Cowboy here. Between my last post and this one, there's been a week of Sar's extra mischief – running amok – the new year, a trip back to DC to visit Bull/his family. Back home there's been more snow than we've had in a few years. Sar didn't just run amok; she ran, leaped, jumped, climbed, jogged, you name it. Both of us enjoyed most of it; a swat here and there after I finally cornered the imp; otherwise, more fun than not. My wife isn't in to brat behavior; her mischief is a bit more sophisticated.
Among other things, the imp ran through the house wearing a T-shirt of mine, nothing else, distracting the hell out of me. I gave chase, wondered why she suddenly stopped on the stairway landing. The little devil said it was only fair to give me a chance to catch up because I was getting too old to catch her fair and square. I reached out to grab her, deliver a swat or two. Before I could do that, the woman stripped, giggled. I lost it. Didn't make it to the bedroom, just did what comes natural right there on the staircase. Can't resist that woman.
Won't go into the rest. Assure you it was a week of much fun, much laughter, much lovin. Warmed her up a few times but when I hear the giggles, pretty much forget everything but my need to grab the imp, love her. Consumed quite a bit of chocolate, wallowed in it, etc.
New Year's was a festive one. Flew to DC to visit Bull, his family, our friend David. Sar cooked/baked a bunch of special dishes for everyone. Stayed in David's condo a few days. While there, the imp rearranged everything in his kitchen, bedroom closet, home office. The man is still calling to yell at her, can't find certain items. Sar swears no memory of the event. For Christmas, she gave the retired marine extra large women's lingerie so he could discover his feminine side. It was pretty funny but if that ever happens to me, the imp won't sit for a week.
Bull is in good spirits, sitting up, a bit clumsy using his hands/arms but all things considered, doing well. A ways to go yet but definite progress. He has titanium inserts in his legs, standing with help. No walking yet but it's in his future. Can do a few personal things unaided, flirts with all the nurses, therapists, ready to go to rehab full-time. The young man's gained a few pounds, looks like a million bucks to our eyes. He told Sar he probably looked like a tractor ran over him. Sar said he was alive. That made him beautiful in her eyes. Did I mention how much I love this woman? Hope to bring the young man to our house in the near future.
Snow here in the Pacific Northwest, expecting to see snow angels soon. Any day now the yard will be covered in anatomically correct snow people. I catch the imp that makes them, that imp's gonna be anatomically warmed up.
Cowboy
Monday, January 10, 2011
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Happy Christmas!
Cowboy here. Taking a few moments to reflect. The past year was a series of ups/downs, indescribable joy, deep regret. Like so many other folks – worldwide – my wife and I have folks that are dear to us in war zones. That said, we are blessed that many have come home alive, some with serious injuries but alive.
We are grateful for each one's service.
Joy: Sar and I travelled extensively this past year. The imp says we had to do this while I was still physically capable of getting around. Yeah, she got a swat for that. Contrary to the imp's testament that I am 0-l-d, I still manage to chase her down when the chasing is necessary.
We spent Christmas Eve alone. We try to do this every year; it's a special time for us. I'm happy to report that my 1st gift was my beautiful wife under the tree, wrapped in red ribbon. The unwrapping was as it has always been each Christmas – complete joy.
This morning, a wide-eyed young girl inside the mature sexy body of my wife slid down the banister. No matter how many Christmases we have shared, Sar still approaches Christmas morning the same way she did when she was 10. That was her first real Christmas. As a small reminder of the years she lived on the streets, there's a bowl of hard candy on the coffee table. The look on her face when the imp saw what was under the tree is more Christmas joy than I can describe.
Santa had delivered! Her belief in Santa Claus isn't so much the man as it is the spirit of the season. However—the look currently on the imp's face is one I know only too well. Tomorrow is the 1st day of a few days where more mischief than normal happens. Sar calls it the days in which she can run amok. I call it the days of unbelievably imaginative mischief. I'm certain I will enjoy more than a bit of it if the good Lord gives me strength to get through it. Knowing my wife's penchant for all things naughty, I trust she has convinced a number of you to follow in her footsteps.
Fortunately, Sar also has a penchant for all things sweet. Hopefully the rest of your holiday season will be as sweet as I intend for ours to be.
Happy holidays from both of us to you and yours.
Cowboy
We are grateful for each one's service.
Joy: Sar and I travelled extensively this past year. The imp says we had to do this while I was still physically capable of getting around. Yeah, she got a swat for that. Contrary to the imp's testament that I am 0-l-d, I still manage to chase her down when the chasing is necessary.
We spent Christmas Eve alone. We try to do this every year; it's a special time for us. I'm happy to report that my 1st gift was my beautiful wife under the tree, wrapped in red ribbon. The unwrapping was as it has always been each Christmas – complete joy.
This morning, a wide-eyed young girl inside the mature sexy body of my wife slid down the banister. No matter how many Christmases we have shared, Sar still approaches Christmas morning the same way she did when she was 10. That was her first real Christmas. As a small reminder of the years she lived on the streets, there's a bowl of hard candy on the coffee table. The look on her face when the imp saw what was under the tree is more Christmas joy than I can describe.
Santa had delivered! Her belief in Santa Claus isn't so much the man as it is the spirit of the season. However—the look currently on the imp's face is one I know only too well. Tomorrow is the 1st day of a few days where more mischief than normal happens. Sar calls it the days in which she can run amok. I call it the days of unbelievably imaginative mischief. I'm certain I will enjoy more than a bit of it if the good Lord gives me strength to get through it. Knowing my wife's penchant for all things naughty, I trust she has convinced a number of you to follow in her footsteps.
Fortunately, Sar also has a penchant for all things sweet. Hopefully the rest of your holiday season will be as sweet as I intend for ours to be.
Happy holidays from both of us to you and yours.
Cowboy
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Mr. Grumpy!
When I married the giant squid many years ago, it didn't take me long to realize he was descended from Neanderthal stock. Egads! The real shocker came when I discovered Neanderthals had several personality quirks that no one ever mentioned, mainly… in addition to being spank-happy, Neanderthals pout! I don’t care how much he denies it – Neanderthals pout! They don't pout like cultured ladies pout; they pout like 8-year old boys. They get grumpy. I've lived with Mr. Grumpy for a lot of years. I can attest that his bouts of grumpy pouts are few and far between but when they happen… Get Out of his LINE OF FIRE!
When Mr. Grumpy is grumpy, he grumps about EVERYTHING!
Just because I happened to be cleaning out the hall closet and had to use a ladder to get to the top shelf… where there is a ceiling door to the attic… and there was dust up there… I mean… no one likes to see dust at the top of the closet… so I decided to push that door aside to get the dust out of all the cracks… and guess what! Santa had made an early delivery! Shocked! That was me. Uh huh, shocked.
… and stunned when I was suddenly no longer on top of the ladder in the closet and over Mr. Grumpy's shoulder… He sure can grump at the slightest things! I think he might have needed a glass of wine and maybe, a nap… or two.
SWAT!
Tsk.
I spotted the Rott snoozing in the hallway and yelled "KILL!" but the beast just yawned and went back to snoozing. Why oh why did I ever let that ferocious canine bond with Mr. Grumpy?
Later, I made chocolate pecan pie and after you-know-who ate about half of it, he wanted to know if I made peach cobbler, too. I didn't, so he grumped about that. Maybe two glasses of wine was needed and a very long nap.
SWAT!
Tsk.
Since Mr. Grumpy is so o-l-d…. I thought I'd better remind him that RUN AMOK WEEK is only FIVE days away! I don't want to spring it on him in case he's forgotten…
SWAT!
LOL!
He responded with… you won't believe this… NO MISCHIEF IMP!
Honestly… No mischief and imp in the same sentence just doesn't make any sense to me. Not to you either, right? Tsk. I told you he was o-l-d.
SWAT!
Tsk.
~Sar~
When Mr. Grumpy is grumpy, he grumps about EVERYTHING!
Just because I happened to be cleaning out the hall closet and had to use a ladder to get to the top shelf… where there is a ceiling door to the attic… and there was dust up there… I mean… no one likes to see dust at the top of the closet… so I decided to push that door aside to get the dust out of all the cracks… and guess what! Santa had made an early delivery! Shocked! That was me. Uh huh, shocked.
… and stunned when I was suddenly no longer on top of the ladder in the closet and over Mr. Grumpy's shoulder… He sure can grump at the slightest things! I think he might have needed a glass of wine and maybe, a nap… or two.
