My Hoped-For Puppy's Kin

I suppose this pup was meant to come live with us. When Farmer H left the Mansion on Wednesday morning, I had no inkling that his travels might lead to a puppy! He got a call about a relative matter, and went to speak to that person. Who just happened to have FOUR PUPPIES!

I don't know if Farmer H asked for one, or if one was offered. He sent me the text asking, when he knew all along that I've been seeking a companion for Jack. Farmer H has always wanted a puppy. I think that's because he was quite sad when Lucky the rescue dog disappeared after a week (under mysterious circumstances!), and he wants one without a previous life to go (or be taken) back to.

Anyhoo... Farmer H initially told me that these pups were a mix of heeler and beagle. I am skeptical. Their heeler heritage is obvious. At least in three of them. When I saw the mom-dog, I began to doubt the beagle part.

I don't know all my dog breeds, but I don't see much beagle in her. Maybe the shape of the head. Or the the body. The legs look thin. The coloring is off. She may have SOME beagle in her, but I see black and tan, or maybe a mini-pinscher, though she's not quite svelte enough for that, with a coarser coat, and not the stand-up ears. The main thing is, I don't see PIT.

Here's the first pup Farmer H showed me:

I first thought that's the one I wanted. Then came the next picture. 

They are quite adorable. The one we're supposed to get is on the right. I said he looked sad, but Farmer H, who was sitting right there watching them run around, said, "No, he's happy." Then he sent a picture of the last pup.

That's the runt. I have nothing against runts. One of our best dogs, Grizzly, was the runt of a litter of eight pups. I chose him specifically, looking into their pen at the dog pound. He was a beagle/lab mix, midsize, colored like a chocolate lab, but shaped like a beagle. This little guy here is just not the one I prefer, because I like a speckled pup. He seems to take after his mother. 

Nothing special about these pups. They're mixed breed. Might have 57 varieties in there. But I know I want one, and Jack will have a companion. Whether he likes it or not!

Two weeks to go until my new doggie can leave its momma.

Forewarning Fizzle

With the tree trimming and wire running that's been happening along our blacktop and gravel roads, it came as no surprise that I got an email on Wednesday from the electric company.

The title was: Planned power outage in your area. 

A planned power outage is always better than an unplanned power outage. 

To keep you informed about changes that affect your service, we wanted to let you know about a planned power outage scheduled for 02/06/26 at approximately 1:00 p.m. lasting approximately 1 HOUR. The outage is necessary for safety completing emergency maintenance and could be rescheduled due to weather or other emergencies.

It included our specific address. I wasn't sure if this concerned the tree trimming with a man lift that Trimmer Steve had spoken about. Or if it was about the new transformer Farmer H said they had put down by Mailbox Row. I could imagine cutting the power for a man working along live electric lines with a saw. And also to activate a new transformer. I could understand both processes taking about an hour.

I set about preparing. To make sure I didn't want to leave for town during that hour, because the garage door runs on electricity. To take care of my bathroom needs while I still had flushing capability. To have water in case I got thirsty, because the well runs on electricity. To have my innernetting at a stopping place, because HIPPIE's battery is going bad, and only lasts to about 40% until HIPPIE goes to black screen, and comes back upon plug-in with another black screen suggesting to replace the battery. To perhaps plan my daily 30-minute nap at this time, so I could stay warm under the covers, since the heat would be off.

I kept an eye on HIPPIE's clock. At 12:53, the furnace stopped blowing, the lights went off, and I shut down HIPPIE. I had other things I could do in my bright kitchen, like adding up Farmer H's expenditures for December and January, to write up a bill for The Pony for Bargain House expenses. Fill out the tax assessment forms that have to be returned by March 1 or get a monetary penalty. Sort through the forms we've received for tax purposes, to see if anything is missing.

I chose the assessment forms, them being the easiest.

WHAT'S THIS???

The power came back on! It had been off less than five minutes! What in the Not-Heaven? I guess that's a good thing. But maybe it was just preliminary. Maybe it would be going off again. No rush to fire up HIPPIE just yet. 

I looked over the assessment forms to see what changes might be needed. That will require Farmer H's input. He might have bought more safes or equipment for his business during 2025. And we might need to change the trailer information due to the unfortunate demise of his old trailer, and the purchase of his new old trailer. I went to check the front yard. Nothing.

