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.