Oregon Trip - Post 8 - Behind the Museum

A mossy-rock memorial:

that says,
"Blue Star Memorial By-Way
At Tribute to the Armed Forces of America Mutnomah District 14 O.S.F.G.C."


A "No Dogs" sign:

This notice was a little further along than the dog walk area where a sign asked for courteousness and supplied little plastic poop bags.
I can appreciate a convenient doggie bag ;).

And I couldn't resist snapping this picture of the "Honey Bucket:"



A brick walkway led toward the Sandy River:


And this trestle peeked out through the greenery:


This is the Sandy River, whose currents must be much more dangerous than they look:

because drownings are unfortunately common.

Clear, cold, inviting:

and dangerous.

Unless you're a goose:


Beautiful.

Skunk Dog

Skunk

The last post, 'Lazy Pictures', was not meant as an omen. I've only been lazy about blogging, not about everything else.
I've been busy at The 123 (go here to the main page or here to the blog for updates). Right now I'm laying tile (well, not really right now - right now I'm blogging when I should be tiling - See? that's why I haven't been around here much).


Maisie investigated her first skunk.
Blech.
Hopefully it will be her last.

S & I were on the deck late Saturday evening. Maisie was out patrolling, her usual evening dog duties.

"I smell a skunk," S said.
It took a few seconds for my brain to process what this meant.
My first reaction was to call the dog, but my immediate, second reaction, was NOT to call the dog.
Ugh.

The dog came anyway, wiping her face with her paws.
Then she wiped her face on S's leg.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, actually), S's dog, B, put a skunk in her mouth several months ago (maybe I can get S to tell you that story), so S knew what to do.

Here's the skunk recipe: http://home.earthlink.net/~skunkremedy/home/sk00001.htm

While I mixed this concoction, S stood at the kitchen sink with one leg on the floor and one leg in the sink, scrubbing off Maisie's smelly gift.

I lathered the dog from head to toe and left her outside to marinate.

30 minutes or so later I rinsed her out, and while she didn't smell like roses, she was tolerable enough that I didn't make her stay outside for the night.

Now, if you get too close, she has a faint skunkiness about her.
I don't know how long it will last.

Lazy Pictures

(I took the picture and then uncovered his head so he could breathe.)

I have a few reasons for posting these lazy pictures:
1. I couldn't stand the Chicago River being the first thing I saw when I came over here.
2. I'm shaking my head over Dick Cheney's little joke about West Virginia and vowing not to waste my time addressing that idiot's comments. Except to say it's obvious he's not from here. Thankfully. (Okay, stopping, really.)
3. I just came in from playing in the garden and a nap sounds pretty good right now.
4. It's going to rain -again!- and that makes the nap sound even better.

Pink Shoe Puddles

"Does Gatorade stain?"
I wasn't sure how to take this question seeing as how it came from a kid who puts his shirt on backwards everyday.
"It can, yes," I answered from the driver's seat.
I wanted to say, "Does Gatorade make a puddle on the floor or does it soak into the carpet?" but I refrained. There had been worse stuff in the back seat: a flattened, oozing banana with a halo of fruit flies, moldy peanut butter sandwiches squished inside a baggie (hopefully inside), green string cheese, and the occasional dog biscuit that was overlooked in favor of something tastier - rotten-er.
We have a dog because it's easier than using the vacuum cleaner - she can really get into all the small spaces without the inconvenience of an attachment.
"Will it come out of my socks?"
It's red Gatorade.
I'm sure the socks are a lovely shade of pink.
They'll go well with the inside-out and backwards underwear.


***I wrote this last summer and never posted it.
Relevant updates:
My son doesn't put his shirt (or underwear) on backwards everyday anymore, just every once in a while; he's growing up.
By now, you've already become acquainted with the dog.

