The Only Thing Worse Than Getting Older Is NOT Getting Older

These holiday preparations are kicking my ample rumpus! I baked three Oreo Cakes today. As I write this at 1:10 a.m., having just finished the last one, I am exhausted. Of course I was also in town buying the lottery tickets I give as gifts, and getting a bag of ice for FRIG II's broken icemaker. Then I had to get Farmer H's supper ready. I washed dishes three times.

My knees are so disagreeable that people go out of their way to be nice to me in town. One guy held the door open for me while I moved at turtle speed from the handicap space to the entrance. The lady rounding up the carts at 10Box pushed one over to T-Hoe's door for me. I swear, before long somebody is going to jump on me and start pounding my chest, asking if I am conscious.

Even when sitting down, I can sustain an injury or two. I hurt my right arm icing the second Oreo Cake. I don't know how. One cake it worked just fine, but on the next, it hurt in the area above the bicep, and trembled as I was wielding my butter knife loaded with frosting.

Something was also hurting the end of my middle finger on the right hand. My badfinger! It felt like bamboo had been shoved under the nail to torture me. Typing is not helping it. But I DID figure out the cause when I opened my last tub of Pillsbury Creamy Supreme Vanilla Frosting.

I took off the blue plastic lid, and reached to peel off the foil covering using that little folded-over tab. The edge of it went right under my middle fingernail! YOUCH! Now it hurts twice as much. Especially in hot dishwater.

Oh, for the days I was young and spry, and could stand in the kitchen to bake cakes, walk into a store, and remember how I hurt myself.

Farmer H Cannot Change His Spots

Let the record show that by "spots," I mean his careless ways. You can never be sure what calamity is just around the corner for those who place trust in Farmer H.

Monday was a nice day, sunny with temps in the upper 50s. I had thawed out two steaks that Farmer H wanted to grill on GassyG Jr. Not for US, but for himself, to have for supper two days. He would have given me one, but I'm not big on steak. I whipped up a nice tuna salad for myself.

Anyhoo... I was inside the Mansion while Farmer H was talking to the dogs at the kitchen door, and getting his steak to take outside to the grill. I had also given him a Wild Turkey and Diet Shasta Cola in a red Solo cup, and a small bowl of Chex Mix. He'd had a not-very-satisfying lunch at the Senior Center, that being

Cheeseburger

Oven potatoes

Slaw

Bun

Brownies OR Fruit

Farmer H says the cheeseburgers are not very good, and are served on a little roll. The potatoes are always cold. Sometimes they have the slaw he doesn't like, with the clear rather than creamy dressing. No comment on the brownies. You KNOW he didn't select fruit!

Anyhoo... the steaks turned out well. Meaning done medium rare. Farmer H had three bites left, and asked me if I wanted them. I'm pretty sure he was planning to give them to the dogs, one for each, but I had complained another night that I would have eaten his scrap of chicken rather than give it to the dogs. Those three bites of steak were delicious.

Anyhoo... the next day when I went into the garage to leave for town, I saw something on the floor. It was wrappers. Three individual wrappers. Foil on the bottom, with a clear pink bubble pouch in the shape of a fake dog bone. Small. Maybe two inches long. Of course I was worried. Had something been in the garage? Scarlett comes in when I return. What if something had knocked those things off a shelf, and she had eaten them? I really hoped they weren't some kind of medicine, though it's been a while since we had our dogs to the vet. I picked up the wrappers and set them on top of A-Cad's hood, meaning to ask Farmer H about them. But I forgot.

Anyhoo... I had mentioned how Pupsie got a scolding on Thursday for being overly inquisitive about the grocery bags on the side-porch chair. And how Scarlett had been herding Pupsie out of the garage on Wednesday and Thursday, the first times that Pupsie had gone inside. I was telling Farmer H about it.

"You can definitely see the herding instinct in Scarlett. She runs at Pupsie and pushes with her nose, and turns to look back to see if Pupsie is following. Today Pupsie was not behaving. Lagging behind. Wouldn't go up the steps onto the porch because I was standing at the bottom. Scarlett grabbed Pupsie by the back of the neck. Shoved some more. Ran up the steps and looked back. She seemed almost frantic, like the other day. Like Pupsie was going to head back into the garage instead of come up on the porch for treats."

"Well. No wonder. Scarlett got closed in the garage Monday night."

