like we're both wearing shirts that show where we've been," I chuckled.
He grinned.
"But I bet I had more fun," I added as the clerk sacked up my purchase.
We all laughed.
"I hear it's beautiful," he called as I turned away.
"It is," I called back. "Hope you can make it a destination sometime."
***
It's been a funny spring. We've never, ever planted in early March. I waited till almost April, but sure enough, neighbors and friends already have squash, tomatoes, onions, broccoli, spinach--some have green beans flowering. In May!
The fruit trees are loaded. Peaches missed that last, late spring freeze that sometimes comes. Right now, we are in abundance. Just got another inch of rain over the weekend, though it's slowing down. Although I watered, the pecan tree in my back yard lost its crown this year. Foliage only on the lower branches, so it will come down. We are still sawing down the trees that died last summer and will lose more, the experts tell us. My sweet gum lost several branches on the west side but is regenerating branches.
It may be as hot this summer as last, though it is doubtful. The water makes all the difference. There was almost no local produce last summer. The town Farmer's Market had packed up by July because the heat and lack of rain burned everything. Produce we did have came from hundreds of miles away. Priced correspondingly. In the fall, we had some, but in a miserably hot summer, we had no bounty, no juice. We didn't really suffer physically. We had enough. Just no bounty. No extra gifts of the fruits of summer. It wore on us.
Townships around here are still regulating water usage. We need to. We have to.
I've gotten my first cherry tomatoes with three other bushes, all different varieties, making fruit. I've planted Anaheim and New Mexico chiles. Parsley, sweet basil, Thai basil, oregano. It is a fine start. This year, I've been fascinated with the varieties of basil. I could plant a whole garden of nothing but basil if I wanted.
I caught Gracie in the middle of the raised bed this morning, despite the fence. I knew she could jump it; I just thought it would inconvenience her, which it does. "Gracie!" I hollered. She waited a sweet, 'you're not the boss of me' moment, and jumped out, hurrying across the yard. She knew. Tsk, tsk.
We've had mostly a kind of Oregon summer--warm for Oregon, with lows in the low 60s, highs in the 80s. Soon we will get to the Texas summer. Here it comes.
Parts of Texas are still subject to wildfires. We won't forget so soon. Some caution will stay in place.
But my granddaughter's strawberry patch is producing berries, and I hear the blueberries are making this year. A friend offered me some of her tiny but sweet plums yesterday.
It's shaping up to be a fine summer.
Friday, April 27, 2012
A 15=minute Picture of a Woman and Two Dogs
Yes, I realize I've been a little slow to get to the phone at home lately. No,, I don't carry it on me. Too many accidental calls to people I don't know my phone is calling.
The main reason I am slower, though, is that I have become a leader. Not always a willing one, but a leader. One dog on my left heel, one on the right, sometimes crossing in the middle. It takes some nimbleness to weave my way around and over them. Where I go, they follow. Sat down to write just now.
Two dogs plopped on the floor between me and the door. I forgot my reading glasses. Found them. Started back to the computer. Whoops, no, I want a drink of water. The two dogs exchanged glances and followed.
While I got the water, they stood at attention. We were, after all, in the kitchen. Where the FOOD is. I have been capricious enough to give them chew strips for no apparent (to them) reason. I started back to the computer. They trotted slowly ahead, trying to guess just which room I might be going to. They stopped dead in the hall between the two rooms. I had to go around. They followed. I sat. They sat. They flopped and closed their eyes.
I had forgotten a book I wanted. I got up again. They startled, scrambled, and got to their feet.. They staggered around between me and the door. Again, I danced through and they followed. And followed me back. And flopped again.
Just then, my granddaughter came in. They abandoned post and flew to her side.She turned on the tv after finishing her chores, and the dogs sighed in relief. At last a Someone who knew what she was doing and stayed put, leaving only to get her snack in the kitchen where the FOOD is. They will stick with her until she goes home for the day or goes outside to play. To my dogs, she makes sense. I am wearying.
Oh, I know. A really good leader would run my troops through their paces till they will sit, stay, and heel on command. That will improve my speed to the phone.
