Pepper Can Now Be Himself At The Vet

Little puppy Pepper had his second vet visit on Monday. It was for a second round of shots. In the three weeks since his last visit, Pepper has gained 3.8 pounds. So he's eating better now! Most of that weight seems to me to be LEGS! Of course, I'm used to seeing Jack, with his short half-dachshund legs. Pepper is now as tall as Jack, even though he's just 11 weeks old.

Anyhoo... Farmer H put a leash on Pepper's collar. Walked him around the front yard a bit before they left, with no problems. He had a big wire carrier that he used to contain Pepper in SilverRedO. It was the one Scarlett came here in, I think. The small plastic carrier is the size you might use for a cat, and Pepper wouldn't fit. I imagine he could have been crammed in, but he wouldn't be able to stand.

Farmer H said Pepper did not like the carrier at all! That he HOWLED all the way to the vet. Which is thankfully less than five miles away. Little Pepper has quite a howl. I'm thinking there IS some beagle in him. Jack does not have such a howl.

At the vet, Pepper did not want to go with the technician to the exam room. Farmer H did not describe this specifically, but I imagine Pepper being pulled across a slick floor by his leash, much like a water-skier.

Farmer H had strict instructions to ask the vet personnel why Pepper's description on the paperwork from the first appointment was:

Canine - German Shepherd Mix - M - N/A

Farmer H did his job. Because the papers from the second visit said:

Canine - Blue Heeler Mix - M - Blue/Red

Apparently the end of that description is for color. So I'm guessing when Farmer H called to make the first appointment, he might have messed up by saying Pepper was a German Shepherd mix. Or the appointment-maker was looking at a German Shepherd while taking the call. In any case, the file for Pepper was created without seeing him.

Anyhoo... Pepper is certainly spotted, in the color of a Blue Heeler, but with the orangy freckles of a beagle, or Jack's Red Heeler colored spots on his legs. I gotta say, he's a cute little thing.

There's Pepper, two weeks ago, on the front porch with a bone he found. Good thing Jack wasn't there to see it! Jack was down behind the house, looking for his possum.

Anyhoo... Pepper's next appointment is April 22. And the next one, for his very special operation, is May 14. He has to be there before 8:00, and will spend the day. I wonder if he will have a cone head when he comes home.

This Behavior Is Only Logical For One Person

You'd think I'm the only person in this Mansion who knows my way around the kitchen. You'd be mostly right. Sometimes, Farmer H gives the impression he might be almost competent, but then the illusion falls apart.

Farmer H got a dozen fresh eggs from one of his customers at the SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). He kept forgetting to bring them home. I think it was four or five days. When he finally remembered, he decided to have eggs for supper. I will boil eggs or scramble eggs, but I don't FRY eggs. I don't like them that way, and I don't cook them that way.

Farmer H said he was going to have ham and eggs. I had offered to scramble (but leave them in a solid piece), and make him a ham, egg, and cheese McMuffin. Farmer H said no, that he'd fry his own ham and eggs, because he wanted the runny yolk, and put them on a slice of bread, to eat with a fork.

That was fine. I was scratching my lottery tickets at the kitchen table when he began. He fried the ham. Then added oil to the pan for his eggs. I resisted complaining when he whacked those 3 eggs on the side of my small non-stick skillet for about 10 times each. It's not a cast-iron skillet! Just a flimsy thin pan. He would have been better off cracking the eggs against the edge of the counter.

I DID question how he was getting his eggs from skillet to plate, which was on the cutting block. I'd seen him balance each slice of ham on the spatula, and walk it over to the cutting block. I sure didn't want him walking drippy eggs across the kitchen floor. He haughtily replied that he would carry the pan over to the cutting block. I'm still waiting to see if my floor starts collecting dirt on any drippings that might have dropped from the edge of the pan as he tilted it to scrape out his eggs.

Anyhoo... with his supper completed, Farmer H opened FRIG II to reach for a Diet Mountain Dew. He instead picked up a mini jug of milk that I'd gotten to make his generic Hamburger Helper with added mushrooms a while back.

"Are you doing anything with this milk?"

"Um. No. It's expired. I keep forgetting to take it out when I bag up the trash around 10:30 at night."

"Oh. It says 3-6. I was thinking that was March-26."

And with that, Farmer H PUT THE EXPIRED MILK BACK IN FRIG II!!!

It's one thing to keep forgetting to pour it out because you don't remember to check FRIG II when bagging the trash. It's another thing entirely to be told that it's expired, and PUT IT RIGHT BACK IN FRIG II.

I guess throwing out milk is a job only I can do. Like washing his dirty egg skillet.

How Sweet Is THIS?

It's always nice to get a surprise in the mail. Or by UPS or FedEx. Farmer H was sitting on the porch supervising Pepper and Jack on Thursday evening. I had just sat down with my scratchers, after a busy Errand Day that included the closing on Lap House, our newest flip purchase. Farmer H barged through the kitchen door.

"This package just came for you. I don't know what it is."

Well. Of course not. Why would Farmer H know what a package was? Unless it's something he made me order for his business, the occasional ordering of items is not shared with him until I'm expecting it. In case it might get left by the garage, or on the porch, where Farmer H will be the first to see it. Or delivered to the lock boxes down on Mailbox Row, in which case Farmer H should be watching for a key in EmBee to get it out.

I did not know what this package could be, either. Once I removed it from the shipping envelope, I knew exactly the source, even before reading the enclosed card.

LADYBUGS! In the form of chocolate! I knew right away that this was the work of my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel! She knows what ladybugs mean to me. And she's a very caring and gifty person.

THANK YOU, MABEL! I ate a bug last night, and it was delicious.

False Hope Addendum

After talking to a real live person at the Wound Care Clinic about my proposed referral... 

I was not overly optimistic about a timely solution to this issue. It was, after all, 1:30 on a Friday afternoon. My situation was not an emergency. I figured it would be next week before I heard anything.

I laid down for my 20-minute nap at 2:30. I took a shower to get ready for town. As I was getting dressed, I heard my phone sitting by the bathroom sink. Huh. I had an email saying there was a new message in YourChart!

Well. That was speedy. I wondered if they were giving me a time for an appointment with Physical Therapy, and to respond if the date didn't work for me. Normally, I would wait until back from town, with Farmer H's supper done, before getting on HIPPIE to log into YourChart. But what if they wanted me to call? It was 3:35. I could still catch them before they closed at 4:00.

I turned on HIPPIE and logged in.

"This is a reminder to schedule your mammogram appointment."

Ooh! That's a dirty trick! Getting my hopes up for this reminder that I'd had a few months ago, but pointedly ignored because I am not exactly mobile these days, and don't feel like gimping around on non-urgent trips unless they involve scratchers, casino, or groceries. I am not feeling like hobbling through the hospital on my bum knee, making Farmer H take time off from his busy schedule to drive me and drop me off at the door.

But wait! While reading that reminder and feeling tricked, another email came in at 3:38. Oh. This must be about my PT appointment, right?

WRONG!

"You have a new statement."