It must have been the activation of the new transformer that necessitated the planned outage. Seems like everything went okay. By 1:30, with no flicking or outage, I started HIPPIE again. 

That was almost a non-event.

Maybe, Maybe, Fingers Crossed

I'm hoping this deal doesn't fall through! I have been searching for a new dog for months. Ever since Lucky mysteriously disappeared, there has been nothing suitable to adopt. When there IS, somebody else always gets it first. Which is good for the dog. Not so good for me.

Here's hoping that Farmer H doesn't do anything to jinx this latest verbal agreement. It's kind of a family thing. There are four pups. Farmer H sent me pictures of all of them. And asked which one I wanted. Maybe my first choice was already spoken for. But this is the other one I mentioned:

See what I mean about knowing one of the breeds in the mix? That's a heeler, by cracky! A part-heeler pup as a companion for my little Jack. Farmer H said it's heeler and beagle. Um. No. He sent a picture of the mama dog. She's no heeler, and she's no beagle. Maybe a beagle mix. I might show the other pictures later.

Anyhoo... I asked the breeds, because take a look at those FEET! Granted, Jack has those sturdy digging paws. And he's not too big. So lets hope Farmer H is not too far off on this puppy's family tree.

I haven't thought about a name yet. I'll have to see him in person. Or "in puppy," if you will. Of course we will get him his puppy shots, and de-wormer, and eventually his very special operation.

I'm half-holding my breath until Farmer H can pick him up in two weeks.

Getting My Hopes Up Again

I was minding my own beeswax on Wednesday afternoon, sitting at the kitchen table with HIPPIE, when I got a text from Farmer H. It said: "Do you want this?" It was followed by a picture of...

A PUPPY!

I don't have it loaded on my computer yet. So a picture will have to wait. I was shocked. Of course I want it! I could tell half of its heritage right away. But I had to ask what kind. You know, to make sure it's something we can handle.

"Yes! If you think it won't get too big. Those look like big dog feet."

"The mother is about twice as tall as Jack. I don't think it will be too big."

Anyhoo... I'll get that picture loaded for tomorrow. Farmer H says he can't bring it home yet. But in two weeks. I hope the weather settles down a bit by then. It's not from a rescue, so time is not an issue. I hope Jack is willing to accept a little brother.

Mystery Solved

Monday around 1:40, there was a knock at the door. With temps back up to the upper 20s, I didn't mind speaking through a crack in the door. I found the Steve Zahn tree-trimmer guy on the front porch, with Jack wagging his tail and staring at him.

Trimmer Steve said, "I was here Friday, but nobody answered."

"Well, it takes me a long time to get to the door." Not that I owed him an explanation. It's MY Mansion, and I'll answer the door when I want to.

"We trimmed a bunch around the cedars over by that barn. We have the grinder, but want to know if it's okay to just shove the trimmings back into the brush. It looks like you keep the field mowed."

"Yes, that's fine. We don't care."

"Also, is it okay to cut over there by the road? It looks like some honeysuckle or something growing there."

"I don't know about the honeysuckle. There used to be blackberries over there. They'll grow back, won't they?"

"Yes. But it might take years."

"Well, we don't use them for anything. So you can cut them. My husband thought it might be about his trailer over there being in the way. He can't get in there right now to move it, but said you guys can move it with your equipment. But I know maybe you can't do that because of insurance liability or something."

"I don't know about insurance, but probably can't because our boss will say no. We don't need that trailer out of our way. The electric guys might. I'll pass on that information. Also, this area right here? In front of the house, by those sheds? We can't use our trimmer there because there's too much going on. The limbs might fall on the wires. So we'll be using a man-lift there. So we can hold the limbs as we trim, and drop them out of the way. You might have somebody else knocking on your door."

"I'd rather they not! Whatever you have to do is fine. We drive through the yard all the time. Just don't drive on that white pipe sticking up. See that? It's our well."

"Oh. I see it. I'll tell them it's okay to use the man-lift."

"And watch out, because there's a sinkhole behind those sheds. Not as big as the one out front, but when the snow melts, it's noticeable."

"Okay. I'll tell them about the sinkhole. I'm the one who saw the big sinkhole up by the road, and told them."

"I'm surprised you've been out working in this cold."

