Deaf & Crazy

Cowboy here. Going deaf, going crazy. My wife's singing.

Sar can't sing. Sar can't even hum in key. The upside to her singing is that the imp's happy. The downside is that she's tone deaf when it comes to her own voice. I know she hears her voice while talking but for some reason she doesn't hear it when singing. She can hear other folks sing – not herself.

WE hear her sing. I go in another room, close as many doors between us as I can. The pups can't stand to be away from her so they endure. The Rott makes a groaning sound – nonstop. The Mastiff warbles along – sounds like the animal is in pain, deep pain. The cat gets that startled look, fur on edge, takes for high ground. No close neighbors; if there were any, they'd wonder what those crazy Americans are up to now. Don't want to discourage the singing but it's making me nuts.

Spring has made it to Northern Quebec, still chilly out early morning, also after sunset. Enjoyed a few picnic lunches on the deck, lots of wildlife here. Can hear the fish jump in the lake – probably looking for Sar. The imp throws stale bread in the water from the dock. A stray cat found its way to our log cabin. It's 1 of those orange & white tabby cats – already have 1 of those. An unneutered male. Our cat has taken offense to its presence. Doesn't want another unneutered male in the house. Thinking about that—don't think I want another unneutered male in the house either.

It's a scrawny thing. Correction: It was a scrawny thing; Sar fed it, groomed it, cat-whispered it. Damn critter has no intention of leaving. I informed the imp that the cat's a Canuck – can't take it over the border. The imp made a vet appointment – shots, papers, etc. Posted signs everywhere to let folks know in case it was theirs – nobody took the bait. Might have to take the (now fat) cat back to Washington. Ours is not happy. It's lodged several loud complaints. Sar is sweet talking her way around this. If it goes home it will definitely have surgery to ease the feline tension in the house. In case you're wondering it has several names – Henry (no, I don't know why), Fat George and at the rate it's eating, will also be known as Waddling Willie. No offense intended to any George or Willie reading – not to any Henry for that matter.

Healthwise, my wife's doing well. A brief upper respiratory event. Tried to get cough meds down her throat. She set the Rott on me. That dog has big teeth. Dancing, she got a slight ankle sprain – wrapped it tight – kept dancing. Warmed the imp's tush over that. Broken ankles take a while to heal. She set the Rott on me. Very big teeth.

Won't be heading back to Iceland for a while. Too much turmoil. Been in touch with friends; fortunately, they're ok, lots of damage everywhere. Thinking about Cape Breton in Nova Scotia next month. Friends have a time share there – might see about renting it for a month.

Our young friend Patrick is moving to England. His mom has met someone; wedding next month. The man is U.S. Navy stationed in the UK. Sar is beside herself; Patrick has been a big part of our life since we met the boy. Patrick's bloodhound is going through the medical tests/shots necessary to travel to another country. There's a bit of leeway there; the animal is a service dog. Most countries recognize and accept service dogs. Will take the hound back if it doesn't work out. A lot of Patrick's independence and self-confidence is attributable to that dog. One way or the other, the boy will have a service dog. Don't know that Sar is going to cope well. Having Patrick around has always been a plus for both of us.

Last note for now. Sar is making dolls. Large soft dolls. Anatomically correct dolls. Skimpy clothing. The imp refers to them as slightly politically incorrect. I call them as I see them – gigolos and sluts.

Cowboy