Cowboy here.
Feels like it's my blog. Seem to be posting regularly now. Never would have thought that would happen.
You know it's spring when insects show up. In Washington we have minute spiders, the occasional large one gets in the house, also ants about 1/8th inch in length. Sar is ok about small bugs, turns into warrior woman when it's a large spider. Those times I'm home I can hear her screaming at it to die. I generally remove the interloper before my wife can massacre it. Here in Quebec, haven't seen any spiders but there are ants about half an inch long. To hear Sar tell it, they're a foot long. Sar does not like ants; they die a tortuous death around her. I'm grateful we don't have palmetto bugs – had them in Florida – my wife went ballistic when she spotted one. Should have set the Mastiff on them; the dog's drool is lethal.
The imp had a bout of stomach flu - 1 of those 24-hour flu bugs – intestinal stuff, nasty business. Was pretty much bed ridden for 24 hours. When she's feeling unwell, the animals stay close. The Rott leans his head close to Sar's head on the bed – make a soft growling purr, meant to be a comfort. The Mastiff whines continuously. The cat sleeps at her shoulder, the purrs have a chirp in it, a concerned sound.
I walk in the room and the atmosphere changes. I tell the dogs to "back up." The Rott goes to the far side of the room and growls low – a less than comforting sound. The animal is positive Sar's bout of flu is my fault. The Mastiff howls, yodels, makes a nuisance until he can come back near the bed. The cat stays where he is, raises his head, hisses and spits at me. The cat would bet his life it's my fault the imp is feeling poorly. A day later, the flu is gone, Sar has had a good night's rest. Wakes up, says she's mad at me.
I ask why she's mad at me. The imp doesn't remember why— just knows I did something that made her mad. Was it something recent I ask? Was it something I did a long time ago? She can't remember but says I better not do that again. I can't help it – I laugh. This makes the imp glare at me. I figure I'm already in the doghouse so I ought to spank her so she has a legitimate reason to be mad. She sets the dogs on me.
I promise to make cream cheese omelets or waffles with ice cream if she'll stop being mad. Sar suggests I forsake peaches for a month to atone for whatever it was I did. That is too much to ask. I flip the imp over to apply a swat or 2. The imp giggles. The band played on.
We'll be in Nova Scotia in June, Cape Breton to be exact. There's a time share we've stayed in before – on the water. From there I'm hoping to reserve a room at the Von Trapp lodge in Stowe, Vermont. Then we'll head for home. Sar loves the Von Trapp lodge – a huge buffet at every meal. They stock Twinkies just for her.
Cowboy
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Sunday, May 09, 2010
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
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
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