PAY BILL

WHAT? I never had an old statement. I pay my co-pay when I'm at the appointments. How dare they charge me because SOMEBODY at the Wound Care Clinic had to call my NP to verify a referral for my lymphedema intervention because one of those two offices messed something up!

Then I figured out how to read the details of that statement. It was from my orthopedist appointment on March 5. For the x-rays. Insurance had been billed $800, and my part remaining was now $48.51. I paid it with my debit while I was already in YourChart. 

I guess these two "sudden" notices in YourChart was one way of punishing me for being DIFFICULT!

Meanwhile, I am on the edge of my seat, awaiting a call from Physical Therapy to make an appointment.

The Universe Must Think A Replacement Is Not KNEEcessary

In the continuing saga of Mrs. HM's irreplaceable knee...

I called the Wound Care Center on Friday to make my own appointment, as my NP's nurse had suggested through our YourChart communication regarding my lack of a call from them to make an appointment as my NP had informed me they would. Did you follow that? It's the easiest part of this snafu-filled adventure!

I called at 10:30. I figured they'd had time to get the day started, and it was not yet time for lunch. I got an automated system. I pressed "1" to schedule an appointment. I got voicemail. I left my name and a BRIEF reason for my call: to make an appointment as referred by my primary physician NP, concerning lymphedema treatment.

By 1:30, I figured I wouldn't hear anything until Monday. Maybe they didn't read messages in the afternoon. I called again. I got a PERSON!

Person recognized my name, and apologized for not calling me back, as the day had been CRAZY. She asked if I had an open wound. 

"No. I DID nine days ago, an oozing spot that might be psoriasis, but it has since healed. That was not the reason for the referral. It was the redness in my other leg that he thinks is lymphedema."

Silence. Then...

"Oh. We don't handle that here. That's our Physical Therapy department. A lot of primaries refer people to us for lymphedema. I don't know why, because that is handled by Physical Therapy. I don't see anything in your chart..."

"The nurse for my NP said I should call you to make an appointment. She said she could see the referral in my file."

"Oh. I will contact your NP. And then call Physical Therapy about an appointment."

"So you are saying that somebody from Physical Therapy will call me to make an appointment?"

"Yes. They will call you."

It is now 9:02 p.m. on Friday. Nobody has called me. I wonder how long I should wait on that call before contacting SOMEBODY again. You know. Without being labeled as DIFFICULT.

The Universe should not be making me jump through so many hoops. I have a bad knee, you know.

Left Hand, Meet Right Hand

As with most events scheduled for Mrs. HM, there has been a kerfuffle from her last doctor NP appointment. Which you may recall came after her orthopedist appointment, at his request, because he can't replace the knee she consulted him about.

Somebody has dropped the ball here. The left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing. Or else they're both big ol' butterfingers, with one unable to pass the ball, and the other unable to catch it!

At my appointment on March 9, my NP said he was referring me to the Wound Care Clinic about the redness in my lower legs. The orthopedist thought it was lymphedema causing the coloring, and was concerned it could turn into cellulitis which could spread up the leg and into the knee joint when circulation was disrupted from the surgery had can't do.

NP said they might suggest compression stockings, or exercises to help with the circulation, to see if the issue would resolve. He explained where the Wound Care Clinic was. I asked him twice if I needed to give them a call to make an appointment. He said no, they would call me. Farmer H and I even drove by to make sure where the entrance was. It's the old ER entrance where I went in to birth Genius and The Pony. The Wound Care Clinic is associated with the local hospital and my medical clinic. I know that my phone number is on file in my chart.

Well. I made sure my phone was with me the next day. No leaving it in the living room while I was washing dishes. I put it in my pocket on my way to the bathroom. They always leave a voice mail to call if they miss me. They send me texts and emails as appointment reminders.

Nothing.

Farmer H started nagging me to call them. I explained that THEY were supposed to call ME. That I had asked NP TWICE, to make sure. I don't want to be one of those "difficult" patients who are pushy and don't follow protocol.

By March 16, I was starting to wonder what was taking so long. I'm sure you can't get a fast appointment. I have a follow-up NP visit in May. To see if the treatment they prescribe is helping. So I need to get in there and get going. Farmer H was harping again. I said I would call my NP's office to ask about it. Then I forgot. Until today (Wednesday).

I didn't want to wait on hold to talk to a human. I didn't want to tell the whole story while a minimum wage receptionist typed it in. So I logged into YourChart, where you can ask questions to your provider. 

Well. It said that I might be billed for an appointment if the question took more than five minutes of the provider's time. I guess that's fair enough. I can afford it. I'm selling a flip house, you know! But this doesn't seem very patient-friendly. Why not just make another appointment and talk to the provider in person? Oh. Wait. They overbook everything, and it takes months to get an appointment. Don't get sick, people of Hillmomba!

Anyhoo... I saw the message that had informed me of my lab results. They don't even call with that anymore. Just a message, or you can look at the raw data in the lab section. I replied to that message. Explaining that on my March 9 appointment, NP had said he was referring me to the Wound Care Clinic about my leg circulation. Was I mistaken? Or was I supposed to call them myself to set up an appointment?

I had a reply within three hours.

Hello. I am one of the nurses supporting NP. I am sorry you have not yet heard from the wound care clinic. Since they haven't been able to reach you, here is their information so you can call them:

 

REDACTED 

 

They should have a record of the referral in their system as I was able to find it attached to your medical record. Thank you so much for contacting us. Please feel free to reach out with any further issues or concerns.

So. It wasn't my imagination. She was quite diplomatic in the wording. Not saying I was nutty as a fruitcake, crazy as a loon. Verifying that there WAS a record of such a referral. Yet also not accusing the clinic of failing to contact me.

I'll take what I can get! Which is a timely response. I will be calling to see if I can get an appointment at the Wound Care Clinic. After Thursday, when I will be buying another house.

The Worst Dog Mom Ever

Shame on Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! After all the months of seeking to adopt a companion dog for her lonely Jack, getting one and having him disappear after a week, and then the joy of receiving a brand-new puppy from Farmer H's ex-wife... Mrs. HM has proved herself to be the worst dog mom ever!

Not deliberately! I cuddle with little puppy Pepper every morning on the short couch. He's a good boy. The playful nipping has mostly stopped. Pepper initially greets me all excited, I boost him onto the cushion, he romps a bit looking into the kitchen for Farmer H, then lies down beside me and drifts off to sleep with me petting him. 

When Farmer H decides it's time to leave for town, he says from the long couch, "Well, Pepper, are you ready to go back outside?" Pepper is not! He sits up and tries to shrink into my side, or the crack between the couch cushions. Farmer H used to reach over and grab him, but as he's getting bigger and more awkward to carry, vertically, with all four feet outstretched, and Farmer H's hands around his ribs, he's been left to get down and follow Farmer H to the kitchen. Where they go into the laundry room and Pepper gets his bowl of food. Pedigree Chopped Ground Dinner from a pouch.

Of course I help Pepper down off the couch. Heh, heh. It takes a bit of persuading to make him decide that it's time to go. Sometimes he runs back to see me a couple times, but he ends up in the laundry room, eating his food until Farmer H decides it's safe to set the rest outside and risk Jack eating it if Pepper is full.