Probably a good enough reason to do it.
The main reason I am slower, though, is that I have become a leader. Not always a willing one, but a leader. One dog on my left heel, one on the right, sometimes crossing in the middle. It takes some nimbleness to weave my way around and over them. Where I go, they follow. Sat down to write just now.
Two dogs plopped on the floor between me and the door. I forgot my reading glasses. Found them. Started back to the computer. Whoops, no, I want a drink of water. The two dogs exchanged glances and followed.
While I got the water, they stood at attention. We were, after all, in the kitchen. Where the FOOD is. I have been capricious enough to give them chew strips for no apparent (to them) reason. I started back to the computer. They trotted slowly ahead, trying to guess just which room I might be going to. They stopped dead in the hall between the two rooms. I had to go around. They followed. I sat. They sat. They flopped and closed their eyes.
I had forgotten a book I wanted. I got up again. They startled, scrambled, and got to their feet.. They staggered around between me and the door. Again, I danced through and they followed. And followed me back. And flopped again.
Just then, my granddaughter came in. They abandoned post and flew to her side.She turned on the tv after finishing her chores, and the dogs sighed in relief. At last a Someone who knew what she was doing and stayed put, leaving only to get her snack in the kitchen where the FOOD is. They will stick with her until she goes home for the day or goes outside to play. To my dogs, she makes sense. I am wearying.
Oh, I know. A really good leader would run my troops through their paces till they will sit, stay, and heel on command. That will improve my speed to the phone.
Probably a good enough reason to do it.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Gracie Thinks I Need to Become More Active
My last blog was written with an IT on board. He needed some sentences to see what I needed to do to paragraph. I let 'er rip. I was more irate at my machine and its systems than I can remember being at a human being in years. More irate than I was later at Gracie.
For the first time, Gracie chewed on my wiring. My mouse wouldn't work, and she dented the coupling for the extension cord. I was sitting here typing while she did it. It took two tries at two stores to get everything, but I got it, and now my computer works again. You probably don't understand. Sometimes I feel a huge thrill of achievement when I screw in light bulbs.
When I couldn't send an e mail with attachment on Friday, I assumed it was some Windows 7 thing I didn't know. Turned out to be the software in my new computer. Microsoft techs fixed it, but only after I bought a year's contract for IT protection. I'm paying for it, so I'm going to ask every stupid question I have for as long as I have it. And I already have used it three times. That's with losing a day and a half to Gracie. I type my question in, I can't see their eyerolls, and I get an answer I can use. Not so bad.
I tried Microsoft for Dummies once, but it was over my head. So at last a happy solution.I still don't like this--seems to me I have more buttons to click to do the same thing. I'm not alone, I hear. A lot of writers, in particular, are going back to typewriters. Easier. You can think about what you want to say more than how you produce it.
Oh,just give me
A simple life
With a working computer
And a lot less strife.
OKAY?
For the first time, Gracie chewed on my wiring. My mouse wouldn't work, and she dented the coupling for the extension cord. I was sitting here typing while she did it. It took two tries at two stores to get everything, but I got it, and now my computer works again. You probably don't understand. Sometimes I feel a huge thrill of achievement when I screw in light bulbs.
When I couldn't send an e mail with attachment on Friday, I assumed it was some Windows 7 thing I didn't know. Turned out to be the software in my new computer. Microsoft techs fixed it, but only after I bought a year's contract for IT protection. I'm paying for it, so I'm going to ask every stupid question I have for as long as I have it. And I already have used it three times. That's with losing a day and a half to Gracie. I type my question in, I can't see their eyerolls, and I get an answer I can use. Not so bad.
I tried Microsoft for Dummies once, but it was over my head. So at last a happy solution.I still don't like this--seems to me I have more buttons to click to do the same thing. I'm not alone, I hear. A lot of writers, in particular, are going back to typewriters. Easier. You can think about what you want to say more than how you produce it.
Oh,just give me
A simple life
With a working computer
And a lot less strife.
OKAY?
