Pepper Must Have Been Listening Outside The Door

I had everything ready for my "training session" with little puppy Pepper. The squirt bottle of water had been set on the counter by the door, ready for use the next day. I told Farmer H of the plan, and how to be brief with a "Pepper! NO!" and not give a wordy lecture. All systems were GO.

Sunday, I started out with my purse on my arm, a grease-bread treat for each dog in hand, and the squirt bottle in my elbow. It was ready for quick-draw with my empty left hand. I went past Juno's dog house (now used by Jack and Pepper) and around the corner of the porch. I could hear Pepper gallumping toward me from the front porch. Jack is more of a slow trotter.

I drew the squirt bottle, ready for action. Little Pepper stopped by my right side. Stood on his hind legs, hopping. He didn't put his feet on me! I proceeded to the top of the steps. Tossed each dog a treat. Went down the steps as Jack carried his off to the front porch, Pepper sniffed, came to me, then went back to crunch his treat.

"See you later, alligators!"

I opened the people door of the garage. Got my squirt bottle ready. But Pepper didn't run in! Pepper came down the steps and sat on the sidewalk, watching with his head tilted as I closed the people door. Well! That exercise was a bust! Pepper ran back up the steps and went looking for Jack. I opened the people door and set my "weapon" on the shelf of the side porch.

When I got home, Farmer H carried in groceries. Pepper came in the garage, then followed him out. And all the way to the kitchen. Inside, actually. I could hear Farmer H telling Pepper, "No. Go back out. Mom's not in here now."

I used the time to pet Jack on the side porch. I had picked up the squirt bottle again. Here came Pepper. He sat down beside Jack. Pepper didn't bite at my hand or wrist! Just sat to be petted. Didn't even squirm as I was trying to loosen his collar. But THEN, Pepper jumped up on Jack's shoulders, and took a nip at Jack's ear.

"PEPPER! NO!"

I gave a squirt, but Pepper was already running towards the kitchen door because he heard Farmer H coming. The water barely sprinkled across Pepper's back as he was in retreat. He turned to look at his back, puzzled, then went on his way.

I swear, Pepper must have been listening at the door the previous day, when I told Farmer H of the plan!

Pepper Is In For A Rude Awakening

My sweet little puppy Pepper is about to have his world rocked. He is growing fast, and acting like an adolescent. No more morning cuddles on the short couch. At best, he'll run in and throw himself against my legs, put his front paws on my lap, take a half-hearted nip at my hands and wrists as I pet him, then scamper back to the laundry room for his FOOD. 

That's okay. Pepper is growing up. But his rambunctiousness needs to be toned down. I am worried about him jumping up on me as I try to walk across the porch. He's pretty good about not launching himself at me. He'll jump up and put his paws on my leg. Then get behind me and follow. A true heeler. At least he is not yet poking me with his nose, trying to steer me.

Pepper had a few days of darting into the garage through the people door as I tried to leave for town. That got him a scolding. And then dragged by collar right back out that door, along with, "Pepper! NO!" Then praise as he sat on the other side, whimpering. Pepper is a pretty quick learner. He only went into the garage like that ONCE in the past several days.

I know it's hard for Pepper to understand why going into the garage is forbidden when I leave, but allowed through the garage door when I come home. Jack sometimes runs in then. No harm done. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes he gets a pat. But we can all exit through the people door.

Anyhoo... Pepper has started being MEAN to Jack. His nips are growing more serious. Jack endures it until he can't, and then returns a nip with a growl. Whereas before, just the growl would suffice.

My plan for Pepper's improper behavior employs an aid. An empty bottle of dishwashing detergent. Which isn't empty anymore. It has been rinsed of all soapy residue, and is now full of lukewarm water on the kitchen counter. 