Farmer H has been escaping in SilverRedO without incident. I have been able to get away in T-Hoe. Jack and Pepper greet me on the porch. Pepper is getting better about not getting under my feet when I walk, and not jumping up on me. At the top of the steps, I toss Jack his little scrap of bread, then drop one for Pepper. 

Pepper is not sure that bread is food. He runs at Jack, who gobbles his with a quickness. Then he comes back to me, sniffing around and ignoring his own scrap of bread. Which Jack eats. I go down the steps, pat both dogs, and tell them, "See you later, alligators!" That's our routine. I go into the garage through the people door. Normally, I open the garage door then. But with the loosing of little Pepper, I wait until I'm inside, with the engine started. I back out and immediately close the garage door as soon as T-Hoe's nose clears the garage.

Tuesday, Pepper followed me across the sidewalk. Tried to enter the garage with me. I told him "PEPPER! NO!" A couple times. While blocking him with my purse. He got inside anyway. I had to drag him by his collar to "persuade" him to go back out. He sat on the other side of the people door, whimpering and yipping.

From T-Hoe's driver's seat, I saw Pepper go up the steps, and run around to the front porch. I backed out, and closed the garage door. Went to town as normal. When I came home, Jack ran around to the carport as usual. Instead of jumping over the side after a squirrel, he waited for me to pull into the garage. Sometimes he comes in while I'm turning off T-Hoe and gathering my stuff. I hit the remote in the car, to close the garage door.

Indeed, Jack had come in to greet me. He's pretty smart. These days, it's the only individual attention he gets without Pepper jumping on his head when I pet him on the side porch. We had a brief lovefest, then went out the people door. Pepper was waiting at the top of the steps. He came around to the side porch for petting. He whimpered the whole time! That's a new one. He's usually hyper and happy during the outside petting.

Jack almost got knocked off the side porch by Pepper, and walked towards the kitchen. I figured he was going to get a drink, then come back when I reached the door, for his treat. But no! Jack came back with an empty water bottle that had obviously been used as a chew toy. He dropped it, and looked expectantly at Pepper. Who ran towards it, and Jack came back to me. He's a smart one, I tell you!

Anyhoo... I got inside and gave out treats. All but one eaten by Jack. Then Farmer H hollered from his recliner:

"YOU LOCKED PEPPER IN THE GARAGE!"

Oh, the shame! I had no idea! All the times Farmer H has locked up assorted pets, and now I'M the bad guy!!!

"I come home and didn't see Pepper. Jack was here. I asked him 'Where's Pepper?' and he just wandered around. Then I opened the garage door, and Pepper run out. He wasn't barkin' or nothin'. He must have been sittin' there waiting for somebody to open the door."

"Oh, no! It must have been so cold in there on the concrete floor!"

"He was fine."

"I can't see him! Once I'm up in the car, I can't see a thing down by the tires. I backed out and closed the garage door as soon as it could come down and not hit the car. I guess Pepper ran in as I was rolling out. The garage door didn't stop, like when they run past the eye. I could see the garage. In fact, I was watching to see if Pepper went in. There's stuff in there that he probably shouldn't get into."

"He was fine. Maybe he won't do that again, seeing as how he got trapped."

We'll see. I apologized to him profusely during our Wednesday morning couch session.

Genius Cannot Escape

Genius might have thought he escaped tornado alley when he moved to Pittsburgh. 

In reality, he did not. A tornado can find a Hillbilly family member if it wants to! 

Monday afternoon, Genius sent me a picture of his back yard, from the top level of his own mansion. I think it's his back yard, and the picture is from high above, so I'm assuming. I hope that doesn't make a rumpus of me. I've never been there in person. The grass and garage roof were covered with about an inch of snow.

Anyhoo... Genius said, "Wasn't expecting more snow!"

"We had flurries this morning. And tornado warnings last night."

"We had tornado warnings last week, and 70 mph wind gusts on Friday. We ended up losing power for about 26 hours from Friday night to Saturday night."

"Oh no!"

"We survived! Haha. The battery system I had kept us with enough power to keep the fridge and water heater running, and charge devices, so not too bad."

"You ARE a GENIUS!"

Heh, heh. I didn't reveal that OUR wind gusts were only 60 mph. And that we didn't lose power. I don't want Genius thinking we have it easy around here.

Staying In

No town trip town Monday! Too cold for me. High in the 20s, winds over 35 mph. No thank you. I'll stay in the Mansion with my undertable heater! 

A big storm rolled through last night around 5:15. We knew it was coming. I even sent Farmer H a text telling him to be home by 4:00, because the bad weather was expected between 4:30 and 6:00. Of course he didn't reply. I could see that he'd read it by mid-afternoon. I had no idea if he would comply or not.

Thank the Gummi Mary, Farmer H rolled in around 4:15. I'd made sure I was to town and back by 3:30. Temps were in the mid-60s then. At 5:00 the sky grew black. Winds picked up even more than the 40+ mph they'd been all day. The trees out back were swaying wildly. Rain started. TV and internet ceased. Around 15 minutes later, they came back. 

That dang Farmer H was watching This Old House on PBS. I suggested that it might be a good idea to check a local channel for weather updates. Since our phones had just gone off with a TORNADO WARNING. Farmer H said it was fine, that the sky was lightening up, and it was probably already past us. He DID switch channels, and the radar showed the worst part right over us. There's a slight delay in their signal, I think.

Anyhoo... we were expecting temps down to 20 degrees Sunday night, with snow flurries. I was worried about little Pepper, but Farmer H reminded me that Pepper had his house full of cedar shavings, out of the wind. He scooped Jack's shavings back into his house outside the kitchen door. Jack is always rearranging his bedding!

Monday morning, Farmer H stepped out the laundry room and called to Pepper to come inside for his couch time. No Pepper. More calling. Then Pepper came running from around the kitchen window bulge.

"I think Pepper musta spent the night with Jack in his house. They both come running from that direction when I called him."

That's good! Pepper and Jack are becoming buddies. Two warm bodies are better than one. Jack's house is insulated, with a shingle roof. Pepper felt warm to the touch. Not even cold toes like on one of the warmer mornings.

I saw snow flurries around noon. Jack and Pepper romped for a while in the sun on the kitchen porch. I guess you could say we had sun-snow. It was weird. Warmer tomorrow, up to about 40. Then 70s on Wednesday and Thursday.

Spring is almost here.

Jack Is A Regular Tom Sawyer

Jack has accepted puppy Pepper fairly well. He's not grumpy. Lets Pepper jump on him. Pepper's favorite wrestling move is to jump on Jack's shoulder, and wrap his front legs around Jack's neck. Jack doesn't growl or snap. He slowly walks away, dragging Pepper's back legs along the porch until Pepper lets go.

When food is involved, Jack doesn't mess around. While he's never been nippy or greedy when being handed a treat, he now wastes no time in gobbling it up. If I toss it on ground, no more sniffing and looking at me like, "This is all you've got?" Nope. Now Jack grabs it and eats it fast. If Pepper comes sniffing around, he'll growl. Fair enough. Manners must be learned.