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Whole Civilizations Depend on This
It is noon. So far today I have prepared my tax records for the accountant, done a load of wash, thoroughly cleaned the clutter from two rooms, and done some constructive play with the dogs. I've looked up a couple of big breakfast casseroles I might make for the Easter brunch between services at church.
What I have not done, planned to do, dreaded to do, and ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT DO TODAY, is wash the dogs. They need it. They smell like dirty dogs.I know that if I wash even one of them in the bathroom with a large shower and no bathtub, I will need a bucket of warm water to augment the shower. They will not like it. If I am lucky, I will get at least one dog rinsed of soap with clean warm water before he or she lunges seriously enough to knock the bucket over. They are Corgis, which means I may be successful if I close the door and take plenty of dog treats.
I know that will mean mopping furiously and cleaning the floor which, after all, can use it. I am working hard on not cussing. This will test my vocabulary severely. I just, absolutely don't want to wash those dogs. Today.
What do I call my efforts so far today?
Well, I've decided it is Productive Procrastination.
I have been productive while avoiding the one task I don't want to do. So--productive procrastination.
Procrastination means at some point I have to do it. Hmm. I've been planning to clean out the dresser drawers for months now. (I haven't done so in years, but it just recently caught my attention.) That would take another day, combined with meetings and gardening and such.
It's such a lovely thought. But the dogs really do need those baths.
(Sigh).
I'll think about that tomorrow.
What I have not done, planned to do, dreaded to do, and ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT DO TODAY, is wash the dogs. They need it. They smell like dirty dogs.I know that if I wash even one of them in the bathroom with a large shower and no bathtub, I will need a bucket of warm water to augment the shower. They will not like it. If I am lucky, I will get at least one dog rinsed of soap with clean warm water before he or she lunges seriously enough to knock the bucket over. They are Corgis, which means I may be successful if I close the door and take plenty of dog treats.
I know that will mean mopping furiously and cleaning the floor which, after all, can use it. I am working hard on not cussing. This will test my vocabulary severely. I just, absolutely don't want to wash those dogs. Today.
What do I call my efforts so far today?
Well, I've decided it is Productive Procrastination.
I have been productive while avoiding the one task I don't want to do. So--productive procrastination.
Procrastination means at some point I have to do it. Hmm. I've been planning to clean out the dresser drawers for months now. (I haven't done so in years, but it just recently caught my attention.) That would take another day, combined with meetings and gardening and such.
It's such a lovely thought. But the dogs really do need those baths.
(Sigh).
I'll think about that tomorrow.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Where's My Shoe, Gracie?
I have needed a new pair of shoes for awhile. Just kept putting it off.
My shoes of choice are SAS (San Antonio Shoes) which are made here in Texas at the --you got it--San Antonio factory. They are well-made. They are comfortable. I think they are just dorky enough to be a bit funky, but I'm looking for excuses. They had their 15 minutes of fame back in the 1970s, when everyone wanted their sandals. I had been used to buying a new pair of sandals every spring because they would be falling apart by fall. To my delight, my SAS sandals lasted several years. That was really nice because, you know, handmade American shoes are expensive. When you can amortize over several years, not so much. Anyway, I got hooked on SAS.
A trademark of the store are their wonderful caramel and chocolate caramels. You get a handful with each purchase, and if you ask for more, you get them. They are REEELY superior caramels. As good as the shoes.
My pup Gracie is quite bored. She had her spaying surgery Thursday and bounced right back. I am giving her low-dose aspirin in peanut butter twice a day to keep her from noticing the incision and licking it. She is getting rawhide chews regularly. But she brought me her tug rope. I played gently but wouldn't throw it. She brought her squeaky ball, and I wouldn't throw that, either. She feels fine, but she has to let the stitches heal. BOR-ING.
I don't know why I have never put my SAS shoes in the closet at night with my other shoes, but these are what I wear, and they have routinely gone on a stand roughly 2 feet high. She has never bothered them till today.
I let her outside this morning, then pretty promptly let her in. She wanted to play. This was my computer time. So she played with her toys on the floor at my feet and fell asleep.