As I leave for town, I plan to take the bottle with me. When Pepper jumps on me, he will get, "PEPPER! NO!" And a squirt in the face. The temperature is in the 60s to 80s these days. Pepper won't get a chill from being wet. He won't be blinded by suds. He will be startled. Hopefully, this will be unpleasant for Pepper. And help him learn to control his actions. He will aslo get a squirt for biting Jack. I hope Jack isn't hit with too much collateral "corrections."

If I can only get Farmer H to follow this plan, Pepper should catch on quickly what is not allowed. Unfortunately, Farmer H likes to give the dogs a lecture, rather than a clear, concise, NO!

Mrs. HM's KNEEds Are Not Being Met

Same old broken record. Since my orthopedist appointment about a knee replacement on March 5, I have not heard anything about a strategy to remedy his reason for declining such surgery. 

You may recall that the orthopedist was concerned about the redness in my lower right leg, fearing it might turn into cellulitis and spread to the joint with surgery. He advised me to see my regular practitioner as soon as possible to evaluate the situation, and get a referral to a cardiologist or lymphatic doctor.

I got an appointment with my NP on March 9. He said it looked like lymphedema, and was going to refer me to the Wound Care Clinic for evaluation and possible remediation such as pressure stockings and exercises. While in the exam room, I twice asked him if I should call there for an appointment. He said no, that THEY would call ME.

So I waited for my call. And waited. Gave them a week. I know these things don't happen overnight. Then sent a message through YourChart on March 18 to make sure that was the plan. His nurse's response was that she saw it in my file, and since they didn't seem to be able to reach me, that I should call them. 

I called the Wound Care Center on March 20 and left a message. Then called back later in the afternoon when I had no response. The gal said they didn't do lymphedema at the Wound Care Clinic. That it should be Physical Therapy. She said she would talk to my NP about it, and that somebody from Physical Therapy would call me about an appointment.

So I waited for my call. And waited. Then sent another message through YourChart on March 25, asking again if I was supposed to be getting some kind of appointment for treatment, per my discussion with NP and Wound Care. YourChart says to give 48 hours for a reply. That passed on Friday afternoon.

So I am waiting. For any kind of response. Even Farmer H has quit nagging me, and says he has no idea where to go from here, since I have tried and tried to get a response and advice.

I suppose I will call on Tuesday (March 31) to talk to a real person, who will listen disinterestedly and type up what I say and put it in a message for my NP, whose nurse will look at it and give me more useless instructions, or ignore it altogether.

It has now been three weeks since the orthopedist said I should get an appointment right away to deal with the issue. I am supposed to go back to the NP in May, to see how two months of intervening therapy have affected the problem. Right now, I don't see any point of that appointment, since it will just be the passage of two months.

I know this is not an emergency situation. But you'd think by now, I would have encountered at least one person who can do their job.

Rules For He, But Not For Me

Time to vent again. It's more of the same. Mrs. HM is tired of having one set of rules while Farmer H makes his own as he goes along. While usually I slowly simmer, today my angst has boiled over. The papercut on my left ring finger second knuckle incurred while stuffing the Lowe's payment in the envelope was the tipping point.

I was paying bills, specifically the Lowe's bill, which is hard to decipher because of how they space the itemizations. Turns out NONE of this $964 bill was for anything related to our flip houses or household  or Farmer H's SUS2.5. Nope. It was for materials Farmer H used to renovate one of the senior apartments. Now I have to wait on the reimbursement check, and make sure Farmer H deposits it in our checking account. Oh, and I just found out he is being paid EXTRA money above his more-than-$300 a month salary. 

I don't begrudge Farmer H working extra for extra money. HOWEVER... from the beginning, as a married couple, filing taxes jointly, all salaries and monies have gone into our joint accounts. Then Farmer H started his business, and decided all that was HIS money. Despite what my mom bequeathed me being OUR money. It should be one or the other. It's all ours, or we each have some separate. It's not that I NEED my own money. Just that fair for one should be fair for the other. 