Jack spends his days on the front porch. When I leave for town, he trots around to meet me at the side porch. I assume Pepper has been spending days with Jack. On Saturday, Jack came to see me off. Without Pepper! I quizzed him as to Pepper's whereabouts, but no response. Finally Pepper came running around from the front porch, to snuffle around the crumbs Jack left from his stale bread. Of course I had a small piece for Pepper. He sniffed at it, and went back to Jack's area. Growl. I showed Pepper the dry food in the self-feeder. He looked at me like I was crazy.

Anyhoo... on Sunday morning, I heard a commotion on the front porch. Thumping. Like when Jack or Pepper toy around with Farmer H's ceramic/resin animal figures. I heard some barks. They didn't sound like Jack. Didn't sound like Pepper's yips. I wondered if there was a neighbor dog in the yard. I never see them, but Farmer H does. The barking stopped, but I still heard some gamboling.

I peeped out the clear little square in the patterned glass window beside the front door. I could see down below, where one of Farmer H's figurines had blown over a month or so ago, and broken. In true Farmer H style, he scraped the pieces together, and just left it! I could see that now he had put the pieces into a box. And just left it. Baby steps...

Now Jack was chewing on that box! It's a cardboard box, used to bring home items from Save A Lot. Jack had ripped several chunks off one side, and was struggling at the corner. Pepper watched, hopping back and forth, to get a better view. Jack coolly gave him the side-eye, to make sure he was watching. If Pepper tried to get closer to the box, Jack growled.

Pepper ran down the steps and under the picket fence I despise. Well. That was not part of Jack's plan. He stopped chewing on the box. Walked to the top of the steps and looked into the yard. I could see his nose twitching. I figure he was looking for his audience. Then I saw Pepper romping along the brick sidewalk. Jack turned and came back to his chewing box, ignoring Pepper.

Pepper was so proud! Prancing along with a foot-long piece of dried-up yucca leaf in his mouth. It looked like frayed rope. He started up the steps. Tripped a couple times, landing his chin on the next step. Then he was at the top, mouthing his yucca leaf. Jack turned to look. Pepper dropped it and went to the box, sniffing around. Pepper seemed perplexed. THIS was all? He attempted a timid bite, then walked away from the box. 

Jack is kind of a Tom Sawyer, making Pepper believe that chewing on an old box is as great as whitewashing a fence.

Pepper Is Free!

On Friday, we decided that little puppy Pepper is ready for release. At 10 weeks, old enough to be left on his own to roam the acreage. He's been here for four weeks. He's growing. He needs to learn doggy things, and not be caged up in a 4 x 10 foot pen on the back porch. Let the record show that by "we," I mean basically Farmer H.

Of course I would like to keep Pepper in protective custody forever. But he's not a house dog. There's no point in holding him captive, even for safety. That's no life for a dog. He needs to romp and play. Enjoy companionship with Jack.

Farmer H had Pepper out on Monday evening. Pepper roamed the yard with Jack while Farmer H sat on the front porch. Pepper has been having afternoons out for a while now. He has fallen down the steps many times, but has now mastered climbing up and down. He fell off the side porch twice (that I know of), but Farmer H said, "He's fine. He's a pup. Their bones are soft, like kids." (!)

In his typical photography style, Farmer H got a picture of Pepper:

Not a very flattering photo, but that's our Pepper on Shackytown Boulevard.

Hick planned on leaving Pepper out for a while, but Pepper was not quite ready. He sat outside the kitchen door and howled when Farmer H came inside. Also, Farmer H didn't have his drill to take down the sides of Pepper's pen, so he could get in his dog house. He went out and got Pepper for his pen.

Friday, Farmer H forgot his drill down at his SUS2.5. He DID go by the senior apartments and get one to bring home. Took down both walls. Plugged in the water bowl, because it's supposed to be 20 degrees on Sunday night. Pepper spent the evening exploring. Figured out that he can get to his "pen" from both ends of the porch. But seemed mystified that he could walk in and out. Also curious about drinking from the plugged-in water bowl, with his sitting right beside it.

Farmer H rode the Gator over to the BARn field to start a fire and burn his good-deeded highway chairs. Pepper did not follow! He went up on the front porch. That's a good thing! He can learn the joy of running beside the Gator later. 

Pepper roamed the porch Friday night, setting off the motion lights by the kitchen door. He slept in his house like normal, after spending time with Jack, who sleeps on the front porch in warm weather.

Saturday morning, I made Farmer H put the collar on little Pepper. Somebody will snatch him in an instant if they see him out by the road. At least he is marked as TAKEN with a collar.

We had worried that Pepper might try to chase SilverRedO when Farmer H left. Farmer H had planned to stop down by the mailbox for a while, and see if Pepper and Jack showed up. Jack is usually not a chaser, but will occasionally follow. He knows his way around and comes back home. Farmer H reported that Pepper ran back up on the porch when he closed the door of SilverRedO.

It's just after noon on Saturday, and Pepper is roaming around the porch by the kitchen door and going to his lair. I'm hoping he stays on the porch when I leave for town.

Getting By With A Little Help From HM

Last week I was bellied up to the counter at the Gas Station Chicken Store, waiting for Fave to scan my winners. A lady had just left after pre-paying for gas. Which is a topic that intrigues me.

The GSCS is not modern. You can't use a card to pay at the pumps. It has the old-fashioned pumps where you just pick up the nozzle and then lift the handle it had been sitting in to turn on the pump. I'm pretty sure Fave or the current clerk also needs to turn it on from inside the store, because I hear a thingy beeping when somebody is outside trying to pump, and then Fave walks over and pushes a button and the beeping stops. 

I don't buy T-Hoe's gas there because I can't step up and over the concrete islands where the gas pumps sit. But I DO know the GSCS has a policy that if they don't know you, you have to come inside and pay first, or leave your driver's license or credit card with the clerk before she'll turn on the pumps. 

I've seen people hand over a twenty. Or a five. And say that's how much gas they want. Fave turns on the pump and tells them okay. HOWEVER, I'm pretty sure she can't set those pumps to stop at a certain amount like they can with the more modern pumps at Casey's. I think people just believe this is so. Or they realize their face has been recorded coming into the store (and also outside, but they may not know that). Anyhoo... I figure it kind of runs on the honor system for them to only pump that amount.

My suspicions were VALidated this day when that lady came back inside as Fave was totaling up my new purchases.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I went 50 cents over! I came in to pay."

"That's okay. I've got it. I'll pay it for you."

"Really? That's so nice!"

"Not a problem. I've got change coming back." 

Indeed. I was getting a dollar back. Fave could just give me 50 cents instead. Yeah. It's not like Mrs. HM is a great philanthropist, forking out endowments to the downtrodden at every turn. But I didn't want that lady to have to wait for my ticket transaction. It was easy enough to help her out.

Farmer H is not the only Do-Gooder in this family.