SWAT!
Tsk.
I spotted the Rott snoozing in the hallway and yelled "KILL!" but the beast just yawned and went back to snoozing. Why oh why did I ever let that ferocious canine bond with Mr. Grumpy?
Later, I made chocolate pecan pie and after you-know-who ate about half of it, he wanted to know if I made peach cobbler, too. I didn't, so he grumped about that. Maybe two glasses of wine was needed and a very long nap.
SWAT!
Tsk.
Since Mr. Grumpy is so o-l-d…. I thought I'd better remind him that RUN AMOK WEEK is only FIVE days away! I don't want to spring it on him in case he's forgotten…
SWAT!
LOL!
He responded with… you won't believe this… NO MISCHIEF IMP!
Honestly… No mischief and imp in the same sentence just doesn't make any sense to me. Not to you either, right? Tsk. I told you he was o-l-d.
SWAT!
Tsk.
~Sar~
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Checking My Lists
First: That jolly ol fat man in the red suit is supposed to make an appearance in 9 days. I have it on good authority that Mrs. Claus is about to bust her buttons. St. Nick is still studying the global maps and he hasn't begun to pack his sleigh. It seems the world has changed the names of so many countries in the last few years that the giant elf (not to be confused with the giant squid…) is making sure his route is correct so no one on his "nice" list gets a lump of coal instead of socks and underwear. The giant squid told me Santa is giving ME socks and underwear.
I've never had enough socks in my entire life – I go through them much too quickly so socks are ok with me. (Leg warmers for dancing under a full moon are also socks…) As for underwear, for folks like me, underwear = lingerie! I'm good with this.
Next: And "most" important, it's only 11 days until RUN AMOK WEEK! I'd like to go outside and shout HAPPY! HAPPY! JOY! JOY! but that would be redundant. Also, it's very chilly out there right now. We had Arctic winds, snow, sleet and freezing rain in the last day or so. Personally, I was snug and warm and very happy to watch WEATHER happening but you-know-who was grumbling and growling about pee-numonia and bronchitis and fevers, etc. The pups were fascinated by all that growling since they weren't doing it. I reminded them that in order to become a U.S. Naval officer, the giant squid had to take Growling 101 as part of his training.
When he heard this, the giant squid muttered something in Italian so all of us innocents were spared hearing the message. (I need to get a pocket-size English/Italian dictionary.)
The words I hear most frequently these days are: "Better not be planning mischief, imp!"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Laughing… After all the years we've been together, you'd think Cowboy would know that I don't have to PLAN anything. Mischief just sort of happens. What? You didn't know that either? Tsk.
SWAT!
Still laughing… Back to my list: The stockings are up, the tree is up, the menorah is still lit, cookies in the oven, hot chocolate on the stove, raspberry chocolate mousse in the works, and someone is making cream cheese omelets so I'll eat something that has protein in it.
Tsk. He really is an old-fashioned kind of guy. I was planning to eat tiramisu for breakfast.
I found a bunch of "wrapped goodies" in the attic space above the garage. I just happened to be looking there to see if Cowboy needed to change the mouse traps… I couldn't reach the goodies but I think if I put the ladder on top of a chair and…
A huge vat of chocolate paint arrived yesterday. I plan to use it during RUN AMOK week. I've also stashed a bit of catnip in Cowboy's bedroom slippers. I have a feeling DomTom, Miss Emmy and Pipsqueak will be rubbing all over the giant squid's ankles for days. I think it's good when cats and their humans bond, don't you? Henry, our Canuck cat is above these things. That feline is more interested in the raspberry mousse.
Last, for the record, I'm running out of "goodness." Mischief is really calling my name - actually, it's shouting at me.
~Sar~
I've never had enough socks in my entire life – I go through them much too quickly so socks are ok with me. (Leg warmers for dancing under a full moon are also socks…) As for underwear, for folks like me, underwear = lingerie! I'm good with this.
Next: And "most" important, it's only 11 days until RUN AMOK WEEK! I'd like to go outside and shout HAPPY! HAPPY! JOY! JOY! but that would be redundant. Also, it's very chilly out there right now. We had Arctic winds, snow, sleet and freezing rain in the last day or so. Personally, I was snug and warm and very happy to watch WEATHER happening but you-know-who was grumbling and growling about pee-numonia and bronchitis and fevers, etc. The pups were fascinated by all that growling since they weren't doing it. I reminded them that in order to become a U.S. Naval officer, the giant squid had to take Growling 101 as part of his training.
When he heard this, the giant squid muttered something in Italian so all of us innocents were spared hearing the message. (I need to get a pocket-size English/Italian dictionary.)
The words I hear most frequently these days are: "Better not be planning mischief, imp!"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Laughing… After all the years we've been together, you'd think Cowboy would know that I don't have to PLAN anything. Mischief just sort of happens. What? You didn't know that either? Tsk.
SWAT!
Still laughing… Back to my list: The stockings are up, the tree is up, the menorah is still lit, cookies in the oven, hot chocolate on the stove, raspberry chocolate mousse in the works, and someone is making cream cheese omelets so I'll eat something that has protein in it.
Tsk. He really is an old-fashioned kind of guy. I was planning to eat tiramisu for breakfast.
I found a bunch of "wrapped goodies" in the attic space above the garage. I just happened to be looking there to see if Cowboy needed to change the mouse traps… I couldn't reach the goodies but I think if I put the ladder on top of a chair and…
A huge vat of chocolate paint arrived yesterday. I plan to use it during RUN AMOK week. I've also stashed a bit of catnip in Cowboy's bedroom slippers. I have a feeling DomTom, Miss Emmy and Pipsqueak will be rubbing all over the giant squid's ankles for days. I think it's good when cats and their humans bond, don't you? Henry, our Canuck cat is above these things. That feline is more interested in the raspberry mousse.
Last, for the record, I'm running out of "goodness." Mischief is really calling my name - actually, it's shouting at me.
~Sar~
Saturday, December 11, 2010
15 Days!
If you've been checking the calendar regularly, you know that Christmas Eve is only 13 days away. That means RUN AMOK Week is only 15 days away! Oh JOY!
People! You need to make your plans early! Don't be caught wondering what to do when Dec. 26 rolls around. Plan now! It's never too early to get those plans in shape. Trust me. I know these things. (Even the giant squid knows these things because he's already growling about it.)
"Better not be planning mischief, imp!"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Tsk. I think His Holiness could use a nap. (He's o-l-d, you know.)
SWAT!
laughing softly
I decided not to do Christmas cards this year. I usually send them out day after Thanksgiving but life jumped down my throat and I had other distractions to keep me off schedule. So, this year I'll send New Year's cards instead. I've started creating my own cards – fabric cards, quilted, embellished, painted, whatever medium comes to mind. I make some year-round, then write a note to whoever the card is going to. For David, I made a hula dancing lady; on the inside the note says "too bad you can no longer keep up with me." I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment; he's getting o-l-d too.
I can't tell you what Cowboy's card says; he has a habit of reading this blog. His short term memory is still working…
SWAT!
Cowboy says I should send a card to all the docs that have to put up with me. That would take a lot of thought. Do I send a blood sample for them to suck up? Do I send a hypodermic and hope they stick themselves? A tray of my "special" brownies? A note that says "be sick and see what it feels like to be on the receiving end?" Maybe, an invitation to be billeted elsewhere? Like Somalia? So many possibilities.
I did send a box of water taffy to the dentist.
I sent an old pair of Cowboy's night vision goggles to the eye doc and a box of shell casings (empty bullets) to one of the drill instructors on the base. I hope that confuses him.
The K-9 team got giant boxes of dog biscuits and a 10-lb bag of dried liver. Animals and I get along better than most other relationships I have. Hmmm… I wonder if that comes from living with a giant squid?
My neighbor, MsHairUpHerAss, also got taffy – she's just had new dentures made.
MsKeptWoman who lives down the block got a really pretty blue teddy. Thinking about buying another in XXXXXL size for a marine I know.
I just can't stand how thoughtful I've been. Will have to make up for all this goodness during RUN AMOK Week.
I sent Santa my last letter for this year. I reminded him I had been good ALL year. I omitted which year I was referring to…
Cowboy said if I combined all the 15-minute stretches of good I've been in all the years we've been together I might have accumulated a couple of months of goodness. Truly, that man needs a nap!
Adding insult to injury, I bet he read my email to Santa! Is nothing sacred in this world?