Awww, I thought, and glanced over to see one of my beloved SAS shoes on the rug. She had slobbered all over it, but it was unharmed. Its mate was nowhere in sight.
Still isn't. This is a tiny house. About 900+ square feet. Not much furniture. I can't get on my knees so I brought both granddaughters over to help me search.They looked under the beds, the couch, the chest of drawers. We looked behind doors, behind the recliner--nothing. And I KNOW she didn't eat it overnight. I would have seen her carry it outside, but oldest granddaughter searched the yard anyway. No shoe. The closets were closed tight, but I looked anyway. I had those girls look under the bed 3 times.
"No, grandma," they both said. "There's nothing there."
I asked for younger granddaughter first. She's a good finder. Sharp eyes. But she didn't find. So her big sister came over, positive her younger (lesser) sister had overlooked the shoe. She didn't find it either.
Gracie, where did you put it? She looks back with total innocense. What shoe? Is that what you call it?
Sooner or later it will show up. In the meantime, I have an extremely uncomfortable pair of flats to wear with dress slacks or my athletic shoes. I'm hard to fit,my size is hard to find, I don't like to shop and I don't have many shoes.
So today I drove 30 miles to the store where I have always bought SAS shoes. The recession was brought home with two blocks of empty, once thriving stores. And SAS wasn't there. Eek.
I went over to the MegaMall, and looked around. In this huge shopping center, only five shoe stores. One was Footlocker. I was looking for other options.
Eventually, I drove home, googled SAS, and got a live number for the store I was looking for. The address was on I35E, as was the former store, so that wouldn't have tipped me off. When I called, I learned they have moved. I can drive down on Monday and get my shoes. Reduced store hours mean no Sundays. So I guess I'll go Monday and hope I can snag another pair of shoes for no more than $135. Probably more now, come to think of it. I do really, really need those shoes.
Gracie continues to want to play. Maybe if she gets frustrated enough, she will bring out the other shoe, but I doubt it. Ah, Gracie. I'm glad you are feeling better, but you are cutting heavily into my Christmas budget.
Life was more peaceful before Gracie. More orderly. No one else to consider when I went out. And without the laughter, the irritations, the hugs and life of living with another living being.
I do love this blond and white Corgi. I know she loves me too. Her destruction is never malicious. It's like having a kid around, mostly.
She got me out shopping again. That's not a bad thing.
At all.
My shoes of choice are SAS (San Antonio Shoes) which are made here in Texas at the --you got it--San Antonio factory. They are well-made. They are comfortable. I think they are just dorky enough to be a bit funky, but I'm looking for excuses. They had their 15 minutes of fame back in the 1970s, when everyone wanted their sandals. I had been used to buying a new pair of sandals every spring because they would be falling apart by fall. To my delight, my SAS sandals lasted several years. That was really nice because, you know, handmade American shoes are expensive. When you can amortize over several years, not so much. Anyway, I got hooked on SAS.
A trademark of the store are their wonderful caramel and chocolate caramels. You get a handful with each purchase, and if you ask for more, you get them. They are REEELY superior caramels. As good as the shoes.
My pup Gracie is quite bored. She had her spaying surgery Thursday and bounced right back. I am giving her low-dose aspirin in peanut butter twice a day to keep her from noticing the incision and licking it. She is getting rawhide chews regularly. But she brought me her tug rope. I played gently but wouldn't throw it. She brought her squeaky ball, and I wouldn't throw that, either. She feels fine, but she has to let the stitches heal. BOR-ING.
I don't know why I have never put my SAS shoes in the closet at night with my other shoes, but these are what I wear, and they have routinely gone on a stand roughly 2 feet high. She has never bothered them till today.
I let her outside this morning, then pretty promptly let her in. She wanted to play. This was my computer time. So she played with her toys on the floor at my feet and fell asleep.
Awww, I thought, and glanced over to see one of my beloved SAS shoes on the rug. She had slobbered all over it, but it was unharmed. Its mate was nowhere in sight.