"WHAT? And you didn't tell me? You did it again? How could you not know??? You were sitting on the side porch right by the door! Even when I'm getting stuff out of the car, she's jumping up at the door, hitting it with her feet, looking through the window!"

"I didn't hear nothin'. I found her in there the next morning when I got some food to put in their feeder. She'd been all over everything! She even got up on the trash can."

"The little green one that you keep the food in?"

"No. The big black one. The lid is dented in from her weight. She probably got on the little one too, to step up on the big one. She knocked a bunch of old dog treats off the shelf, and ate them. I found the packages."

"I found MORE packages! I'm glad it's not something that could hurt her. I can't believe you didn't know she was in the garage. She ADORES you!"

"I guess she followed me in when I got out the soda from your car. And then she didn't run out. She didn't bark or nothin'. I had no idea where she was."

Apparently, this ADORATION is one-sided.

The Turning Of The Screw

You may recall that T-Hoe had an issue with a clicking/popping noise when the back hatch opened. Farmer H said he had discovered the reason. I figured everything was good. Nope! The next time I opened the hatch, after Farmer H "fixing" the problem by removing a small light bulb left behind by Mick the Mechanic's crew after they replaced a taillight... that noise was still there.

Thursday when we returned from a lunch date with my best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel and her husband, Farmer H agreed to stand and listen at T-Hoe's rear while I opened the hatch. He heard the noise. He pinpointed the location. Tried a couple more openings and closings. Then decided the issue was:

The plastic cover of the taillight catching on the side of T-Hoe's hatch.

Farmer H went to get a screwdriver. "There's only two screws holding it on. I guess maybe them guys didn't screw it on tight enough."

Several turns of those two screws, two more openings and closings, and the job was done. No noise when the hatch is raised. 

Farmer H can usually solve a mechanical problem. Even if it takes two tries and lots of nagging.

Pupsie Gets A Scolding

I've been extremely careful not to scare our newest dog Pupsie. Sweet talking, petting the other two fleabags, moving slowing (well, that's a given), not lunging to grab hold.

Wednesday when I got home, Pupsie and Scarlett both came into the garage. Scarlett came out when I exited the people door, but Pupsie stayed inside. I stood on the sidewalk, trying to coax Pupsie out. Scarlett herself jumped off the side porch THREE TIMES, to prance into the garage, and herd Pupsie out. They would start trotting together, Pupsie on the far side, but then Scarlett would continue up the steps while Pupsie hesitated, then went back under T-Hoe. Finally Scarlett gave up, and gave Pupsie a look like, "You're on your own now, kid." Pupsie ran past me like I was a cartoon dogcatcher with a net.

Thursday, both dogs again came into the garage. Jack had asserted his possession of me by standing up to put his dusty paws on my black pants leg, then went around to the porch. Scarlett and Pupsie waited by the people door. But then Pupsie ran back. Even set off the electric eye when the garage door was closing, so I had to let it go back up and re-set before closing again. That's a no-no! Since Pupsie was running around the side of the garage to get to the porch, I let it go.

I had set most of the grocery bags on the chair on the side porch, while I went back into the garage for my purse and water bottle and the mail. When I came out to fend off crazy Scarlett, I caught Pupsie sniffing the grocery bags, and possibly nipping at one to pull it off the chair. 

"NO!"

Pupsie looked right at me. In the eyes. Like: "What's this? Are you talking to ME?"

Yes. I was. No dog of mine will get into the groceries if I have any say in it! Pupsie did not look skittish at that admonition. Stopped. Trotted away. But came back to try again several times as I petted Scarlett. Each time greeted with my "NO!"

Pupsie seemed to understand, and ceased molesting the grocery bag. And also got close enough to touch my proffered fingers with a muzzle. Taming might be underway.

Two Unneeded Cents

Tuesday, Farmer H was looking at our enclave's Facebook page, and saw that our across-the-road neighbor had a picture. Of Scarlett! Saying that she saw this dog on her porch on her RING camera, and did it belong to anybody.

Farmer H responded that yes, it was our dog, and he was sorry if she caused any trouble or tore anything up. Neighbor replied, "Dog, sweet dog."

But THEN another guy out here responded to her statement with: "That's bullshit!"

Not sure what his point was. He responded to another innocuous comment with: "There was three of them."

Okay. So Scarlett, Jack, and Pupsie (I assume, unless it was Copper Jack) run around together. We've not had any complaints of mischief. Most people know who the dogs belong to.