Cowboy is getting soooooooooo o-l-d I may have to give him a sweater with elbow patches… a walker for when the time comes that he needs one… extra warm socks and slippers with bunny ears. I made peach cobbler the other night and mushed it up so he wouldn't have to chew so hard. Was he appreciative of my thoughtfulness?
SWAT!
Tsk. Did I mention the man needs a nap?
~Sar~
People! You need to make your plans early! Don't be caught wondering what to do when Dec. 26 rolls around. Plan now! It's never too early to get those plans in shape. Trust me. I know these things. (Even the giant squid knows these things because he's already growling about it.)
"Better not be planning mischief, imp!"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Tsk. I think His Holiness could use a nap. (He's o-l-d, you know.)
SWAT!
laughing softly
I decided not to do Christmas cards this year. I usually send them out day after Thanksgiving but life jumped down my throat and I had other distractions to keep me off schedule. So, this year I'll send New Year's cards instead. I've started creating my own cards – fabric cards, quilted, embellished, painted, whatever medium comes to mind. I make some year-round, then write a note to whoever the card is going to. For David, I made a hula dancing lady; on the inside the note says "too bad you can no longer keep up with me." I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment; he's getting o-l-d too.
I can't tell you what Cowboy's card says; he has a habit of reading this blog. His short term memory is still working…
SWAT!
Cowboy says I should send a card to all the docs that have to put up with me. That would take a lot of thought. Do I send a blood sample for them to suck up? Do I send a hypodermic and hope they stick themselves? A tray of my "special" brownies? A note that says "be sick and see what it feels like to be on the receiving end?" Maybe, an invitation to be billeted elsewhere? Like Somalia? So many possibilities.
I did send a box of water taffy to the dentist.
I sent an old pair of Cowboy's night vision goggles to the eye doc and a box of shell casings (empty bullets) to one of the drill instructors on the base. I hope that confuses him.
The K-9 team got giant boxes of dog biscuits and a 10-lb bag of dried liver. Animals and I get along better than most other relationships I have. Hmmm… I wonder if that comes from living with a giant squid?
My neighbor, MsHairUpHerAss, also got taffy – she's just had new dentures made.
MsKeptWoman who lives down the block got a really pretty blue teddy. Thinking about buying another in XXXXXL size for a marine I know.
I just can't stand how thoughtful I've been. Will have to make up for all this goodness during RUN AMOK Week.
I sent Santa my last letter for this year. I reminded him I had been good ALL year. I omitted which year I was referring to…
Cowboy said if I combined all the 15-minute stretches of good I've been in all the years we've been together I might have accumulated a couple of months of goodness. Truly, that man needs a nap!
Adding insult to injury, I bet he read my email to Santa! Is nothing sacred in this world?
Cowboy is getting soooooooooo o-l-d I may have to give him a sweater with elbow patches… a walker for when the time comes that he needs one… extra warm socks and slippers with bunny ears. I made peach cobbler the other night and mushed it up so he wouldn't have to chew so hard. Was he appreciative of my thoughtfulness?
SWAT!
Tsk. Did I mention the man needs a nap?
~Sar~
Saturday, December 04, 2010
Send Help!
Cowboy here. How long have I been married to a naughty birbantella? Sorry, that's redundant. A birbantella implies the imp is naughty. Not just naughty, but capable of black ops stealth, cunning, sneaky, generally successful. A lot of years of wedded bliss for the two of us, a lot of sores, bruises, much worse for the medics that have treated her.
Sar knew there were some medical appointments coming up. Among them, an MRI, other scans, some invasive stuff. Enough going on, the docs suggested an overnight stay, get it all done. Despite the thick file they have on mia bambina, they continue to neglect the basics: mainly, Sar is an escape artist. Won't tolerate unnecessary touching, won't wear a hospital gown, knows every nook/cranny of the local clinic, a whiz kid at jamming computer monitoring, takes advantage of whatever is available to be taken advantage of. Ergo: my escape artist pulled the plug on the computer, hit the security lights on the electrical panel which released locks on the secure doors, climbed out a window, was home eating cake when I finally caught up with her. Not sure the medics realize the imp escaped—again.
Somebody send help.
Announced I was going to burn that little butt. The imp looked up, smiled, offered a glass of peach brandy. Like a rookie, I reached for it; that's when she kicked me.
Mata Hari
Chased her through the house, up the stairs, got to the bedroom, tripped over the mastiff, got the door slammed in my face. Mastiff attacked, pushed me over, drooled on my face.
I need professional help.
Got the dog off, got the door open, faced a large Rottweiler showing off his big teeth. The imp laughed.
Threatened dire retribution. Sar plays dirty. She stripped, jumped my bones. Band tuned up, etc.
A couple of swats, much laughter, another successful medical evasion. Thinking about handcuffing the imp to the bed.
Doc called, wanted to know if Sar was home. I said no. Now I'm a co-conspirator.
Send help.
Cowboy
Sar knew there were some medical appointments coming up. Among them, an MRI, other scans, some invasive stuff. Enough going on, the docs suggested an overnight stay, get it all done. Despite the thick file they have on mia bambina, they continue to neglect the basics: mainly, Sar is an escape artist. Won't tolerate unnecessary touching, won't wear a hospital gown, knows every nook/cranny of the local clinic, a whiz kid at jamming computer monitoring, takes advantage of whatever is available to be taken advantage of. Ergo: my escape artist pulled the plug on the computer, hit the security lights on the electrical panel which released locks on the secure doors, climbed out a window, was home eating cake when I finally caught up with her. Not sure the medics realize the imp escaped—again.
Somebody send help.
Announced I was going to burn that little butt. The imp looked up, smiled, offered a glass of peach brandy. Like a rookie, I reached for it; that's when she kicked me.
Mata Hari
Chased her through the house, up the stairs, got to the bedroom, tripped over the mastiff, got the door slammed in my face. Mastiff attacked, pushed me over, drooled on my face.
I need professional help.
Got the dog off, got the door open, faced a large Rottweiler showing off his big teeth. The imp laughed.
Threatened dire retribution. Sar plays dirty. She stripped, jumped my bones. Band tuned up, etc.
A couple of swats, much laughter, another successful medical evasion. Thinking about handcuffing the imp to the bed.
Doc called, wanted to know if Sar was home. I said no. Now I'm a co-conspirator.
Send help.
Cowboy
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Sleepin' It Off
Cowboy here. About 5 p.m. here. My wife just hit the sack. Had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner, ate nonstop for a couple days. Sar's cooking/baking rate top marks. The imp roasted a turkey, baked a ham, all the fixings, dessert fit for a king. Just a few leftovers. Discovered a pile of little gifts on a chair – guessing that's chocolate from everyone that ate – bribes to be invited back.
Sar ate everything but turkey, the only green item the imp consumed was a key lime pie before we sat down to eat. I made cream cheese omelets for breakfast; Sar ate that, followed by pecan pie, ice cream on top. Today, she washed the dogs, groomed the cats, answered a bit of email, sacked out. The imp's exhausted but catching up on rest so I'm not complaining.
Tomorrow I'll complain. Normal schedule, diet or else. (Someone remind me about the "or else" part.)
That broken wrist didn't slow the imp down as much as I thought it would. I see her rubbing it a bit; she's gonna be rubbing other parts if she's overusing it. Someone remind me what I'm supposed to do to ensure that.
Video conference with Bull in his hospital room. His mother had a spread of food for her boy. Sar wanted to know if possum pie was on the menu. Bull said yes but that he had it sent out our way. I asked the imp what she sent him – it's always a game of one-upman-ship for those two. Sar just arched a brow. Keeping score on that game. Sar matched Bull for consuming pie. Reminded mia bambina he wasn't 100% yet. She teased him a lot anyway. The man said he loved her, still waiting for her to grab those pots/pans, run away with him. The imp said when I got too old to eat peach cobbler, she'd do that. Delivered a swat. They both laughed.
Won't be long before Bull gets some innovative surgery – titanium inserts in his legs. Medics say it makes them good as new. He's up for a few skin grafts on his hands – skin will come from his back. The young man's body is still a bit bruised but his spirits remain high. There are casts on his limbs, some ribald comments written on them, members of his former unit in/out of the hospital room regularly. There's more going on. I'll let Sar fill you in. The imp's writing another piece about her favorite tank-size marine.