Springtime and Dog Abuse

It's a shame dogs don't do things like carry in groceries, read to the kids, go over homework or fix supper.
Dogs eat, sleep, and bark occasionally to tell you that the meter reader is outside (gee, thanks).
So why is it that we keep them around?
I just recently paid someone else $60 to bathe and shave (remember I said she was bald?) my dog. Add to that the cost of food, tick treatment, heartworm pills, the yearly vaccinations, the $2/year county tax (!?) and it adds up fast. So, I've been analyzing Maisie's place in our household in an attempt to justify her continued residence and expense.
At first glance, the dog appears to be only a leech consumer and we should take her to the humane society immediately in order to save money and cleaning time and energy.
But I like her, so to put it into perspective, I created a list of ten good reasons to keep her around:

1. Maisie is cheaper than any one of the kids and I don't hear the constant refrain 'I need a new pair of shoes' coming from the dog.
2. She's great at fetch. (Try to get one of the kids to fetch something for you. Yeah, right.)
3. She makes a great walking companion.
4. She doesn't interrupt me when I talk. (For that alone she is safe from a massive inflation of the county dog tax.)
5. She listens. Not only listens, but OBEYS! Imagine! (Most of the time. Definitely more often than the children. This could be due to her lack of brains.)
6. She cleans spilled food off the floor.
7. Grunt, the teenager, yells at the dog as stress relief. Yeah, I know, poor dog, but think about what would happen if the dog wasn't there: poor me.
8. She's always happy to see me (sometimes too happy, but dog slobber is part of the package, I suppose).
9. She does not complain.
10. She doesn't question everything I do; she accepts me and all my idiosyncrasies without comments such as, "Mom, you're weird." (Note to kids: I'm alright with being weird; please leave me alone.)

My children have nicknames for the dog. I banned name calling amongst the children (like that worked), so they take it out on the dog. The dog doesn't seem to notice being called something that would send one of the children into a screaming hysterical fit and she loves the attention. Here are a few examples:

• Fattie
• The Fat
• Fat-iator (think Gladiator -thanks to the odd humor of S & T for that one)
• Maggot (this one gets a rise out of me; the dog is impervious)
• Slimeball
• Hairball
• Lard
• Lardy-cakes (ha!)
• Fattie-pants
• Fat Lard
• Stupid
• Idiot

Are you beginning to see the general theme here? Lack of intelligence, icky-ness, and obesity. What a great way to boost the dog's self-esteem, huh?

The name-calling has a definite lean toward the fatness theme, though Maisie is not fat (and I'm not just saying that to be nice because she really doesn't care), but she is big. Big is not big enough. Huge. Giant. Yes, really, she is. I'm used to her, so I don't really notice, but when my children bring friends over I always hear, "Holy cow! That's the biggest dog I've ever seen!" Once that's out of the way and they realize that Maisie just wants to kiss them and not eat them, things are usually okay. Most of the time. Some of the kids remain terrified.

The day I was to take her to get shaved, I warned everyone before they left for school so there would be no surprises or shocks. Well, that didn't work out so well because everyone was shocked. Of course there was the initial 'Wow, she looks weird' surprise, but the lasting shock was 'She's not fat!' With all that hair she was fluffier, but not fat. I knew she wasn't fat. I told the kids she wasn't fat. Still, it was shocking for them to realize that she wasn't fat. Probably because they had convinced themselves just by regularly calling her fat.

There's an obvious moral lesson here, but I'm running out of time, so I'll let you work that out for yourselves (are you reading this, kids?).

Anyway, the fat names haven't stopped and aren't likely to stop anytime soon. Old habits are hard to break (there's another one for ya, kids). However, 'Bald-y' and all variations have been added to the usual line-up. I'm just happy I don't have to clean up the spring shedding.

And the dog? Well, she seems perfectly happy, as usual. She hasn't noticed the new 'Bald' comments and she doen't seem to mind that she looks like one of those rubbery, stretchy, twisty toys with the big head and skinny little body and limbs. And as usual, she takes the fat comments as compliments of attention. What a lovely, oblivious, happy way to exist.

Did I mention that her tail looks like a dust mop?

And her ears look like radar dishes?

She had so much hair, I had to shorten her collar. Really.

I couldn't resist adding another view picture. If you want more, I posted a bunch of them over on the Taylor County Blog site.