It would be different if our dogs were on this guy's porch, and caused problems. Not sure why he thinks he has to insert himself into our business. Neighbor's dogs (the crazy Rottweiler and killer Poodle) are the ones who killed our 32 chickens, several per day. Farmer H just told them he would shoot the dogs with a paintball gun if he saw them in our field after the chickens. Also, their horses escaped and trampled through the only garden we ever planted. We didn't hold it against them. Animals will be animals.

If something happens to our dogs, I'm pretty sure I know who will be to blame. And it's not Neighbor. She's a dog groomer, and has rescue dogs as pets. I'm thinking she probably was wondering if Scarlett needed a home.

It's the country. Dogs run free. Copper Jack virtually lives here. We don't complain to that neighbor.

Farmer H Sees The Light

On Monday, I picked up a few items for my Christmas Dinner preparations. I couldn't get it all, because I don't have a complete list yet, but mainly because I knew I didn't have room in T-Hoe's rear for too much stuff. It's filled with about 10 six-packs of Farmer H's Diet Mountain Dew. I get it when it's on sale, and he only brings in a couple six-packs at a time.

When I came out of 10Box and hit the clicker to open the rear hatch, I heard a terrible noise! Like a POP or a CLICK. Something that I shouldn't hear. Sweet Gummi Mary! That's the last thing I needed! I could probably stuff the groceries on the passenger seat and floor, and some in the back seats. But I sure didn't want to drive home with T-Hoe's hatch flapping open, dropping Diet Mountain Dew along the countryside.

I didn't know what to look at as the source of the noise. In my mind, I thought it might be something wrong with the hydraulic thingies that lift the hatch. One went bad before, and I had to manually lift up that hatch, and balance it on my head (!) while trying to put anything in or take out. Then Farmer H gave me an old crutch to prop it. He's a peach, that Farmer H.

Anyhoo... when I got home, Farmer H was at least there for once, to help carry in groceries. As he was walking through the garage, I pushed the button to open the hatch.

"Hear that??? It just started. In town, and now. I don't know what's wrong with it. I haven't opened it in a while. I'd been putting stuff on the passenger seat because it's easier to get to when I have to carry it in."

"Huh. Here it is." Farmer H was looking at his palm. "It's a light bulb. I had them put a new bulb in the tail light when I had your car worked on. Looks like they just laid down a bulb, and it rolled over into the latch area."

What in the Not-Heaven??? Is that even possible? It was just tight enough to make that sound, without breaking, and without impeding the operation of the latch.

I never would have seen that.

Dog Does Not Live By Bread Alone

It's no secret that the treat my dogs receive most often is bread. Stale bread that Farmer H says he can smell the mold forming. Maybe he can, or maybe he can't. But a few days after the use-by date, I move the leftover loaf from the cabinet to the kitchen counter. It has become DOG BREAD. Never mind that in the past, Farmer H, being the type who likes to conserve his energy, has eaten such designated dog bread for a sandwich, rather than reach up into the cabinet, and didn't know the difference until I asked why he was stealing food right out of the dogs' mouths.

Anyhoo... I even go so far as to buy the cheapest loaf of whole wheat sandwich bread, just so the dogs will always have something. I know a lot of bread is not good for them. But at least they're not going to be constipated, heh, heh! Besides, they only get a quarter-slice as I leave, and a half slice when I return. The best days are when their bread has been swiped in pan drippings. They really eat it up!

Anyhoo... Sunday evening, Farmer H came through the kitchen door after his day of SUS2.5-ing, and asked an unusual question.

"Do you have anything to feed the dogs?"

"Why? Is little Pupsie out there? I just have bread. But they've already had it twice today."

"No. Not bread. Their feeder is out of dog food. I don't have any food for them. 

I guess they'll be okay until morning. I can go get them some around 7:00."

See there? Didn't I tell Farmer H that I didn't think the self-feeder was a good idea? First of all, you don't know who's eating it. Maybe Scarlett gets more. Maybe it's not even our own dogs. Copper Jack has been back up on the porch lately. And the squirrels and birds are always around. When I got back from town, I know there was food in the feeder, because Jack was munching on it. So within 30 minutes, SOMETHING finished eating that food.

Of course Farmer H doesn't see anything wrong with his plan. But when he was giving the dogs food in their bowls every morning, he never ran out of food for them.