Cowboy
Sar ate everything but turkey, the only green item the imp consumed was a key lime pie before we sat down to eat. I made cream cheese omelets for breakfast; Sar ate that, followed by pecan pie, ice cream on top. Today, she washed the dogs, groomed the cats, answered a bit of email, sacked out. The imp's exhausted but catching up on rest so I'm not complaining.
Tomorrow I'll complain. Normal schedule, diet or else. (Someone remind me about the "or else" part.)
That broken wrist didn't slow the imp down as much as I thought it would. I see her rubbing it a bit; she's gonna be rubbing other parts if she's overusing it. Someone remind me what I'm supposed to do to ensure that.
Video conference with Bull in his hospital room. His mother had a spread of food for her boy. Sar wanted to know if possum pie was on the menu. Bull said yes but that he had it sent out our way. I asked the imp what she sent him – it's always a game of one-upman-ship for those two. Sar just arched a brow. Keeping score on that game. Sar matched Bull for consuming pie. Reminded mia bambina he wasn't 100% yet. She teased him a lot anyway. The man said he loved her, still waiting for her to grab those pots/pans, run away with him. The imp said when I got too old to eat peach cobbler, she'd do that. Delivered a swat. They both laughed.
Won't be long before Bull gets some innovative surgery – titanium inserts in his legs. Medics say it makes them good as new. He's up for a few skin grafts on his hands – skin will come from his back. The young man's body is still a bit bruised but his spirits remain high. There are casts on his limbs, some ribald comments written on them, members of his former unit in/out of the hospital room regularly. There's more going on. I'll let Sar fill you in. The imp's writing another piece about her favorite tank-size marine.
Cowboy
Monday, November 15, 2010
Pure Chaos
Cowboy here. Next week is our American holiday, Thanksgiving. For some folks, that's the start of the holiday season. Not for my imp. Sar considers 4th of July the end of 1 year's holiday season, Labor Day the warm up for the next one. Halloween puts my wife into overdrive. She consumes enough chocolate, other sugars to take her through the Thanksgiving preparations. Christmas is a whole other event.
The imp is cooking. The imp is baking. The imp is not eating enough. The imp get little rest.
I've been kicked out of the kitchen, our extra large pups standing guard, growling as I try to get past them to grab my woman. I'm keeping score.
That broken wrist makes things a bit clumsy in the kitchen. Volunteered to help out, got rebuffed. Joan de Arc has to do it all herself. Threatened to burn that little backside if she didn't slow down. Finally got her away from the pups, in bed, didn't have a chance to do squat. Sar fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. I let her sleep. Thought about tying the birbantella to the bed – thought about a few other things I could do –- I let her sleep.
We're not going back to DC for Thanksgiving. Arranged to have a video conference in Bull's hospital room. His mother will have a holiday meal prepared for her boy; we'll speak to him via satellite, wish him well. He and Sar can rib each other about eating road kill, who will eat the most apple/pecan pie, other things they tease each other about. This will make both of them happy. Just seeing that young man sitting up, eating whole food, talking, smiling, that will do all of us a world of good. Have I mentioned he's out of intensive care, in a private room, facing a long bout of rehab, some surgery, on the mend. It will be a long haul, slow recovery but recovery just the same. Counting blessings, very thankful blessings.
Having a small crowd over, about 15, smallest crowd we've had in years. My wife is worn out, won't admit it, won't slow down, 15 is plenty. Rethinking tying her to the bed.
Cowboy
The imp is cooking. The imp is baking. The imp is not eating enough. The imp get little rest.
I've been kicked out of the kitchen, our extra large pups standing guard, growling as I try to get past them to grab my woman. I'm keeping score.
That broken wrist makes things a bit clumsy in the kitchen. Volunteered to help out, got rebuffed. Joan de Arc has to do it all herself. Threatened to burn that little backside if she didn't slow down. Finally got her away from the pups, in bed, didn't have a chance to do squat. Sar fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. I let her sleep. Thought about tying the birbantella to the bed – thought about a few other things I could do –- I let her sleep.
We're not going back to DC for Thanksgiving. Arranged to have a video conference in Bull's hospital room. His mother will have a holiday meal prepared for her boy; we'll speak to him via satellite, wish him well. He and Sar can rib each other about eating road kill, who will eat the most apple/pecan pie, other things they tease each other about. This will make both of them happy. Just seeing that young man sitting up, eating whole food, talking, smiling, that will do all of us a world of good. Have I mentioned he's out of intensive care, in a private room, facing a long bout of rehab, some surgery, on the mend. It will be a long haul, slow recovery but recovery just the same. Counting blessings, very thankful blessings.
Having a small crowd over, about 15, smallest crowd we've had in years. My wife is worn out, won't admit it, won't slow down, 15 is plenty. Rethinking tying her to the bed.
Cowboy
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Saving the World
Cowboy here. Have I ever mentioned that my wife could be teaching at the U.S. Naval War College? The imp is a pro at stealth, a wizard at making herself invisible, plus she fights dirty. No apologies out of that pretty mouth, no "oops, sorry," just plain fisticuffs.
We were at a local canine obedience trial, brought our pups along. Sar did a demonstration, a little flair on top of the ordinary stuff – sit, stay, down, heel, come front, etc. Our dogs follow verbal commands as well as hand signals. Sar had them heel to her side by scooting backwards instead of going around her, had them dance by balancing a paw on a shoulder, a few other stunts.
There were several professional trainers at the event, all challenged to take an unknown dog, untrained, perhaps unruly, teach it to sit/stay or down/stay. All performed well. After that, the owners were to follow through. One very young dog – a pit bull – didn't do so well. The owner got frustrated, used the leash to smack the dog on top of its head, kept smacking it.
Sar went nuts. Before I could react, my wife ran over to the man, kick boxed him in the chest. He went down, the imp snatched the leash, smacked him on top of his head. She smacked him about 3 times before I was able to grab the birbantella, haul her off the guy. Police came, ticketed the guy for animal abuse, turned the dog over to animal control. The officers took 1 look at Sar, that innocent face in place, had trouble believing the imp could put the man down with 1 swift kick. That's my wife, saving the world one canine at a time.
Got home and discovered Sar's hand was swollen. My frustration bubbled over, admit I lost my cool for a moment. Delivered a hard swat for jumping into a fray that was none of her business. Emergency room, x-rays, 2 fractured bones in her wrist. Promised retribution when the pain wore off. The imp shrugged then kicked me, got behind the rott, dared me to retaliate. Announced that I'd dump her twinkies stash in the garbage. Heard the gun cabinet open. Think we should unleash this sprite on our country's enemies. Sneaked up behind her, hauled her off to bed, made her beg for mercy.
Cowboy
We were at a local canine obedience trial, brought our pups along. Sar did a demonstration, a little flair on top of the ordinary stuff – sit, stay, down, heel, come front, etc. Our dogs follow verbal commands as well as hand signals. Sar had them heel to her side by scooting backwards instead of going around her, had them dance by balancing a paw on a shoulder, a few other stunts.
There were several professional trainers at the event, all challenged to take an unknown dog, untrained, perhaps unruly, teach it to sit/stay or down/stay. All performed well. After that, the owners were to follow through. One very young dog – a pit bull – didn't do so well. The owner got frustrated, used the leash to smack the dog on top of its head, kept smacking it.
Sar went nuts. Before I could react, my wife ran over to the man, kick boxed him in the chest. He went down, the imp snatched the leash, smacked him on top of his head. She smacked him about 3 times before I was able to grab the birbantella, haul her off the guy. Police came, ticketed the guy for animal abuse, turned the dog over to animal control. The officers took 1 look at Sar, that innocent face in place, had trouble believing the imp could put the man down with 1 swift kick. That's my wife, saving the world one canine at a time.
Got home and discovered Sar's hand was swollen. My frustration bubbled over, admit I lost my cool for a moment. Delivered a hard swat for jumping into a fray that was none of her business. Emergency room, x-rays, 2 fractured bones in her wrist. Promised retribution when the pain wore off. The imp shrugged then kicked me, got behind the rott, dared me to retaliate. Announced that I'd dump her twinkies stash in the garbage. Heard the gun cabinet open. Think we should unleash this sprite on our country's enemies. Sneaked up behind her, hauled her off to bed, made her beg for mercy.
Cowboy
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Home!
Cowboy here. Sar and I are home. It's good to be here. I promised my wife we'd get back to Bethesda sometime after Thanksgiving. Will go back sooner if necessary. I'm optimistic the young man is slowly recovering.