Insects, Sunshine, & Baldness

• It's apparent that I'll have to specify 'fiction' when I post it. 'Roach Motel' was mistaken by at least several people as a real report on how my day was going. Most were able to figure it out before they got too far, but one was a new reader. I hope I didn't scare her away.
• I am thankful that roaches are not on my daily to-do list. Neither is vacuuming, although it probably should be. However, I am certain that there are other people out there, like the young woman in the flash, who are not so fortunate.
• You'll notice that I edited the 'Roach Motel' post title to include 'Flash Fiction.' I figured it couldn't hurt.
• Speaking of insects: they're back. It was warm enough to sit outside yesterday evening and the insects thought it was warm enough, too. I will gladly take a few gnats and mosquitoes to go along with this gorgeous weather.
• For the second time in a week I took advantage of the warm temperatures and gentle sunshine to take a walk in a place that I don't normally go. And for the second time in a week I did not bring my camera. Be assured that I saw many beautiful things: a hillside draped in the soft comfort of Virginia Bluebells, Spring Beauties, Violets, a bumblebee, two deer grazing quietly just up the hill from where I walked, and, unfortunately, plenty of Garlic Mustard -both 1st and 2nd year plants- and Japanese Knotweed already much higher than any Pokeweed I've yet to see this year.
• My comfrey is up in the garden. It's the first robust sign I've seen from out there so far this year - myself included.
• Yes. I have been very lazy and late with the spring gardening.
• The strawberries survived. We will have fresh strawberries come June.
• Maisie is bald. Yep. You read that right. My big hairy dog got shaved down to nubblies. I will take pictures. (Ha! No more shedding this spring!)

No Dog Potty

I'm going through some picture files; I came across this:




This was written on a fence by the Hardees in Philippi.

Yes, I know my sense of humor is a bit odd.

:)

Quick Check

What have I been doing?

1. Research for what will probably be my next book. I've had two false starts this past year and, even with all the other stuff going on, I hope to make this idea stick. A 75,000 word novel...? Anyway, I spent several hours today looking through wills from as early as 1844 through 1950. Much more to say, but moving on.... (I said this was a quick check, remember?)
2. Floor planning for The 123. Using my own brain (including common sense and construction know-how), multiple books, & our consultants, I've come up with a floor plan. That I will alter. Again. And again.... I'm getting closer, though.
3. Getting outside as much as possible even though the weather is crappy in an attempt to stave off (is that a real usage for 'stave' or am I making it up?) the winter blues.
4. Looking for a giant coffee cup. Really.
5. Building The 123's new website and trying to organize it so that it makes sense. I want to pack in tons of info, but it's bare bones right now; I'm building and leaving room without making it seem too skimpy right now. Or at least I'm trying.
6. Drawing pictures of what the outside main entrance will look like.
7. Trying to keep the laundry pile from taking over the basement.
8. Trying to keep the dirty dishes from taking over the kitchen.
9. Trying to keep the kids from taking over my sanity.
10. Trying to keep the dog's foot from getting infected.
11. Trying....

So, lots of 123 stuff. Lots of normal stuff. Lots of stuff.

Snowy Pictures

My camera uses 'AA' batteries, but my camera is on the fritz. I'm using PC's and the battery is a little box thing slightly bigger than the memory card that you take out and put into a niche in it's charge box that plugs into the wall. Complicated. But at least it works. And I suppose there is much to be said for rechargeable batteries.

Anyway, the battery is charged and here are the pictures -as promised, starting with scenery:

Of course, Maisie came with me:

The wind just about cleaned this hill:

Maisie being her regular goofy, frolicking self:

The temperature barely made it into the 20s today, but the forecast is saying 40 degrees tomorrow and 50 by Sunday. I'm sure the kitchen floor will progress nicely from wading pool to mud bog.

Dog Puke

"Mommy?"

"Eh?" I was startled awake, but just enough to answer, not enough to be alarmed.

"Mommy, Maisie puked on the carpet in my room."

Argggh!
!#&%effing dog.

Oh, yes...Today's Gratitude...

Today's Gratitude:

I am thankful for my giant hairy friend.


Even if she is a whiner. :)

Scared-y Dog

It's been rainy and gray all day and now the wind is starting to pick up. The Hairy Monster hates it when the wind blows.

I took the day off from my grueling work-out schedule because my knee has been hurting (whine) and I'm up for a lower body day that consists of two-bazillion lunges and at least as many squats (whine). Instead, for my day of rest, I took Maisie for a walk (hopefully) long enough to keep her from waking me up in the middle of the night to (whine) tell me the wind is blowing.