I know Farmer H does all the work on the flip houses and doesn't charge "us" a fee for his labor. And the proceeds are split equally. But I also do uncompensated work, like the finances and taxes and waiting on him hand and foot, and pay the bills for his business without even a thank you. I resent that Farmer H feels entitled to have his separate money. Which is mainly fed into hoarding merchandise for his SUS2.5. Which certainly doesn't need THREE storage units for which he pays rent and electricity. Eventually, he will probably control the entire flea market!

Still, I don't need anything which I can't afford. It's not like Farmer H is spending it all on casinos and strippers and vacations. The idea of only separate funds for him is what rankles me.

When paying our lone credit card that we use for household expenses occasionally, I saw three charges to Casey's. This usually means GAS. Unless we order pizza there, which we haven't in several months.

"Hey! I see three charges to Casey's on this credit card bill. I didn't know we were paying for your gas. That's why we have our weekly cash allowances."

"I don't charge my gas to us, HM! I drive my truck all the time doing things for us and don't charge the gas. Them was when we went to the casino. In the Acadia. And when I went to the doctor. And for lawnmower gas."

"In SPARTA, ILLINOIS???"

"What? Oh. Um. I forgot to put gas in my truck before I went to Illinois. So I had to get some there."

Sure. And he had to use the credit card? Instead of the cash he always carries around? I'm not buying it. Farmer H knew exactly what he was doing. Scamming gas out of OUR money, on a trip to buy stuff for his business. I guess he doesn't know that the location of the Casey's comes up on the bill.

"Well, YOU owe US $45.85 for gas."

Am I being petty? Probably. But if a man has his own money from his business and side jobs, I think he should use it for expenses related to his business and side jobs. 

The Baby-Stepper Seems To Have Hit His Stride

Just when I think slow progress is being made in the kitchen-training of Farmer H... I am slapped in the face by reality. In this most recent case, I was slapped with liver and cornbread. From the Liver and Onion dinner Farmer H brought us home from the Senior Center.

He was too full of lunch to eat his dinner that night, when I was ready to warm it. So his was saved for the next evening. It was a warm day, and Farmer H was out on the porch with Jack and Pepper. It was only 4:00. He usually eats around 5:30 or 6:00. I was planning to change clothes and sit down with my scratchers. 

"I guess you're okay to warm up your own supper when you're ready?"

"Uh. Yeah. I guess so."

The look on Farmer H's face showed that he felt put-upon by my assumption. Too bad, so sad. He's an adult. Capable of putting food from a container in FRIG II onto a plate to microwave. It's not like I asked him to prepare a 7-course gourmet feast. If he'd been ready to eat right then, I would have put his liver in the oven to warm up while I was changing clothes, before sitting down with my scratchers routine. It doesn't disrupt my schedule when I do it while squeezing the lime for my Shasta Zero Sugar Cola.

When I came out of the bathroom in my Mansion clothes, Farmer H was in the kitchen warming his food. At 4:30!

I suppose that timing was meant to make me feel guilty. I didn't. I had taken the container out of FRIG II, and it was open on the stove. His blue plastic plate with three sections was right beside it. All he had to do was put the food on the plate, and lift it into the microwave. Which he did. Seemingly without incident.

Later, he brought the plate back to the kitchen, along with the styrofoam container that had held a large slice of lemon meringue pie. Farmer H used his knife to cut the lid off the container, so it would stack under the bottom, and take up less space in the wastebasket. I was proud of this baby step. He remembered the trash protocol. 

"Don't you run crumbs into the sink drain!"

"I KNOW, HM. I'm not."

I lost interest then, and went back to my scratching. It was later that I saw the aftermath.

Farmer H had set his plate beside the sink with mashed potato residue in one section, a piece of zucchini from the breaded tomatoes in one section, and the main section littered with crumbly moist flour particles from the liver. He had not even shaken that plate against the sides of the wastebasket, nor used his paper towel to wipe it out. He KNOWS that's how a plate should be returned to the kitchen.