Sar didn't want to leave; I understood that. David will remain for the time being; he has a condo nearby, can monitor what's happening. My inexhaustible imp slept the entire 5-hour flight, slept through the drive from the airport home. She woke to greet the animals left behind, had a bit of juice, fell asleep at the table. I carried her to bed, slept through the night. Woke early, demanded supper which she missed, ate a bit of warmed up stew, took a nap, then wondered about missing breakfast. That's Sar exhausted, never admitting it.
Got home Friday night, bought some candy for the kids, they all came around last night. Sar was awake enough to make sure I didn't give any chocolate away. Had to retrieve the stuff the imp stole from the kids, give it back. Ran out of sweets, dug into Sar's twinkie/cracker jack stash. Heard my gun cabinet click open-- decided I gave enough of those away. Did I ever mention Sar has a set of lock picks, knows how to use them?
My little gal has a couple of medical appointments coming up – made them before we left the DC area. Got to check out her abdominal discomfort, a few other concerns.
Brought the cat home, could have left it with David but it goes where Sar goes. All our animals do that, shadowing her everywhere. Grateful we don't own goats.
Glad to be home, glad to have my imp to myself. There's a few long overdue swats in her future. I'll replace the twinkies and cracker jack first.
Cowboy
Sar didn't want to leave; I understood that. David will remain for the time being; he has a condo nearby, can monitor what's happening. My inexhaustible imp slept the entire 5-hour flight, slept through the drive from the airport home. She woke to greet the animals left behind, had a bit of juice, fell asleep at the table. I carried her to bed, slept through the night. Woke early, demanded supper which she missed, ate a bit of warmed up stew, took a nap, then wondered about missing breakfast. That's Sar exhausted, never admitting it.
Got home Friday night, bought some candy for the kids, they all came around last night. Sar was awake enough to make sure I didn't give any chocolate away. Had to retrieve the stuff the imp stole from the kids, give it back. Ran out of sweets, dug into Sar's twinkie/cracker jack stash. Heard my gun cabinet click open-- decided I gave enough of those away. Did I ever mention Sar has a set of lock picks, knows how to use them?
My little gal has a couple of medical appointments coming up – made them before we left the DC area. Got to check out her abdominal discomfort, a few other concerns.
Brought the cat home, could have left it with David but it goes where Sar goes. All our animals do that, shadowing her everywhere. Grateful we don't own goats.
Glad to be home, glad to have my imp to myself. There's a few long overdue swats in her future. I'll replace the twinkies and cracker jack first.
Cowboy
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Hello Sweet People!
Cowboy and I are astounded (and humbled) by all the personal emails, cards and notes we have received regarding Bull. Thank you. Your positive and healing thoughts and prayers have comforted us as well as Bull's mama and family. I'm happy to announce that Bull is awake, coherent, talking, and making food demands. He remains in the intensive care unit for the time being. He has had two surgeries since we've been here, due to have several more. ICU is a bit of insurance to monitor his vitals – anesthesia, recovery, etc. They wheeled in another bed so those of us staying… can sleep more comfortably when we nap.
I continue to make lasagna, apple cake and other food Bull favors. His mama makes spoon bread for her boy and some indescribable concoction that smells suspiciously like road kill but I'm afraid to ask. DomTom has taken up permanent space on Bull's bed, leaving only to use the litter box. The animal helps himself to Bull's food when the medical staff isn't looking. I keep canned tuna and salmon for the feline. This makes it very happy.
Bull isn't out of the woods by a long shot. He has several surgeries ahead of him, months and months of rehab. He hasn't complained of pain, his injuries, or what's ahead of him. It isn't that he's stoic; he's just calm, taking each day as it comes. He has a strong faith in his God and I think that also sustains him. I, on the other hand, believe in encouraging every small step back toward a normal life. If he needs to be yelled at, I'll do that, too.
His former commanding officer has been here several times along with members of his unit. Lots of folks from his little town in Arkansas have also visited. Bull is a hometown hero. Considering his actions on the front lines, he's a national hero as well.
I'm getting a little more rest now that Bull is awake. I think all that excess adrenaline kept me wide-eyed while he was unconscious. Cowboy wants us to go home. I'd like to stay a little longer, be sure Bull doesn't have a relapse. I wouldn't have any problem making Thanksgiving dinner in David's condo, bring it to the hospital to celebrate our many blessings. We'll see.
Personally, I think Cowboy needs some "us" time. I'm just saying…
~Sar~
I continue to make lasagna, apple cake and other food Bull favors. His mama makes spoon bread for her boy and some indescribable concoction that smells suspiciously like road kill but I'm afraid to ask. DomTom has taken up permanent space on Bull's bed, leaving only to use the litter box. The animal helps himself to Bull's food when the medical staff isn't looking. I keep canned tuna and salmon for the feline. This makes it very happy.
Bull isn't out of the woods by a long shot. He has several surgeries ahead of him, months and months of rehab. He hasn't complained of pain, his injuries, or what's ahead of him. It isn't that he's stoic; he's just calm, taking each day as it comes. He has a strong faith in his God and I think that also sustains him. I, on the other hand, believe in encouraging every small step back toward a normal life. If he needs to be yelled at, I'll do that, too.
His former commanding officer has been here several times along with members of his unit. Lots of folks from his little town in Arkansas have also visited. Bull is a hometown hero. Considering his actions on the front lines, he's a national hero as well.
I'm getting a little more rest now that Bull is awake. I think all that excess adrenaline kept me wide-eyed while he was unconscious. Cowboy wants us to go home. I'd like to stay a little longer, be sure Bull doesn't have a relapse. I wouldn't have any problem making Thanksgiving dinner in David's condo, bring it to the hospital to celebrate our many blessings. We'll see.
Personally, I think Cowboy needs some "us" time. I'm just saying…
~Sar~
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
More Good News
Cowboy here. Bull is awake about 50% of the time. Don't know what caused the turn around but will impart a few events. I was on my cell checking up on matters back home. Sar was sitting next to Bull, talking quietly to him. David was here, reading. Suddenly, an alarm sounded in the room, making us all jump. Sar immediately jumped on top of the comatose Bull, on his chest, punched his chest using both fists, the alarm went silent. Medics came running, Bull began to flat line they said. Don't know if my wife brought him back by her actions or the good Lord answered a prayer or 2. We are all grateful regardless.
Sar said she didn't see the flat line beginning; she simply reacted to the sound. Medics said her actions were similar to what they would have done. Probably would have done it with more finesse. Doesn't matter. It worked. Would like to add the birbintella also screamed as loud as she could that he better not die on her… A few things added to his IV lines and Bull's vitals were back to normal.
Later the tomcat – DomTom - crawled under Bull's hospital shirt, its head sticking out at the neck. Bull woke briefly, whispered "Tommy," that's what he calls the cat. In all honesty, have no idea what to make of that.
David and I continue to talk to the man, our words meant to encourage his well being, his future. Sar continues to yell at him, sometimes whispers words we cannot hear. The imp's expression varies – fierce, demanding, other times a tenderness that recalls days of regret/grief we have shared in the past. Bull drifts away now and again, happy to say more awake than not, says a few words, smiles at my imp.
Sar is more tired these days, eats when I put food in front of her. She rallies a bit after a brief rest, insists on staying close to Bull. From previous experiences, it is of no use to try forcing her away to rest. I hold her until she nods off; for now it is enough.
I humbly ask for your continued prayers for all our military, veterans, wounded, those on active duty. Sar joins me in thanking you for those prayers and good wishes for our own as well as those across the world fighting to give others freedom.
Cowboy
Sar said she didn't see the flat line beginning; she simply reacted to the sound. Medics said her actions were similar to what they would have done. Probably would have done it with more finesse. Doesn't matter. It worked. Would like to add the birbintella also screamed as loud as she could that he better not die on her… A few things added to his IV lines and Bull's vitals were back to normal.
Later the tomcat – DomTom - crawled under Bull's hospital shirt, its head sticking out at the neck. Bull woke briefly, whispered "Tommy," that's what he calls the cat. In all honesty, have no idea what to make of that.
David and I continue to talk to the man, our words meant to encourage his well being, his future. Sar continues to yell at him, sometimes whispers words we cannot hear. The imp's expression varies – fierce, demanding, other times a tenderness that recalls days of regret/grief we have shared in the past. Bull drifts away now and again, happy to say more awake than not, says a few words, smiles at my imp.