Still isn't. This is a tiny house. About 900+ square feet. Not much furniture. I can't get on my knees so I brought both granddaughters over to help me search.They looked under the beds, the couch, the chest of drawers. We looked behind doors, behind the recliner--nothing. And I KNOW she didn't eat it overnight. I would have seen her carry it outside, but oldest granddaughter searched the yard anyway. No shoe. The closets were closed tight, but I looked anyway. I had those girls look under the bed 3 times.
"No, grandma," they both said. "There's nothing there."
I asked for younger granddaughter first. She's a good finder. Sharp eyes. But she didn't find. So her big sister came over, positive her younger (lesser) sister had overlooked the shoe. She didn't find it either.
Gracie, where did you put it? She looks back with total innocense. What shoe? Is that what you call it?
Sooner or later it will show up. In the meantime, I have an extremely uncomfortable pair of flats to wear with dress slacks or my athletic shoes. I'm hard to fit,my size is hard to find, I don't like to shop and I don't have many shoes.
So today I drove 30 miles to the store where I have always bought SAS shoes. The recession was brought home with two blocks of empty, once thriving stores. And SAS wasn't there. Eek.
I went over to the MegaMall, and looked around. In this huge shopping center, only five shoe stores. One was Footlocker. I was looking for other options.
Eventually, I drove home, googled SAS, and got a live number for the store I was looking for. The address was on I35E, as was the former store, so that wouldn't have tipped me off. When I called, I learned they have moved. I can drive down on Monday and get my shoes. Reduced store hours mean no Sundays. So I guess I'll go Monday and hope I can snag another pair of shoes for no more than $135. Probably more now, come to think of it. I do really, really need those shoes.
Gracie continues to want to play. Maybe if she gets frustrated enough, she will bring out the other shoe, but I doubt it. Ah, Gracie. I'm glad you are feeling better, but you are cutting heavily into my Christmas budget.
Life was more peaceful before Gracie. More orderly. No one else to consider when I went out. And without the laughter, the irritations, the hugs and life of living with another living being.
I do love this blond and white Corgi. I know she loves me too. Her destruction is never malicious. It's like having a kid around, mostly.
She got me out shopping again. That's not a bad thing.
At all.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Not Much to Talk About
Except for the summers, temperatures and weather in Texas are frequently changeable. I've enjoyed Thanksgiving meals eating al fresco in short sleeves and bermuda shorts. I remember one delightfully cozy Thanksgiving when it was sleeting, and we ate while enjoying the hearty fire in the fireplace.
The weather has been so up and down lately, the Barrett pears are confused and blooming. I notice a stand of them in a stretch I know was well-watered over the summer is not blooming. The blooms may have something to do with weather shock.
We already have been told the state is losing about 20 percent of its trees due to drought. That's a lot of trees. I took some pictures in August and September. They don't show up so much now that an early freeze has started yellowing the leaves and more are falling off. Frankly, a lot of us are waiting breathlessly to find out if we watered enough or started early enough to save some favorite sweet gums, pecans, oaks, magnolias. It will be spring when we know.
Folks who are particular about their lawns and flowers actually rake the leaves up. They want the landscape to show to best advantage. The rest of us may scoop a few around the bushes as mulch and let the rest go. Fall winds, due any minute, will whip most of them away. (I am aware, yes, that a number of the leaves in my yard are from someone else's trees because the trees those leaves came from don't grow in my yard.)
I still need a quick mow now that the yard is green again, more than half weeds. It was still so dry in September, I didn't dare fertilize, or put out pre-emergent. So let's see. The grass is maybe three inches in places. It hasn't been mowed in a full five months.
Meanwhile, need to dry mop assiduously. Don't know if it is her age or what, but Gracie now is shedding heavily. I hadn't really noticed on the hardwood until I dropped a sweater this morning and picked it up covered with hair. She's six months old and having a painful all-day visit to the vet on Thursday. It's going to hurt and I really feel bad about it. Another reason to mow--don't want her tender tummy getting muddy. A good corgi video I saw said, "Corgis are just big dogs with short legs." I'll agree with that.