"It actually made it easier for our trucks, with the ground frozen. But we got pretty cold. A couple days, they sent us home early. We're not allowed to work below 10 degrees."

"Well, I better let you get back to work. But whatever needs to get done, it's fine. We have to have dependable electricity!"

Trimmer Steve gave Jack a few pats, and left. I really don't want any more knocking. 

No offense to Trimmer Steve.

Two Idiots Don't Make A Non-Idiot

Sometimes, people can't understand the simplest of instructions. Around here, that "people" is Farmer H. And "sometimes" is all the time.

I instructed Farmer H to buy my scratchers. Gave him one of each kind, so he could see what they looked like. Made it clear that I wanted four of the $5 crosswords, and four of the $3 crosswords. I didn't care if they came from one place, or from two places. He could decide that for himself. Maybe that's where I went wrong! Farmer H had to MAKE A DECISION! And that fried his brain.

Anyhoo... here are the sample tickets I gave him to take along. 

A brown one, and a black one. Obviously crosswords.

Here is what Farmer H bought for me:

That's a $5 crossword, and a $3 bingo ticket. I don't understand how he could be mistaken.

They look nothing alike! He had a sample! Even if he didn't notice the size difference in the display case, he should have felt it when the clerk handed him the tickets. And then there's the fact that they're not even close in color, which should have been obvious in the case, and in his hand.

The FIRST time this happened, Farmer H said, "That gal gave me the wrong tickets!"

The SECOND time this happened, Farmer H said, "I asked for the right thing! They must be under the wrong number."

The THIRD time this happened, Farmer H said, "I told that gal I got the wrong tickets yesterday, and I wanted to make sure I got them right this time. She even checked, and it was what I wanted. That's a crossword, ain't it? No? Well, she said it was a crossword. We both checked it. Their machine must be loaded wrong."

Oh, so many holes in his argument. Farmer H gets my tickets at Casey's. They don't have a machine. He has to look at the display, and ask for the number that corresponds with the ticket he wants. So he must be telling that gal the wrong number. If he said they both checked it, that must mean he asked for the bingo ticket, thinking it was a crossword. And she doubled-checked the number to make sure that's what she gave him. And he looked at it and saw it was what he asked for.

The problem isn't the gal at Casey's.

Even A Bad Decision Is, At Least, A Decision

Must I do everything around here? Yes. I must. Nobody else is capable of making a decision.

Farmer H has been getting scratchers for me during this snowy cold time. I appreciate it. I give him the money, and tell him the tickets. I keep it quite simple. There is another story about that...

Anyhoo... I have been depleting my gambling cash, because except for one of the past 11 days, Farmer H has not brought me any good winners. I have some small winners, like $3 and $5. I can't imagine him being able to cash several of them in, or most definitely not scan them into the lottery machines.

Anyhoo... I gave him a $6 winner to use for buying me two $3 scratchers. I was standing by the kitchen table at 5:00 a.m., looking to see what winners I had. I chose that one. And gave him cash to get the $5 crosswords. I handed them to him around 5:45, as we sat on our respective couches.

As Farmer H was leaving at 6:00, he hollered from the kitchen.

"There's a lottery ticket on the floor!"

"And...?"

"What should I do with it?"

"Just put it on the table."

Seriously. Was my input needed for that? Could he not consider his options? What can you possibly do with a lottery ticket on the floor?

1. Leave it there. Step over it and pretend you didn't see it. Like Farmer H does with anything else that might be in his path on the floor.

2. Pick it up and throw it away. Not worried about that. No way would Farmer H actually pick up something and throw it away.

3. Pick it up and put it on the table. This seems to be common sense. For most people.

This is just ridiculous! What could Farmer H have possibly thought I wanted him to do with that ticket? It's not like he needed to bring it to me in the living room. I was going nowhere. I always have my scratchers at the kitchen table. Easy peasy.

It's just like the previous evening, when I got Farmer H's supper from the oven. It was leftover Domino's Pizza, and foil-wrapped Bread Bites. I let him put the pizza on his plate, and unwrap the Bread Bites. He shook them out of one end of the foil packet I had made for them. Then held the used foil out to me!

"Why are you doing that? Do I want to stand here and hold your used foil?"

"Huh. Well. I'll just leave it here." He said, setting it, still partially folded, on a pizza pan on the back burner.

I seriously don't know how he would survive on his own.