Sar is more tired these days, eats when I put food in front of her. She rallies a bit after a brief rest, insists on staying close to Bull. From previous experiences, it is of no use to try forcing her away to rest. I hold her until she nods off; for now it is enough.
I humbly ask for your continued prayers for all our military, veterans, wounded, those on active duty. Sar joins me in thanking you for those prayers and good wishes for our own as well as those across the world fighting to give others freedom.
Cowboy
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Hopeful News
Cowboy here. Bull has made some improvements. Once in a while – not too often – he opens his eyes. Not sure this is due to medical intervention or my wife's constant badgering him to wake up. It's a mystery how anyone can sleep while Sar yells recriminations. When the imp runs out of steam, she rests her head near Bull's ear, whispers things I don't hear. Don't know if she's threatening him, cajoling him or making promises. If it's promises, it's food related for certain.
Bull's folks are amazed at the bond shared between those 2. Not me. The man has seen to my wife's safety and welfare when I'm not around. From what I've seen, he loves my imp, a good thing. In return, Sar has committed a total friendship, not something she does for too many folks. I know that love is returned 100-fold. Bull is family.
The cat continues to stay at Bull's side, making feline sounds, head bumping his chin, purring. The medics take its presence in stride, makes me wonder what other strange things happened in ICU suites.
Sar is not getting as much rest as is needed. I have to pry her away from Bull, get her to eat, nap. As each day passes, her strength dwindles a bit, slightly worrisome. While here, I am trying to find a medic brave enough to check her out. The marines outside Bull's room rotate every 4 hours; each comes in to check on Bull when they begin/end their shifts. Sar baked sweets for them, rapidly learned details of their lives, each one already under the imp's spell.
Last night was a good night for all of us. Bull was aware for a few moments, saw Sar, mumbled something, drifted back to wherever his mind is. Sar said he mumbled "apple cake." She kissed his cheek, whispered something to him, fell asleep on my lap. We spent a more restful night at David's condo, back here in the morning.
The medics said Bull's drifting in and out of consciousness is a hopeful sign. I continue to ask the good Lord for assistance; Sar lets the good Lord know she has many higher expectations. Thank you for your prayers, your good wishes.
Cowboy
Bull's folks are amazed at the bond shared between those 2. Not me. The man has seen to my wife's safety and welfare when I'm not around. From what I've seen, he loves my imp, a good thing. In return, Sar has committed a total friendship, not something she does for too many folks. I know that love is returned 100-fold. Bull is family.
The cat continues to stay at Bull's side, making feline sounds, head bumping his chin, purring. The medics take its presence in stride, makes me wonder what other strange things happened in ICU suites.
Sar is not getting as much rest as is needed. I have to pry her away from Bull, get her to eat, nap. As each day passes, her strength dwindles a bit, slightly worrisome. While here, I am trying to find a medic brave enough to check her out. The marines outside Bull's room rotate every 4 hours; each comes in to check on Bull when they begin/end their shifts. Sar baked sweets for them, rapidly learned details of their lives, each one already under the imp's spell.
Last night was a good night for all of us. Bull was aware for a few moments, saw Sar, mumbled something, drifted back to wherever his mind is. Sar said he mumbled "apple cake." She kissed his cheek, whispered something to him, fell asleep on my lap. We spent a more restful night at David's condo, back here in the morning.
The medics said Bull's drifting in and out of consciousness is a hopeful sign. I continue to ask the good Lord for assistance; Sar lets the good Lord know she has many higher expectations. Thank you for your prayers, your good wishes.
Cowboy
Friday, October 01, 2010
Bull Update
Cowboy here. Bull remains in a coma as I write this. Prior to our arrival, the medics told us Bull has been entirely motionless, no response to outside stimuli. They believe his injuries are severe to the point that his mind is blanking, waiting for his body to heal.
Sar didn't buy this. She understands deep pain, has been through that, says a body goes quiet but the brain is still working. When the medics left the room, mia bambina put the tomcat on Bull's chest. The large feline made sounds I've never heard before. Took awhile for it to settle down, then continued to purr as it licked Bull's face, neck, ears. In the course of licking his face, it dislodged the tubes in his nostrils that feed oxygen. Bull's chest rose; he breathed easily on his own. Sar was the only one not surprised.
The cat hissed at the medics who, by the grace of God, didn't say a word about an animal in an ICU suite. A good thing. My wife would have kicked them all to hell; I'd have some serious explaining to do. We take turns staying near him, Sar and I, Bull's mother, sisters, nephews. Members of his unit stand honor guard outside his room, a long Navy/Marine tradition. I always know the minute David arrives; the guards greet him formally.
Modern medicine has never come up against the likes of my imp. She's losing patience. Regardless of their treatment, many IVs, injections, Bull remains in a coma. Yesterday, when they were out of the room, Sar straddled Bull's chest, whispered a few things to the unconscious man, then startled all of us by yelling at him to wake up. Apparently, that wasn't sufficient. Sar loudly accused him of breaking promises, a serious offense in her opinion. Bull moved his arms a bit, nothing too significant but definite movement. His shoulders are heavily bandaged, among his injuries, they had been dislocated and realigned. His head moves a bit to the side. He is agitated. Hospital personnel do not approve of my wife's actions but admit that an agitated man in a coma is a positive sign of brain activity. That is a hopeful thing.
I had a few moments of concern that Sar might be hurting Bull. The medics assured me he is loaded with morphine, doesn't feel pain or physical pressure. I hope that is true. I pulled mia bambina off of the man. Might as well have tried to pry a pit bull's jaws off of its dinner. My warrior woman is tenacious, determined to see Bull's eyes open. I, for one, am grateful Sar does not carry a weapon.
If Bull is going to recover, he will probably do so via modern medicine. I am convinced your prayers and ours also have much to do with this, Sar's yelling at God notwithstanding. He is a strong willed man; I am optimistic he will get through this. Your continued prayers are most welcome. Will try to update again in a few days.
Cowboy
Sar didn't buy this. She understands deep pain, has been through that, says a body goes quiet but the brain is still working. When the medics left the room, mia bambina put the tomcat on Bull's chest. The large feline made sounds I've never heard before. Took awhile for it to settle down, then continued to purr as it licked Bull's face, neck, ears. In the course of licking his face, it dislodged the tubes in his nostrils that feed oxygen. Bull's chest rose; he breathed easily on his own. Sar was the only one not surprised.
The cat hissed at the medics who, by the grace of God, didn't say a word about an animal in an ICU suite. A good thing. My wife would have kicked them all to hell; I'd have some serious explaining to do. We take turns staying near him, Sar and I, Bull's mother, sisters, nephews. Members of his unit stand honor guard outside his room, a long Navy/Marine tradition. I always know the minute David arrives; the guards greet him formally.
Modern medicine has never come up against the likes of my imp. She's losing patience. Regardless of their treatment, many IVs, injections, Bull remains in a coma. Yesterday, when they were out of the room, Sar straddled Bull's chest, whispered a few things to the unconscious man, then startled all of us by yelling at him to wake up. Apparently, that wasn't sufficient. Sar loudly accused him of breaking promises, a serious offense in her opinion. Bull moved his arms a bit, nothing too significant but definite movement. His shoulders are heavily bandaged, among his injuries, they had been dislocated and realigned. His head moves a bit to the side. He is agitated. Hospital personnel do not approve of my wife's actions but admit that an agitated man in a coma is a positive sign of brain activity. That is a hopeful thing.
I had a few moments of concern that Sar might be hurting Bull. The medics assured me he is loaded with morphine, doesn't feel pain or physical pressure. I hope that is true. I pulled mia bambina off of the man. Might as well have tried to pry a pit bull's jaws off of its dinner. My warrior woman is tenacious, determined to see Bull's eyes open. I, for one, am grateful Sar does not carry a weapon.
If Bull is going to recover, he will probably do so via modern medicine. I am convinced your prayers and ours also have much to do with this, Sar's yelling at God notwithstanding. He is a strong willed man; I am optimistic he will get through this. Your continued prayers are most welcome. Will try to update again in a few days.
Cowboy
Monday, September 27, 2010
Prayers
Cowboy here. As I write this, we are at the airfield waiting to fly to the east coast. Our young friend Bull has slipped into a coma. The medics have only said it's a very serious situation. Bull's injuries are extensive; a lesser man would already have succumbed to the inevitable.
