The last few weeks have been jammed and packed with adventure, misadventure, death, taxes, euphoria, rescue, new dogs, old dogs and the definition of determination .
My wretched (former) bank, River City Bank in Louisville, Kentucky, thought that they were going to gut me like a fish by forcing my local Sheriff to sell my 130 acres on the Floyd county Courthouse steps on November 18
. Fortunately, and at the so-called "Eleventh Hour", my local hero and attorney, Mr. Tim Reidinger, filed Chapter 13 on November 17 (pfew)
, granting a temporary
reprieve to Save That Dog Sanctuary and it's 50 canine cohabitants! Now the fun begins...
...I must have a check for $950.00 mailed to my Chapter 13 Trustee by the 17th of each month--NO IFS, ANDS OR BUTS. So far I have $75.00. Isn't life exciting?!
Fortunately, as it should be, the dogs are are healthy, happy and oblivious to any internal brouhaha that their Alpha Dog is experiencing. Check out my http://www.petfinder.com/
page where I've FINALLY learned (with the tolerant help of Greg the Computer Guy at my library) to take care of my own "pet page". I felt like I was splitting the atom as I downloaded one adoptable dog photo after another and
in the correct location. There are always new dogs I saved that will make the perfect companion for the right person(s). I'm a matchmaker for dogs and humans when you get right down to it. It's all instinctive and I'm gooood
Today I was up at 3am, 4:15am and 5:50am due to an unprecedented "Canine Emetic Competition". Local Deer Hunting Degenerates are dumping the hacked-up carcasses of their "kills" down the holler ridges of my (typically less traveled) road. Some of my more wayward canines ("Nixon, Herman, Franny, Greta, Garth and Ellie May please
report to the camper for The No-Carrion Conference") are dragging this bad karma home. At the Sanctuary, it's been an endless game of me klutzily chasing down dogs with deer parts in an attempt to get said parts away from said dog while the remaining 4o-plus gather around to watch like spectators--if dogs could laugh, my pack would been cackling like crazy. Once I get hold of the-necrotic-decomposing-object-of-dog-desire, finally, the game ends at my eternal campfire. I toss the rancid mess into the pyre, letting the flames incinerate the unholy mess. All this drama sponsored by Local Deer Hunting Degenerates. Thanks, Bubba.
After cleaning up after the tummy troubles, I had to race to get a new addition to the pack, Daniel, to the local SNIP clinic by 7:15am for his neuter and vaccinations (paid for by the woman who originally rescued him). The room was crowded when we arrived, which was a beautiful thing--all those "enlightened" folks realizing the importance of spaying and neutering and
at 7am on a rainy Tuesday morning.
After securing Daniel's spot, I got back into my Tundra with the usual coterie that always ride along, greeting me noisily as we started toward home. The sky was still black as pitch but beautiful, too, as the sunrise began peeking up from the horizon. As we descended our scary driveway, Logan, Fred, Larry, Sammy and Dakota were waiting for me as usual, ready to escort me up to the camper where I park.
Unfortunately and uncharacteristically, Dakota got too close to the Tundra and ultimately under my left front wheel. I lurched to a stop as he wailed, railed and assailed. I looked out the door window and saw that his right rear foot and tail were caught beneath
the tire. I slowly reversed the wheel and that's when I heard it: SSSSSSSSS--hissed the "G" of my tire's Goodyear logo. Dakota had ferociously snapped a BIG hole in the rubber that was not going to wait for me to examine it. After I quickly assessed that he was not mortally wounded, I whipped the truck around and floored it to Jeff Smith's Marathon where two of the young cutie-pie mechanics informed me that Dakota's assail could not be patched; I had to replace the tire.
While I was waiting, I checked my home phone voice mail messages and found that a tree man who was supposed to cut a bit of timber this week is "too sick" (whatever). Cocktail flu, maybe. That was going to help subsidize the aforementioned $950.00 December 17 payment...the best laid plans, right?
And it's only 10:30 a.m.