Another Illogical Response

Remember my newest snack food, the Mingles? Those puffy treats made by the Pringles people. I was unhappy because the bags say that a serving is 37 pieces, and each bag contains "about 6" servings. Yet of the two flavors I had tried, the Dill Pickle/Ranch, and the Cheddar/Sour Cream, the first had 5 servings with 7 pieces left over, and the second had exactly 5 servings! That's false advertising! They'd better be described as having "about 5" servings.

Anyhoo... I counted out my last serving of the third flavor, the Sharp White Cheddar/Ranch on Monday. I was shocked to discover that this bag contained EXACTLY 6 SERVINGS! Well! That was newsworthy! So I hollered in to Farmer H, sitting in his recliner with supper.

"Hey! THIS bag of snacks had exactly six servings!"

To which Farmer H replied:

"I would of, but Jack was in the way."

"What in the Not-Heaven are you talking about? That has nothing to do with what I said."

"I didn't take no more pictures of Pepper, because Jack got in the way."

"Okay... not sure what Pepper and Jack have to do with my snacks having the same amount as the label says."

"I thought you was talkin' about the pictures you asked me to take of Pepper."

Once again, I suppose the excuse is that he HEARD ME, but just wasn't listening to me.

I'm Only Giving Him What He Wants

I am not secretly planning to cause the (undetectably-engineered) demise of my sweet baboo. No. That would be criminal. And not very nice. I am only providing Farmer H with an occasional treat, of the kind he likes best. Actually, he would probably like a 4-pound bag of sugar better, but that might look suspicious.

Everybody knows that Farmer H enjoys a sweet treat after supper. Ice cream, cookies, cake, pie, candy. He doesn't really have a favorite. Everybody knows it's not good for him. Including Farmer H. If I don't get him anything, he finds a way to sneak it. In fact, there was a bag containing a store checkout size box of Milky Way candy bars sitting on his kitchen chair after the auction, then gone the next day.

"I see that you snuck your secret Milky Ways out of the house."

"Huh? They weren't secret. I got them at the auction. I pay a dollar--"

"I don't care what you pay. You're not fooling anybody. I know you eat a candy bar every day. Maybe more than one."

Farmer H had no reply to that. He thinks he's so slick, but I'm onto him.

Anyhoo... I saw a new kind of snack pie at 10Box in the sale bin. He wasn't thrilled with the sweet potato version I got him last time. But he ate it all.

This one intrigued me. It's BIRTHDAY CAKE flavor! I bought two.

Of course I love anything that's birthday cake flavor. But I wouldn't buy this for myself. I'd rather utilize my spoken-for calories on real food, or my afternoon snack of 150-calorie savory treats like the Pickle Balls or the Mingles. This pie would cheat me out of about two-and-a-half days of those snacks with my Shasta Zero Sugar Cola.

Seriously. There's no nutritional value in it. Unless you're a prisoner being starved to death, and need the calories for energy to escape. Not that my savory snacks are any better at nutrition, but at least they aren't high-calorie.

Anyhoo... I told Farmer H that I would like to try just a taste of that pie before he ate it. So he opened the box after supper, and gave me first bite. It was DELICIOUS! Like eating buttercream frosting encased in a sugar-glazed crust! I stopped at one bite. But the other pie sits on the counter, tempting me all day.

I am able to resist by telling myself it belongs to Farmer H. I'm not one to take somebody else's treats.

And Now, Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Scratchers

I must give a big Thank You shout-out to a fellow handicap-ee! I don't know them. Only that they were parked in my rightful handicap space at Save A Lot on Sunday. Legally. It was a maroon minivan with handicap plates. Mrs. HM snoozed, and she losed! I was late going to town. The time change gave me a sense of entitlement. Darkness would wait an hour later, to allow me to put off that trip to town.

I had spent the morning making pasta for Farmer H's supper. Elbow macaroni, with thawed-out grilled bratwursts in the sauce. But I was out of mushrooms! Farmer H likes mushrooms in his pasta sauce. Off I went to Save A Lot to get them, planning to pick up some scratchers from their machine. I'd had some really good luck the previous day, from 10Box machines and the Gas Station Chicken Store. I had gotten a $75 winner from Fave, and a $100 winner at 10Box.

Anyhoo... I was disappointed to see my parking space taken. There were cars on the other side of the parking aisle where I would have alternately chosen to park. So I just drove through the lot, and over to 10Box. They sell mushrooms, you know. And getting scratchers there was not the end of the world. I figured they wouldn't have another big winner waiting, but still, I might win money back, to keep playing the next day, and not eat into my windfall too much.

I was not disappointed! In fact, I was downright excited to scratch off a $50 winner on a $3 crossword! I even shouted my big win to Farmer H. The next morning, I scanned my winners to make sure.

I was SHOCKED to discover that this was NOT a $50 winner. It was a $100 WINNER! 

I had missed scratching an "N" in the word INCH, there at the middle left. So I had uncovered 8 words instead of 7. 

If that minivan had not been in my handicap space, I would not have been at 10Box to get this winner. So thanks, whoever you are, for taking "my" parking space that day.

Mrs. HM KNEEds Further Care

My appointment Monday with my regular Nurse Practitioner went well. I wasn't sure what to expect. Farmer H drove me there. It's just over in Bill-Paying Town, in a new building, separate from the orthopedist office in the clinic connected to the hospital. I've been there twice. Farmer H insisted on coming into the exam room with me, but I forbade that. It's not like I was seeing a specialist for a life-threatening condition.

Anyhoo... we got there early. I had done the dang YourChart check-in on Saturday. I was called to an exam room by my appointment time. After vitals from the same polite young nurse I'd had in December, I waited 5-10 minutes for NP.

NP asked what brought me there. I resisted saying "Farmer H's sweaving." He seemed informed about the tale I told from Dr. Ortho. NP took a look at my lower leg. Said that yes, Dr. Ortho was right to be concerned about healing. That the redness is likely due to lymphedema, as he noticed some swelling. He did not press on it to see if his thumb left an indent like Dr. Ortho had. According to NP, it's something that we "might be able to get a handle on right now," before it could worsen into something that could "turn into a bad situation."

"I've had this redness for over 20 years. It doesn't bother me. Doesn't hurt. I just thought that was normal for me. But there's something new... It's HORRIFYING! Here, let me show you.

Dr. Ortho didn't look at my right leg, because we weren't considering surgery for it. It's also got the redness, and has for years. But since I saw you in December, something else has come up. I think I have psoriasis!"

I pulled up the leg of my sweatpants to show NP the scaly patch on the outer side of my left lower leg. Irregular. Flaky. Kind of grayish white.

"It's been there since sometime in January. I've had things like this before, but smaller. They take a while to clear up. They don't itch or hurt."

"Oh, yes. It's weeping."

"Not as much as in the beginning. I don't know what triggered it. I must have scraped my leg sliding out of the car, or rubbed it too hard with the washcloth. I cover it with a folded paper towel and ACE bandage."

"That's good."

"I've tried antibiotic ointment. And lotion after the shower. Nothing seems to affect it in a bad or good way. Oh, and that dark place? It's lint off my sweatpants just now! I saw it on Thursday, and thought, 'Oh, no! I've got gangrene!' But it's just lint that comes off these pants. I can pick off the threads. I can't really scrub the area with a washcloth, because then it has to weep some more before it starts closing up."