This is a time when I expect my wife to lean on me. She will, eventually. For now, the imp is in combat mode. She will stay strong for Bull, for his family. I am always amazed when something occurs that deflates a lesser person. Not my imp. If willpower alone would do it, Bull would be on his feet within moments of her arrival. I say my prayers, ask for divine guidance, divine intervention. Not Sar. I'll hear her yelling at the good Lord for allowing this to happen. She will remind Him that she has never asked for much in her lifetime. Believe me, her childhood had times/events that could have used a little extra help. Sar will never ask for herself but she will ask the Lord to help Bull recover.
My wife has little patience around medics. She demands accurate information, will never entertain vague answers. These are some of the reasons why medics often suffer her wrath. If the answers are obscure or treatment is explained poorly, she'll demand to see medical school transcripts, research on medications, treatments, etc. Once, prior to a surgical procedure, she asked to see a physician's school records before allowing him to touch her. He didn't pass muster so Sar refused to let him near her. Impractical? Perhaps, but having faith in one's doctor has a lot to do to ensure recovery, emergencies excluded.
When Bull arrived at Bethesda Sar and I entered the ICU to be near him. The medics didn't blink an eye. Sar would have caused a ruckus if they had. At the time I didn't know the little devil had arranged for our tomcat to join us in the ICU. Hardly traditional medical protocol. A "healthy" thing to do? Not that I'm aware of. Bull is extraordinarily fond of the big feline; in return the young man is 1 of 3-4 people the cat adores. It tolerate no one else. Sar bribed a couple of young Seals we know. They dressed in "medic" uniforms, carried the beast into the unit. I don't know the intimate details – didn't ask any questions. The visit did wonders for Bull's state of mind.
We're about to board our flight. I can see the cat's whiskers sticking out of Sar's duffel. If that animal can make a difference in Bull's current state, I'll do whatever it takes. His recovery is uppermost in our minds. Sar's peace of mind at doing whatever it takes to help that recovery along is of equal concern. Bull's family is also by his side.
A prayer or 2 from any of you would be a welcome addition to my own in petitioning the good Lord's help.
Cowboy
This is a time when I expect my wife to lean on me. She will, eventually. For now, the imp is in combat mode. She will stay strong for Bull, for his family. I am always amazed when something occurs that deflates a lesser person. Not my imp. If willpower alone would do it, Bull would be on his feet within moments of her arrival. I say my prayers, ask for divine guidance, divine intervention. Not Sar. I'll hear her yelling at the good Lord for allowing this to happen. She will remind Him that she has never asked for much in her lifetime. Believe me, her childhood had times/events that could have used a little extra help. Sar will never ask for herself but she will ask the Lord to help Bull recover.
My wife has little patience around medics. She demands accurate information, will never entertain vague answers. These are some of the reasons why medics often suffer her wrath. If the answers are obscure or treatment is explained poorly, she'll demand to see medical school transcripts, research on medications, treatments, etc. Once, prior to a surgical procedure, she asked to see a physician's school records before allowing him to touch her. He didn't pass muster so Sar refused to let him near her. Impractical? Perhaps, but having faith in one's doctor has a lot to do to ensure recovery, emergencies excluded.
When Bull arrived at Bethesda Sar and I entered the ICU to be near him. The medics didn't blink an eye. Sar would have caused a ruckus if they had. At the time I didn't know the little devil had arranged for our tomcat to join us in the ICU. Hardly traditional medical protocol. A "healthy" thing to do? Not that I'm aware of. Bull is extraordinarily fond of the big feline; in return the young man is 1 of 3-4 people the cat adores. It tolerate no one else. Sar bribed a couple of young Seals we know. They dressed in "medic" uniforms, carried the beast into the unit. I don't know the intimate details – didn't ask any questions. The visit did wonders for Bull's state of mind.
We're about to board our flight. I can see the cat's whiskers sticking out of Sar's duffel. If that animal can make a difference in Bull's current state, I'll do whatever it takes. His recovery is uppermost in our minds. Sar's peace of mind at doing whatever it takes to help that recovery along is of equal concern. Bull's family is also by his side.
A prayer or 2 from any of you would be a welcome addition to my own in petitioning the good Lord's help.
Cowboy
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
A Bit of News
Cowboy here. Good news: Mia bambina celebrated a birthday a few days ago. Glory made a triple fudge chocolate kind of cake. The imp was hard pressed to share it but she did. Glory promised her another just for herself. Sar will probably eat it in the middle of the night or in the pantry or somewhere nobody will be. My wife hates to share in general, chocolate not at all. Praline crunch ice cream, chicory coffee, some other treats were on the menu. She was flying high the whole day and night.
I try to make every birthday a special one for her. No festivities of any kind when she was a kid. Glory and family made up for a lot of that when Sar moved in with them but early childhood memories still sting a bit. Birthday presents were personal items special to us and Max and his ladies. We saved the birthday spanking for our private time alone.
News of concern: Bull remains hospitalized. His recuperation is a slow process. Surgery will debilitate him further but in the long run, is necessary for his return to health. He's awake, talking. It's easy to see it remains an effort for him to do so. Sar calls him every day. I believe that's good for both of them. It would be nice to be able to take him home to Washington. Sar would nurse him back to health whether he liked it or not. Having the pups around him as well as our tomcat would do more wonders for his head. Perhaps his mother and sisters would also come along. Time will tell.
Serious news: Sar's abdominal difficulties have returned. I think we caught it in time. Medical tests are on the agenda next week when we return to the Pacific Northwest. She can't afford to lose much more of her intestinal tract but we'll do whatever's necessary. A bit of discomfort but nothing's slowed her down yet. I make sure she eats well; the imp knows better than to fight me on that. Unfortunately, the medics still haven't figured out how to treat her without getting bruised or kicked.
You know those "10 most wanted" photos posted in some U.S. post offices? I think Sar's photo is # 1 hardest-to-treat patient posters on medical internet boards. The docs who treat Sar are military, mostly Navy. Rumor has it they get combat pay for treating my imp.
Returning to Washington in a few days. Got someone to air out the house, etc. Sar's eager to get back to her studio, several pieces of work await her. New materials have been ordered. It's like Christmas when they arrive. The imp gets very excited about opening the boxes.
The best news: Sar is writing!
Cowboy
I try to make every birthday a special one for her. No festivities of any kind when she was a kid. Glory and family made up for a lot of that when Sar moved in with them but early childhood memories still sting a bit. Birthday presents were personal items special to us and Max and his ladies. We saved the birthday spanking for our private time alone.
News of concern: Bull remains hospitalized. His recuperation is a slow process. Surgery will debilitate him further but in the long run, is necessary for his return to health. He's awake, talking. It's easy to see it remains an effort for him to do so. Sar calls him every day. I believe that's good for both of them. It would be nice to be able to take him home to Washington. Sar would nurse him back to health whether he liked it or not. Having the pups around him as well as our tomcat would do more wonders for his head. Perhaps his mother and sisters would also come along. Time will tell.
Serious news: Sar's abdominal difficulties have returned. I think we caught it in time. Medical tests are on the agenda next week when we return to the Pacific Northwest. She can't afford to lose much more of her intestinal tract but we'll do whatever's necessary. A bit of discomfort but nothing's slowed her down yet. I make sure she eats well; the imp knows better than to fight me on that. Unfortunately, the medics still haven't figured out how to treat her without getting bruised or kicked.
You know those "10 most wanted" photos posted in some U.S. post offices? I think Sar's photo is # 1 hardest-to-treat patient posters on medical internet boards. The docs who treat Sar are military, mostly Navy. Rumor has it they get combat pay for treating my imp.
Returning to Washington in a few days. Got someone to air out the house, etc. Sar's eager to get back to her studio, several pieces of work await her. New materials have been ordered. It's like Christmas when they arrive. The imp gets very excited about opening the boxes.
The best news: Sar is writing!
Cowboy
Friday, August 20, 2010
Disconnected!
Hard to believe but we were without Internet service for several weeks. Had use of a laptop on battery only – had to go to an Internet café for online time of any length. Amazing the things we miss when we're dependent on them and spoiled. We reverted back to our caveman days before technology and online communication. I actually wrote real letters with a pen and stationary; Cowboy used his cell phone and wasn't happy about it. He likes written communication so he can go back and read/remember what he said…
SWAT!
Tsk
We left Cape Breton – I loved it, lots of breezy weather, rain, and wind – my kind of heaven. I practically lived in sweats and a rain poncho. 'Twas glorious!