Flooded Driveway

PC took this picture. That's me on the other side of the bridge. I walked down with Maisie to get a look at the waterfalls (I'll see what I can do for pics of those, too). PC and the kids were on the road side of the bridge in his truck taking a look at the flood. Yep, there's a little wooden bridge under the water. It's been there for at least 40 years, so other than a little erosion around the edges, it's still in good shape now that the water is back down.

Aaaaaack!

I'm not even going to post a word count for NaNoWriMo.
Let's just say it's not going so well.
I cannot get my head into the story because I am firmly anchored here in reality with a feverish child and my own (very) early case of cabin fever brought on by being homebound this whole week.
On the bright side, the feverish child seems to have recovered (mostly) because he has been teasing the dog into a frenzy.
I'm going outside to play fetch.

Turd in a Snack Bag

As promised, here is a post from the pseudonym blog. While strange, it's funny. I guess I don't know why I can't post funny over here.

This was originally posted on October 8, 2007.

Here it is:

I took my Hairy Monster to the vet this morning; it's annual check-up time.

Because today is Columbus Day, the kids are home from school and that means that we didn't get up as early as usual. And that, in turn, means that no one ate breakfast on the normal schedule. That includes the dog. And eating breakfast late means the morning shit is late, too.

Generally speaking, I don't give a shit when the dog takes a shit, as long as she goes far enough from the house that I don't have to smell it or step in it (luckily, we have enough room to run that I don't have to know about it at all - most of the time). However, a stool sample is required to check for intestinal parasites. So today I had to give a shit when (and where) she gave a shit.

('Tapeworm' just doesn't have the same happy sound as 'intestinal parasite'.)

So I fed her -late- and let her out to do her business. I took a cup of coffee outside with me and I watched.

Scouting for shit.

I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

My coffee was gone and still no shit.

I brought her back in and made her sit with me while I paid bills and straightened my desk and fixed my calendar for the week.

We went back out. Same shit: NO shit.

We came back in.

I should have remembered to ask the vet about the acceptable age of the required stool sample.

Does it have to be fresh?

Can it be from last night or yesterday morning?

What about week old shit? Like when I actually call to make the appointment and I'm thinking about collecting shit and reminding myself that I have to do it: I'm thinking about it right then; can I collect the shit then and save it until I come in?

Should I refrigerate it? Or does that kill the worms? Do they have to be alive to detect them?

It would be much easier to put a turd in a Tupperware container (make that a Gladware container - they're cheaper and I won't mind throwing it out so much) and save it. That way I'm not out waiting for a bowel movement right before I have to leave.

Late for shit. (Try using that as an excuse, kids!)

I'm the only one who actually reheats and eats leftovers around here (I pack them for my lunch every day), so it's not like someone else would come across the lonely little nearly-frozen, potentially worm-y turd in the refrigerator.

I had given up on collecting a fresh sample; it was late and we had to go.

I cut up a piece of bologna and put it in the Gladware container instead. If she couldn't take a shit, at least she would have a reason to act like she has some manners. Then I grabbed her leash and although she'd already been out several times this morning, she got all excited and drool-y.

Like normal.

And then I showed her the bologna and she jumped around and drooled some more.

If going for a walk is a treat, going for a ride is the doggy equivalent of a banana split.

She was so excited she took a shit.

Which is what I wanted, but not when I wanted.

I put her in the car and told her to wait.

Luckily, I had the bologna, so she listened.

I couldn't bear to part with the bologna because then she would act like an asshole without a brain in the veterinarian's office.

And that makes me feel like an asshole. Plus, it makes me mad to feel like an asshole.

So, I opened the trunk to see what else I could find to deposit my warm collection in.

Being the good mother that I am, I always have plenty of shit in the trunk. Usually garbage and cast-off snack remnants from various soccer games and football games and miscellaneous activities (if I were a better mother, I'd probably clean out the car, too, but there's a limit).

The best I could do was a snack-sized zipper bag. So the snack-sized zipper bag it was.

Nothing like a warm, mushy turd in a see-through plastic bag.

Being a mother, I've had plenty of experience with gross stuff. Part of the job description is 'Shit Scooper' and 'Vomit Vacuum.' After enough years of being the main household cleaner-upper of various body excrement, the gag reflex becomes much less pronounced.

This morning that was very fortunate.

I think the veterinary technician who took the bag of shit from me must have been a mother, too.