"I'm going to get you an appointment with our Wound Care Clinic. They can tell you the best way to treat it and speed up the healing. And for the lymphedema, they work wonders. They can get you started with some compression hose. They're really good over there. It's on the back of the hospital. Where the old ER entrance used to be. They've built a new one now, but left the roof over the old ambulance bay. Just walk up to the doors, and they'll let you in. There's parking right across from the doors."

"I know where that is! I went in that way when I had both my babies. Should I call them?"

"They will call you to set up an appointment."

So... that's kind of a relief. I don't have to travel north or south to a specialist. They have doctors/NPs/nurses right here that can do what I need. We'll see how effective further treatment may be. NP wants to see me again in two months, to see if there's any progress. He also wanted four vials of blood! No fasting necessary.

When I sat down by Farmer H in the waiting room, waiting to be called to the lab, I handed him my cane and print-outs from the visit. You'd think he had a thirst for knowledge, the way Farmer H combed through those papers. Almost as if he thought I was hiding something. 

Nice To Knee-t You

I was early for my appointment, so I got in pretty quick. Well. If you don't count the time it took me to hobble down the hall to the exam room. Farmer H insisted on accompanying me. I don't really like that. But in retrospect, he probably would have thought I was lying if he hadn't heard it all for himself.

A tall tattooed gal took my vitals. She had a full sleeve on her left arm. She was friendly and efficient. When she left the room, Farmer H had to voice his opinion. 

"I don't know why young gals ruin their appearance with tattoos!"

"She was just fine. It's none of your business. Don't be so judgmental." (As I told The Pony later on the phone: "Dad has no idea what else she might do in her off time. Maybe she has a side job as a dominatrix! Her life and her skin are not his business".)

Farmer H also spent time looking at the charts on the wall. Diagrams of various bone-related maladies. "See there? That's what I have wrong with my hand. It's all bent out of shape by the arthritis."

"This is NOT all about you! Make your own appointment."

Dr. Ortho knocked, and entered the exam room. He was probably early 40s. He reached out to shake my hand. I introduced Farmer H. Dr. Ortho sat down on a rolly stool, and rolled over to sit right in front of my chair. I was relieved that he didn't ask me to get up on the exam table. I don't know if I could have made it, despite the stepstool with a tall handle on it.

Dr. Ortho asked me to pull up the leg of my sweatpants, which I had chosen to wear for just that reason. It's hard enough stepping in and out of pants at home with my usual leaning supports. He felt around my kneecap. Picked up my foot behind the heel, and stretched out my right leg.

"How far can you extend?"

"Ouch."

"You're missing the last 30 degrees." He set my foot down. "Now pull your foot back, and bend it as far as you can."

"That's it."

"About 80 degrees. Here are your x-rays." Dr. Ortho stood up and turned on the screen. "Here's the right knee. And the left. You can see how they're bent. The right one bends in, and the left one bends out. You have degenerative arthritis. The cartilage is gone. So you have bone on bone."

"It really hurts when I stand more than about 10 minutes."

"I don't doubt it."

"It's hard for me to even get up from a chair like this. With no arms to push up from. I can't get my knees bent far enough back to get them under me and stand up."

Dr. Ortho sat down on his rolly stool. Ran his hand around my kneecap, pressing.

"That's where it hurts. On the inside. And down below the kneecap."

"Yes. The cartilage is gone. The tibia hurts where the femur is pressing on it." He ran his hands down my lower leg. "I see you have some redness here. You need to get that checked out. I won't be doing a knee replacement on you. This operation will mess up circulation for a while. I'm concerned that this redness could develop into cellulitis, and spread up the leg, and get into the joint. I'd like you to see your regular practitioner again, and get a referral to a cardiologist, or a lymphatic doctor, to see if this can be cleared up."

"I have an appointment in June."

"It needs to be before that. I'd LOVE to do a knee replacement on you. Maybe you can come back in six months, and we'll see where we're at. It will change the quality of your life. In the meantime, I could offer you a steroid injection to help with the pain."

"Yes. I think I'd like to try that."

Of course Farmer H was chiming in that HE'D had a steroid injection in his knee, and it worked for about six months.

"Well, you were very lucky if it lasted that long. This is good for about three months. I could give it again in four months if it's helping. I'll go get it ready."

Dr. Ortho left. The tattooed gal came back with a tray holding a syringe and a vial. "I'll just get his injection ready."

"There's not any lidocaine in there, is there? Because I have a sensitivity to that, and it raises my blood pressure and speeds up my heart."

"No. This is just Kenalog, and some saline." She left, and Dr. Ortho came back about five minutes later.

Dr. Ortho took out his inkpen. "I'm just marking my landmarks." He didn't seem to be writing on my skin. Just poking the pen at the side of my kneecap, and above. Then he got up to get the syringe.

"I'm going to try not to look."

"That's what I always do!" said Dr. Ortho. Heh, heh. Doctor humor. I HOPE!

He stuck the needle in the side of my knee. It wasn't painful. Just pressure inside as the fluid went into my knee cavity. Dr. Ortho said he was going to send a note to my NP about his concerns. I made the appointment on Friday, and see the NP on Monday (lucky that they had a cancellation).

I've gotta say, I really like Dr. Ortho. I don't know if I'll ever "be able" to get a knee replacement. The injection of Kenalog seems to be helping already. At least at home, I don't have to grab onto things to get around the house now.

A Journey Of 1000 Hoops Begins On Just One Knee

So many hoops to jump through to get somebody to look at your knee! I made my orthopedist appointment back in December, at my yearly visit with my Nurse Practitioner. I'd asked about getting that knee checked out years ago, and NP mentioned a knee replacement, but said I was considered too young, that it would wear out and need a replacement for the replacement. I was kind of in a holding pattern until the past couple years when it got worse.

The orthopedist's office left a message that I would need to get there 20 minutes early, and have an x-ray before the appointment, at the lab on the same floor. Farmer H, who has never been to that clinic, and only visited in the hospital below, told me I would need to go to the hospital lab on the 1st floor to get that x-ray. I disagreed. I had been to the 3rd floor lab many times. I know they do a lot of different labby things, not just blood draws. I figured they might have x-ray facilities.

Farmer H dropped me off at the front door of the hospital. The elevators are to the right. The hospital lab is straight ahead through a couple waiting areas. There's an information desk across from the doors. That's where I went, while Farmer H was parking A-Cad in one of two open handicap spaces he saw. He has my other placard. He doesn't get around so great either, after his back surgery.

The gal at the information desk said that I should go up to the 3rd floor for my x-rays. Farmer H came in as I was hobbling with my cane to the elevator. Thank the Gummi Mary, he was there to hold the closing door open while I got in. At the 3rd floor, I went to the regular lab to ask them. Passing by a window marked with Orthopedic Imaging. I thought that might be what I needed, but chose to walk (I use that term loosely) about 20 more feet to the regular lab window and ask, rather than going into that imaging suite, which was not there the last time I was on 3rd floor. Of course that's where I needed to be: Orthopedic Imaging. If they'd just called it that instead of the "lab," it would have been clear.

