The Dog Lady Blog

I just got home thirty minutes ago; my dogs are eating fresh kibble from their food troughs, my bath water is heating on the propane stove top in the camper and in just a minute we're going on our evening constitutional, up the drive to Poo-Poo Land. Unfortunately, upon my arrival home, James greeted me a bit too enthusiastically up at our gate and got his rear left leg caught between one of the Tundra tires and the asphalt. At first he had too much "She's home!!" adrenaline coursing into his central nervous system to notice, save for the "ouch" he shouted out upon impact. It's a weird injury: the skin torn 360 degrees around his knee area is gathered around his ankle like a black fur sock. My evening is about to turn gory.

Thirty minutes later...James is hurting. I triage him, wrapping his foot, shin and knee in sterile gauze. He swallowed a double dose of pain meds and a quadruple dose of sedative, all well
hidden in two boiled eggs. Now he's relaxing inside the Tundra, listening to NPR's "All Things Considered", by himself, recuperating. He should be fairly stoned within the safe confines of the truck by the time the rest of us get back from our aforementioned stroll.

I felt an Dog versus Tundra episode coming on yesterday. Remember in my last post? And no, it wasn't a self-fulfilling prophecy. You can feel it coming on, in the air, like rain storms. The only thing that's nagging me is the inevitability of these things happening in "threes"...makes for a paranoic driving experience.

I've got a nice fire burning outside and a few of the dogs are laying around it as I write: Stokely, Fred, Judge and Chloe. Lexi, Hank and Hartley are wrestling on the porch. Others are still eating while the smart ones are getting in a couple of winks before our walk. It's getting dark.

Earlier today and on a lighter note...John Kemple returned my Troy-Bilt tiller which he
he generously and masterfully refurbished as well my chainsaw--razor sharp and ready for fun. He also brought me the last of his kale and turnips from his garden. I really love him. So much, in fact, that him being eighty years old makes my heart flutter when I think about it. He's honestly one of the top 5 coolest people I've ever known in my life. He's a total atheist and one of the happiest, most well-adjusted, gentle, genuine men you could ever have the luck to meet. I want him to live forever. I bet he will.

It's dark-dark now. The bats are chittering, flying close to the camp fire. Too late for a walk?

Funny puppies: while I was out today, the pack got hold of my suede slippers and annihilated them. They've been throwing them in the air like dead rodents, so happy, so satisfied. What am I going to do about it? Simply enjoy their enjoyment of such a fantastic "toy". That's why I never buy expensive things anymore...I remember when I lost my Orvis shearling slippers to the pack all those years ago. I don't want to care so much about material things anymore. It's exhausting.