You-know-who was beside himself that I'd get sick. The man is anal retentive in spite of all the years of my influence. I made lots of peachy things for him but that didn't slow him down when it came to "wear this, wear that, stay out of the rain, etc." I started lip synching his words I've heard them so many times.
We spent a little time in DC/Baltimore area – Bethesda to be exact. Our good friend Bull was severely injured in a war zone. I was manic until I saw him; then I vacillated between exhilaration that he was alive with all his parts attached and severely depressed at the extent of his injuries. Several new medals/ribbons have been added to his uniform and more than that, I can't say. I don't know the details of what he did; I only know that he served our country well, he's going to have a lengthy recuperation and he has finished his last tour with the U.S. Marine Corps. More about him and this event in a "Pieces" I'll write at another time. For now I've done all I could to ensure that his medical care will be the best we have and that his spirits are as high as we can make them. Bull's mama and sisters are waiting in DC to take him home to Arkansas.
Currently, we're in Gulfport, Mississippi visiting Max and his ladies. Glory's not feeling 100% and she's the anchor of the family – chief cook, homemaker and Mother Superior. Vi is running back and forth getting "take-out." Vi's cooking skills are limited to boiling water and that doesn't always come out right… Since I'm here, I'm making hot meals and Max is bribing me to stay in the kitchen by keeping a large pot of chicory coffee available. I'm sorely addicted to the stuff. Cowboy tries to monitor that but… did I ever mention he was toilet trained far too early in life?
SWAT!
Tsk
The pups love being here, the cats not so much. We'll stay for a while and enjoy the beach. It's hurricane season in this part of the world – keeping our fingers crossed it remains calm. There's also some of the BP "oil" mess to contend with.
Going back to Washington eventually. I've missed being there. We've had a wonderful wanderlust year – in sickness and in health – lots of good memories. Have had a lot of emails asking when I'll post something new to my website. I honestly don't know. My muse should be tired of vacationing; I'm getting a little itch to start writing again. Hopefully it will be soon.
~Sar~
SWAT!
Tsk
We left Cape Breton – I loved it, lots of breezy weather, rain, and wind – my kind of heaven. I practically lived in sweats and a rain poncho. 'Twas glorious!
You-know-who was beside himself that I'd get sick. The man is anal retentive in spite of all the years of my influence. I made lots of peachy things for him but that didn't slow him down when it came to "wear this, wear that, stay out of the rain, etc." I started lip synching his words I've heard them so many times.
We spent a little time in DC/Baltimore area – Bethesda to be exact. Our good friend Bull was severely injured in a war zone. I was manic until I saw him; then I vacillated between exhilaration that he was alive with all his parts attached and severely depressed at the extent of his injuries. Several new medals/ribbons have been added to his uniform and more than that, I can't say. I don't know the details of what he did; I only know that he served our country well, he's going to have a lengthy recuperation and he has finished his last tour with the U.S. Marine Corps. More about him and this event in a "Pieces" I'll write at another time. For now I've done all I could to ensure that his medical care will be the best we have and that his spirits are as high as we can make them. Bull's mama and sisters are waiting in DC to take him home to Arkansas.
Currently, we're in Gulfport, Mississippi visiting Max and his ladies. Glory's not feeling 100% and she's the anchor of the family – chief cook, homemaker and Mother Superior. Vi is running back and forth getting "take-out." Vi's cooking skills are limited to boiling water and that doesn't always come out right… Since I'm here, I'm making hot meals and Max is bribing me to stay in the kitchen by keeping a large pot of chicory coffee available. I'm sorely addicted to the stuff. Cowboy tries to monitor that but… did I ever mention he was toilet trained far too early in life?
SWAT!
Tsk
The pups love being here, the cats not so much. We'll stay for a while and enjoy the beach. It's hurricane season in this part of the world – keeping our fingers crossed it remains calm. There's also some of the BP "oil" mess to contend with.
Going back to Washington eventually. I've missed being there. We've had a wonderful wanderlust year – in sickness and in health – lots of good memories. Have had a lot of emails asking when I'll post something new to my website. I honestly don't know. My muse should be tired of vacationing; I'm getting a little itch to start writing again. Hopefully it will be soon.
~Sar~
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Disgraceful!
I know, I know. It's seems like forever since I last posted. Thankfully, my husband feels genuine pangs of guilt if we don't keep the blog active. I don't suffer guilt so he gets to update regularly. The man's turning into a real blogger… as opposed to yours truly who blogs occasionally. (He also exaggerates mightily.)
SWAT!
Tsk
We're in Cape Breton – cool days, freezing cold nights, a lot of rain - gorgeous when it's over the Atlantic. I'm in heaven!
His Holiness is in protective mode – "wear this, wear that, stay out of the rain, etc." I'm in ignoring him mode and to ensure my safety, I keep the Rotts and Mastiff close.
Took a short detour down to Chicago for a couple of days. A constant from my childhood – Molly from Molly's Diner – the lady who fed all the hungry kids in my neighborhood growing up – passed away. I've never written much about Molly; she was a particularly private person and a really generous one. One day I'll have to tell you about her huge heart and her creative ways to feed the hungriest of us without patronizing. Huge crowds of adults came to her funeral; some I knew, many were strangers. Those who spoke sang high praise to this woman who kept many of us from starvation and who hid us when the social workers came around looking for us. I'll always be grateful that she had a special place in her heart for us ragamuffins.
Henry, our Canuck cat has finally won over the dogs – still working on DomTom. Apparently our cat has a definite bias against Canadian cats. Cowboy refers to Henry as that "wandering waste of fur" and "Fitzroy." Fitzroy is the name given to Henry the VIII's royal bastards. Fitz=bastard; roy=royal. I had no idea ole Henry was able to procreate felines…
Cowboy is getting O-L-D! He had a birthday first of June. Tsk! Another one! I felt sorry for the old guy and ate most of his cake and ice cream. This did not go over very well and when he got itchy hands I set the dogs on him. He's still kinda spry but there's no doubt he's slowing down.
SWAT!
Tsk
Bundling up to sit on the deck to watch the sun set over the water – brisk breezes, gorgeous sunset, hovering giant squid. I'm planning to anoint the next full moon with a naked dance. However… first I have to chase the squid into a closet and lock the door. Trying to dance and dodge the Neanderthal is a lot of work. I thought I'd leave some peachy things warm from the oven to distract him. Cross your fingers for me! Sometimes I just gotta dance!
~Sar~
SWAT!
Tsk
We're in Cape Breton – cool days, freezing cold nights, a lot of rain - gorgeous when it's over the Atlantic. I'm in heaven!
His Holiness is in protective mode – "wear this, wear that, stay out of the rain, etc." I'm in ignoring him mode and to ensure my safety, I keep the Rotts and Mastiff close.
Took a short detour down to Chicago for a couple of days. A constant from my childhood – Molly from Molly's Diner – the lady who fed all the hungry kids in my neighborhood growing up – passed away. I've never written much about Molly; she was a particularly private person and a really generous one. One day I'll have to tell you about her huge heart and her creative ways to feed the hungriest of us without patronizing. Huge crowds of adults came to her funeral; some I knew, many were strangers. Those who spoke sang high praise to this woman who kept many of us from starvation and who hid us when the social workers came around looking for us. I'll always be grateful that she had a special place in her heart for us ragamuffins.
Henry, our Canuck cat has finally won over the dogs – still working on DomTom. Apparently our cat has a definite bias against Canadian cats. Cowboy refers to Henry as that "wandering waste of fur" and "Fitzroy." Fitzroy is the name given to Henry the VIII's royal bastards. Fitz=bastard; roy=royal. I had no idea ole Henry was able to procreate felines…
Cowboy is getting O-L-D! He had a birthday first of June. Tsk! Another one! I felt sorry for the old guy and ate most of his cake and ice cream. This did not go over very well and when he got itchy hands I set the dogs on him. He's still kinda spry but there's no doubt he's slowing down.
SWAT!
Tsk
Bundling up to sit on the deck to watch the sun set over the water – brisk breezes, gorgeous sunset, hovering giant squid. I'm planning to anoint the next full moon with a naked dance. However… first I have to chase the squid into a closet and lock the door. Trying to dance and dodge the Neanderthal is a lot of work. I thought I'd leave some peachy things warm from the oven to distract him. Cross your fingers for me! Sometimes I just gotta dance!
~Sar~
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Blogging, Ants & Doghouse
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
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
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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