Inside Orthopedic Imaging, I paid my co-pay and sat down to wait. Within five minutes, I was called back. The Tech was SO KIND! She was probably mid-20s. A dishwater blond wearing blue scrubs. She explained exactly what she was going to do.

It was mainly standing with my knees up against a plate mounted on the wall, while Tech went into her radiation-proof room to take the pictures, cautioning me, "Don't move." It was hard to get my knees as close together as I could for the view of the front. She let me keep my cane for that. I couldn't use it for the back view. She leaned my cane against the wall, and showed me where I could hang onto the plate my kneecaps were against. Then she came back and returned my cane. Positioned me sideways, knees slightly bent, one step apart.

Then came the hard part! I had to sit down on the end of the x-ray table, and "move your feet back as far as possible under the table." Welp! That wasn't happening! I couldn't even get my feet directly under my knees. That picture was taken from above. After that I was done. Tech came back, and held out her blue-gloved hand to help me get up. Then she stood there a minute.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Because if you're not, we can wait a minute."

"No. I'm good. It just takes me a minute to get going."

She was SO NICE! Definitely a people person, good with the elderly.

From there we went down the hall to the orthopedist's office. Which is tomorrow's story.

Mrs HM Is In Knee-nial

Lets get right to it today. Put the horse before the cart, and deliver the knews (heh, heh) that everybody has been waiting for:

Mrs. HM is NOT a candidate for knee replacement surgery!

At least not at this time. I was initially relieved. And then disappointed. Without the imminent threat of going under the knife, it dawned on me that nothing has changed. I'm still saddled with a painful knee that limits my mobility. However...

I may have a second chance. It depends upon some follow-up care, and perhaps a miracle. I don't know why I'm secretly hoping that my knee can be sliced open and its innards reamed out and metal parts be jammed and hammered into place. Farmer H is my biggest cheerleader. I'm hoping that it's not (another) clandestine attempt at trying to kill me.

I left the orthopedists office with a shot of Kenalog in my right knee. That's a steroid used for treating inflammation in joints. My knee already feels better. Of course I'm sure that's all in my head. My Estranged BFF Google says that Kenalog takes about 5 days before the effects are felt.

Over the next few days, I will share the details of my appointment, diagnosis, and care plan. I'm sure you'll be enthralled, heh, heh. 

A Brief Intermission

Sorry that I can't share my knee story today. I usually type up my posts a day ahead of publishing, around noon. But I was at the KNEE DOCTOR this morning. I didn't have internet when I got home! And it's been just one dang thing after another! Luckily I was ahead with my not-so-secret blog and the attempt to buy another flip house. It was already in the can of SET TO PUBLISH, thanks to me splitting the long story into parts.

Right now it's 10:05 on Thursday night, and I still haven't had supper. Which will take 30 minutes to get ready. So this is all you get!

I'll have plenty of tales when time allows. Starting with the knee appointment.

Knee Day

As you read this, it will be KNEE DAY for Mrs. HM. My appointment with the orthopedic surgeon. Which doesn't necessarily mean I'll be having surgery, I hope! Though that is certainly a possibility.

Both times I got a call from their office, I was up doing something else. Like out on the back porch to pet Pepper, or in the kitchen doing dishes. I heard that call, but couldn't get back to the living room in time to answer. Because of my KNEES, you know! I think there's some irony in that scenario...

Anyhoo... they left a message. One was just the appointment reminder, to confirm. They also sent a text, so I confirmed that way. The other left a voicemail. It said to arrive 20 minutes early, and get an x-ray at their lab before the appointment.

Well. That was not quite clear. Was I supposed to check in at their office window first? And THEN go back down the hall to the lab? Or should I just stop by the lab first, and then check in? It's a clinic, where my old doctor and NP used to have offices before moving to a new facility down the street. So both the lab and office are on the 3rd floor here.

I decided to call and make sure. The gal who answered did not seem all that friendly. In fact, I would describe her as downright surly! I called at 10:48. Maybe she was getting ready for lunch. Maybe she had someone at the counter. She spoke with a clipped, impatient tone. No reason for that (that I could see over the phone). Maybe she was one of those Gen Z people who hate to talk on the phone. In which case I recommend: 

LOOK FOR ANOTHER JOB!

Anyhoo... I was not "wasting" her time. I quickly identified myself, said I had an appointment Thursday and received a call saying to get an x-ray before my appointment. Should I do it BEFORE check-in, or AFTER check-in? She said, "That's fine. Do that." Without specifying! So I had to confirm: "So I can get the x-ray first, and then come to your office?" She agreed.

Here's the thing: I didn't know if the lab would already have an order for my x-ray. That's why I was unsure which came first. I know the doctor wants to look at it while/before seeing me. But might want to know if I actually show up in person before sending the order. Which is most likely done by the office staff anyway. The ones who would check me in.

I also went online to YourChart to update my information. Which they call checking in online. Which doesn't mean you'll actually show up... 

Not that I'm getting cold feet. Or cold knees, heh, heh! I've had that since December, when my appointment was first scheduled. By a perfectly cheerful gal over the phone.

Doctored Pepper

Pepper the new puppy had his first vet visit on Monday. Farmer H tossed him in a big box on the seat of SilverRedO. I was skeptical about the travel arrangements. Pretty sure Pepper would jump on the side of the box and tip it, and might get under Farmer H's feet while driving. 

My recommendation of using the pet carrier was scoffed at. I don't know how they made it, but Farmer H said Pepper vomited in the box, and chewed on his hand the whole way there. Thank the Gummi Mary, it's only five miles and 10 minutes. Just past Mick the Mechanic's shop, by the bowling alley.

This vet bill was not as expensive as I expected. "Only" $80.

Farmer H asked about getting Pepper chipped. It's not that he's valuable, or that we expect him to be anywhere that has capability to scan a chip. But we've had several dogs disappear. It's disconcerting. Heartbreaking. If somebody would abscond with Pepper, and he got loose, he COULD end up at the city pound. They scan.

Anyhoo... the vet people said that Pepper can't be chipped until his very special operation later in the summer, when he's six months old. That's because the needle to insert the chip is too big right now for little Pepper. He goes back in three weeks for more shots.

And now I must have a fit of outrage. PEPPER WAS MIS-BREEDED! The thing these days is to get your nose out of joint when something like this happens, right? I don't get it, but that's what these younger generations do. 

Here's the issue:

It's at the top of the bill. I agree that Pepper is a canine. I can believe that Pepper weighed 9.8 pounds. I CANNOT fathom why they called our dear sweet Pepper a GERMAN SHEPHERD MIX!

Our little guy is quite obviously a HEELER MIX! Or Australian Cattle Dog mix, if they want to sound all scientific-y (even though it's an American breed, nothing to do with Australia).

I hope Farmer H will ask them to change it when Pepper goes back to the vet. Just for accuracy. As accurate as you can be, guessing a mixed breed's heritage. I don't expect Pepper to grow as large as a German Shepherd, nor have the same temperament. It's quite possible that Farmer H gave the wrong information when he called to make the appointment, or that he was misunderstood with bad phone reception.