I've got to buy more white cotton socks. Gracie has eaten the toes out clear to the halfway point on a pair I carelessly didn't pick up. (I'm learning, Gracie! I'm learning!) She can't have anything to eat after 9 p.m. tomorrow. I guess I'll have to police the place in case this includes rawhide chews, paper, cardboard or random cotton items. She's 16 pounds now. Sure feels like more when we play tug.
Almost no local news now except criminals. Yesterday a man running away from the police in a stolen car crashed into the home a family had lived in 40 years and burned it to the ground. The man was arrested.
At least he won't be released in a day or two due to jail overcrowding.
The weather has been so up and down lately, the Barrett pears are confused and blooming. I notice a stand of them in a stretch I know was well-watered over the summer is not blooming. The blooms may have something to do with weather shock.
We already have been told the state is losing about 20 percent of its trees due to drought. That's a lot of trees. I took some pictures in August and September. They don't show up so much now that an early freeze has started yellowing the leaves and more are falling off. Frankly, a lot of us are waiting breathlessly to find out if we watered enough or started early enough to save some favorite sweet gums, pecans, oaks, magnolias. It will be spring when we know.
Folks who are particular about their lawns and flowers actually rake the leaves up. They want the landscape to show to best advantage. The rest of us may scoop a few around the bushes as mulch and let the rest go. Fall winds, due any minute, will whip most of them away. (I am aware, yes, that a number of the leaves in my yard are from someone else's trees because the trees those leaves came from don't grow in my yard.)
I still need a quick mow now that the yard is green again, more than half weeds. It was still so dry in September, I didn't dare fertilize, or put out pre-emergent. So let's see. The grass is maybe three inches in places. It hasn't been mowed in a full five months.
Meanwhile, need to dry mop assiduously. Don't know if it is her age or what, but Gracie now is shedding heavily. I hadn't really noticed on the hardwood until I dropped a sweater this morning and picked it up covered with hair. She's six months old and having a painful all-day visit to the vet on Thursday. It's going to hurt and I really feel bad about it. Another reason to mow--don't want her tender tummy getting muddy. A good corgi video I saw said, "Corgis are just big dogs with short legs." I'll agree with that.
I've got to buy more white cotton socks. Gracie has eaten the toes out clear to the halfway point on a pair I carelessly didn't pick up. (I'm learning, Gracie! I'm learning!) She can't have anything to eat after 9 p.m. tomorrow. I guess I'll have to police the place in case this includes rawhide chews, paper, cardboard or random cotton items. She's 16 pounds now. Sure feels like more when we play tug.
Almost no local news now except criminals. Yesterday a man running away from the police in a stolen car crashed into the home a family had lived in 40 years and burned it to the ground. The man was arrested.
At least he won't be released in a day or two due to jail overcrowding.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Am I Overtly Sentimental Yet?
If Gracie survives puppydom, then dogs have guardian angels, too. I've always suspected it.
My granddaughters are of an age where "childproofing" the house is long behind me. In many ways, I'm safe there. Gracie is unlikely to stick her nose in a light socket--although chewing the cords that lead to them may be another matter.
My new computer has arrived, awaiting assembly in its box.
"Have you unpacked it?" elder son asked on the phone.
"Not till we assemble," I replied. "Gracie would eat all the wires before we could hook up."
"Oh, yeah,' he replied.
Maybe by nebulizer fell off the bedside table this week, but I doubt it. She is FULLY tall enough on her hind legs to reach...a great many things. I found her trying to chew on the case itself, fortunately strong enough to withstand her beginning chomps. The plastic top, however, is toast. I shudder to think what that medication could do to her. Periodically, I misplace something I fear could kill her, and find it later, often with teethmarks.
Since my rebuilt knee isn't up to kneeling yet, I am getting into a routine of asking youngest granddaughter to check under my bed every few days for missing books, mail, aerosol cans, you name it. ...I heard her munching just now and found she had half-devoured an old bill. Chewy paper? Tasty glue? I don't know.
Corgis are relentless chewers. Astonishing. She has not only gotten all the juice out of a large bag of rawhide pieces, she has digested half of them. Time to buy more.