But wait! The cutting block was covered with cornbread crumbs! Because Farmer H had cut the two cornbread squares in half on its surface. Not over a plate. Not on a paper towel. Just left them there, like the cutting block surface was self-cleaning.

I hollered at him about the plate.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No. You're not at all sorry. If you're really sorry, you'll clean up this cornbread mess you left on the cutting block!"

Which of course he did not. It was still there after he went to bed. Even though he'd been through the kitchen again, to take one of MY little Drumsticks from the laundry room freezer, despite his slice of pie, and having his own regular Drumsticks well-stocked.

I sense a backslide coming on.

Pepper Gets Jack-ed

Jack can be an ornery little cus. He's not a bad dog. He's just smart enough to get his way. Especially now that new puppy Pepper is loose. Pepper torments Jack by jumping on him. His favorite move is to wrap his front legs around Jack's head, in a headlock. And hang on, while Jack walks away, resigned, dragging Pepper along for a ride.

Pepper almost knocked Jack off the side porch the other day. Which is quite a feat, what with Jack being so low to the ground, and a bit... ahem... portly right now, due to Farmer H's overfeeding. We'll get to that in a moment.

I can't get a good picture of Pepper because he's so bouncy. He leaps like a sheep sometimes. He's full of puppy energy. Farmer H captured a photo on March 9. Back before Pepper was allowed loose all the time. And when he was not eating anything but his special packets of puppy food. 

It helped Farmer H that Pepper had ventured over to Shackytown Boulevard, and was tired out from an hour of play, and ready for a nap. Of course this is a zoom-in on Farmer H's original photo, which showed a whole lot of the Mansion grounds, and little bitty Pepper in the center.

Anyhoo... the point is that when they greet me as I return from town, it's hard for Jack to get petted, because Pepper jumps all over him. Pepper himself has fallen off the side porch a couple times, in his hyper excitement.

The other day, Jack just walked off towards the kitchen. I thought he might be going to get a drink, and come back to meet me as I got to the kitchen door to dole out treats. But no. Jack came walking back. He had an empty plastic water bottle in his mouth. He stopped over behind the metal chair on the side porch where Farmer H sits to wait for me to get home with groceries. 

Jack dropped the water bottle, and looked at Pepper. "Oh, sweet. They're going to play." I thought. But no. Pepper gallumped over to the water bottle, and Jack sidestepped him and came to me for uninterrupted petting. He's a clever one, I tell you!

Last week was warm. Farmer H was always sitting on the side porch when I got home. He started a habit of feeding the dogs in a big metal pan. Pepper is now eating a can of moist food these days, as well as his pouch food, which he gets in the morning. I was there to see Farmer H's feeding technique. It's not very efficient!

Farmer H pulls the lid off a can of food. Rather than turning it upside down and shaking until it falls out in a blob, he holds the big metal pan in the left hand, and with the right hand he whacks the open can on the rim of the pan. The can is at a 45-degree angle at best. Sometimes it's parallel to the ground! I don't know how Farmer H expects gravity to assist him with this technique. It takes 15 or more whacks to get that log of dog food to plop out into the pan.

Farmer H sat down and put the pan at his feet. Pepper rushed over to start gobbling the food he previously distained. Jack stood back behind the chair, watching.

"I give Pepper a can of food first. He eats it all! Then I open another can, and Pepper eats what he wants. Then Jack finishes it."

Indeed. Jack was quite the gentleman. Not crowding in. Just watching, biding his time. The second can got stuck. Half plopped out, then the other half. Pepper nibbled away at one of the lumps. Then he left the pan and came to me to bite my wrist be petted.

Jack walked calmly to the food pan. How polite! Just taking his turn now. But wait! Jack picked up the half-log of dog food in his mouth, and trotted back behind Farmer H's chair to drop it on the porch and start eating. Pepper went back and started licking the crumbs left from his already-eaten portion.

Jack is nobody's fool!

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.