Anyhoo... Pepper is fine after his first shots and pills.

Old Mother Hubbard Must Be The New Manager

On Saturday, I went to Save A Lot with a specific purpose. As opposed to just using their lottery machine and browsing. My goal was to get the mini Drumstick ice cream treats. Farmer H likes the regular size, at over 300 calories apiece. I just like a small sweet, and the minis are 100 calories. They still have the ice cream, nuts, and a crunchy cone, but are tiny.

Anyhoo... I was happy to see that the store was not busy. I got my scratchers. Looked for their store-brand steak sauce, which I add to chili and soup, and like with chicken. They didn't have any! In fact, there was not even a space or label for it on the shelf. All they had was brand-name A-1 Sauce. Which I like just fine. It's thicker, with a similar taste. But it comes in a glass bottle rather than plastic. 

Anyhoo... I went over to the far end of the store, to the freezer cases, for my ice cream treat, which is not carried by 10Box. I don't know about Country Mart. That's too far to drive ice cream home anyway.

I was in shock when I came across the back aisle and saw the freezer:

It wasn't just the ice cream/dessert section. The meat section was also bare.

When I showed Farmer H the pictures, he said, "Huh. Their cooler broke, and they had to throw away all that food!"

Yes. I could imagine that happening. I sure didn't want ice cream that had melted and re-frozen. But dang it! I really was looking forward to my mini Drumsticks. 

Now it's Monday afternoon. I'm giving it another try. Surely they wouldn't want to lose out on all that business. I'd imagine they have a cooler guy to call for emergencies.

A Sinking Feeling

The very AUDACITY! I'm supposed to believe my lyin' husband over my truthful eyes!

For the past couple days, my kitchen sink has been draining slowly. I couldn't imagine why. At first I thought it was because I still had the faucet running water in the sink, after I'd pulled the plug, rinsing off the last of the silverware. But no. I was also slow without the faucet running. So took the plug/strainer all the way out, and found something unpleasant.

Pieces of food stuck down in my drain, too big to run down the pipe. I knew exactly what it was! Pieces of flat noodle and mushrooms, from the Hamburger Helper Stroganoff that Farmer H had been eating for supper the past three days.

I wondered why the containers I'd stored them in, the round plastic Chinese takeout containers that I fed him in, were so clean when I went to wash them. He'd had biscuits with the meals. I just figured he must have used the biscuits to wipe out the remaining particles and sauce in the container. Looks like he DIDN'T!

Of course I had to holler at Farmer H.

"Hey! When you bring your plate in here tonight, DO NOT rinse it in the sink! You clogged it with your other leftovers, and I had to pick out the pieces with the end of a paring knife!"

"I don't know how. I wiped out them bowls. Into the wastebasket. With my paper towel. Before I rinsed them."

"THAT didn't happen! I sure didn't eat that stuff, or run my food down the sink. It didn't jump over from the wastebasket! Funny how all those pieces ended up clogging my sink!"

When Farmer H brought back his plate (baked chicken, stuffing, and baby carrots with ranch dip), he didn't even make a pretense of wiping it out with a paper towel. He set it on the counter, a blob of dip still on the plate. But THEN he used his paper towel to clean up the pieces of previous food that I had left in the sink. As evidence. But mainly to shame him.

"I still don't know how them got there. I wiped out my bowl."

Denial is strong in that one.

The Pony Finds A Bargain

Neither of us had much to shop for on Errand Day, but The Pony found a bargain! 

"I can't decide what to have for supper. I usually just grab an apple with peanut butter for breakfast, and then eat one meal. I don't know if to have a frozen dinner from the freezer, or make something. I think I'll go back and look at the steaks."

That was a good decision. The Pony found a Kansas City Strip Steak on special, because it was the day after the Sell By date.

"Look Mom. I'm pretty sure it's okay. It's only one day, and it looks fine. It doesn't smell."

That's an 8 oz steak for $4.32. Which is half price from the original amount. It normally sells for $17.99 a pound!

The steak still smelled fine when The Pony unwrapped it at home. Just a bit of discoloration from where the tag was. But the whole thing would turn that color anyway past the date. Sometimes before, from my experience. I'm pretty sure the stores put some kind of coloring in the meat! Aha! I just looked it up, and they use carbon monoxide. Which is apparently banned in Europe.

Anyhoo... The Pony said that steak looked like a FOOT! Heh, heh! I can see it.

The Pony's one meal was substantial:

That's homemade garlic toast, and some tortellini, not homemade. Along with some wine, and that Kansas City Strip. With the ambience of laptop keyboard lights!

Looks good enough to eat! And it certainly was a bargain.

Farmer H Feeds Some Pig To Speckled Pepper

Sweet Gummi Mary! I don't know what Farmer H was thinking! Yesterday was Glazed Ham for lunch at the Senior Center. I suppose they gave extra to Farmer H. He IS their pet, you know. And he didn't buy an extra dinner to bring home.

When I got back from town, there was a styrofoam container lying open on the side porch. It wasn't chewed up or anything. Then Jack came around from the front porch, looking quite portly. I recall Farmer H saying he was dragging a deer leg around the front porch, so I attributed his girth to snacking on spoiled wildlife appendages.

Anyhoo... the truth came to light later in the evening. I was concerned about Pepper having enough food. He'd been kind of wild that afternoon, trying to get in the laundry room door. His food pan was empty. I thought maybe he was hungry, and knows his food comes out that door.

"He has plenty of food. I fed him already. And earlier, he had some ham I brought home. Jack had two pieces, and Pepper had one."

"You gave Pepper some HAM? I don't know if that's good for a puppy. He just learned how to eat solid food."

"He was fine. He really liked it."

Flash forward to this morning at 6:00 a.m. I was sitting on the short couch, with Pepper snuggled next to me, chewing on his blue towel while I petted him. Pepper grew restless. He stood up. But instead of looking over the side of the couch, or across at Farmer H... he stood looking at the back of the couch, and started HEAVING!

"Oh, no. Something is wrong with Pepper. He looks like he might throw up!"

"He's fine." Said Farmer H, watching Pepper's little body convulse and shake as he opened his mouth. Farmer H jumped up and grabbed Pepper with both hands and ran to the laundry room. "Here, let's go back outside!"

I heard the door open and close. It took a few minutes for Farmer H to return.

"Is Pepper okay? Did he get sick?"

"No. He didn't get sick. I was picking up the stuffing from that toy. Don't get him any more stuffed toys. It's all over the place." Said the man who had left a paper plate of moist food in Pepper's enclosure, which has been chewed to bits, with pieces in front of the laundry room door.

"It was a pet toy. I didn't think it would be that easy for a pup to destroy it!"

So not only did Pepper have a slice of ham, he might have eaten parts of a stuffed pig!

Pepper DID enjoy biting that pig. But I never thought he'd rip it apart.

No wonder the little guy's tummy was upset! I will make sure to get the next toy made of hard plastic or rubber. Pepper does not need to be full of stuffing. And Farmer H needs to quit giving Pepper people food until he's a little older.