She digs. My back yard looks as though small munitions have exploded all over. Footlong sticks litter the ground, except she is bringing them up, one by one, to stack by her water bowl--which, if she drinks it dry, she turns into a toy to carry around the now pockmarked lawn.
She has found two escape holes from my back yard, escaping once even after I thought I had erected a sturdy barricade. It wasn't. So far, she just runs around to the front yard, waits for me to discover she's gone, and looks for her treat without which she will NOT come in. There are cars, and big dogs, and other people out there, and I worry. Off leash, she doesn't obey commands, and sometimes finds the freedom more delicious than bits of chicken. She's only a six-month-old puppy. I have to remember that. And keep training.
She and TC, my tuxedo grandcat, are slowly becoming friends. Youngest granddaughter reported yesterday that the cat accidentally(?) stepped on one of Gracie's squeaky balls in the (now green) grass. It squeaked. Gracie grabbed it, tore off, ran back and dropped it in front of the cat.
"Do it again!" she begged, her whole rear end, sans tail, wagging.
But the insoucient cat simply sauntered off, leaving her alone with her toy. Aw.
As I write, she is stretched, chin on my foot, all four feet in the air. She just gave a deep sigh. I don't think it's contentment.
She's just marking time till she can inveigle me into the next invigorating round of fetch.
Oh yeah, I hope she survives her puppyhood, that I do, too.
Oh, the places we'll go!
The the things we will see,
Walking along,
Just Gracie and me!
My granddaughters are of an age where "childproofing" the house is long behind me. In many ways, I'm safe there. Gracie is unlikely to stick her nose in a light socket--although chewing the cords that lead to them may be another matter.
My new computer has arrived, awaiting assembly in its box.
"Have you unpacked it?" elder son asked on the phone.
"Not till we assemble," I replied. "Gracie would eat all the wires before we could hook up."
"Oh, yeah,' he replied.
Maybe by nebulizer fell off the bedside table this week, but I doubt it. She is FULLY tall enough on her hind legs to reach...a great many things. I found her trying to chew on the case itself, fortunately strong enough to withstand her beginning chomps. The plastic top, however, is toast. I shudder to think what that medication could do to her. Periodically, I misplace something I fear could kill her, and find it later, often with teethmarks.
Since my rebuilt knee isn't up to kneeling yet, I am getting into a routine of asking youngest granddaughter to check under my bed every few days for missing books, mail, aerosol cans, you name it. ...I heard her munching just now and found she had half-devoured an old bill. Chewy paper? Tasty glue? I don't know.
Corgis are relentless chewers. Astonishing. She has not only gotten all the juice out of a large bag of rawhide pieces, she has digested half of them. Time to buy more.
She digs. My back yard looks as though small munitions have exploded all over. Footlong sticks litter the ground, except she is bringing them up, one by one, to stack by her water bowl--which, if she drinks it dry, she turns into a toy to carry around the now pockmarked lawn.
She has found two escape holes from my back yard, escaping once even after I thought I had erected a sturdy barricade. It wasn't. So far, she just runs around to the front yard, waits for me to discover she's gone, and looks for her treat without which she will NOT come in. There are cars, and big dogs, and other people out there, and I worry. Off leash, she doesn't obey commands, and sometimes finds the freedom more delicious than bits of chicken. She's only a six-month-old puppy. I have to remember that. And keep training.
She and TC, my tuxedo grandcat, are slowly becoming friends. Youngest granddaughter reported yesterday that the cat accidentally(?) stepped on one of Gracie's squeaky balls in the (now green) grass. It squeaked. Gracie grabbed it, tore off, ran back and dropped it in front of the cat.
"Do it again!" she begged, her whole rear end, sans tail, wagging.
But the insoucient cat simply sauntered off, leaving her alone with her toy. Aw.
As I write, she is stretched, chin on my foot, all four feet in the air. She just gave a deep sigh. I don't think it's contentment.
She's just marking time till she can inveigle me into the next invigorating round of fetch.
Oh yeah, I hope she survives her puppyhood, that I do, too.
Oh, the places we'll go!
The the things we will see,
Walking along,
Just Gracie and me!
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