Last day of July 2014

I'm not entirely sure how it got to be August already AGAIN. Summer is half over and my tomatoes still haven't even developed little BBs. It's not right. But I did get several zucchini that I donated to the food shelf, though the response that I got when I dropped them off was "Oh no...zucchinis." I wondered if that were a commentary on the amount of zucchini they have already received or on the preferences of the people who get food from the food shelf. Perhaps next year I will ask them what kind of produce they would most desire rather than thinking solely about what kind of produce I can actually grow. Not that those two things will actually coincide in any way, but it might be a challenge worth pursuing.

Today I came home for lunch and was excited and surprised to see my brand spanking new social security card in the mail! They said two weeks, but it only took four business days! I felt a little like Navin Johnson in The Jerk (played by Steve Martin) - hopping around "my social security card is here! my social security card is here!" (This will make sense only if you have seen the movie and get the reference.) It's kind of surreal. I mean, yes, I knew that I did change my name, but on the other hand, IT WAS ACTUALLY DONE! I spent a little time practicing my new signature before signing the card, but really it's still a work in progress.

Marv has a group of wood carvers in town this week and we meet every evening for dinner. Today one of the women asked me if I ever practiced my signature when I was a kid. I said, Well, I practiced signing my first name and the last name of the boy that I loved at that moment, but my OWN name? No, not really. You know what's funny, is that now I can't even remember any of those boys I had a crush on in school. Even though I was so completely devastated that my love was unrequited at the time.

I got to dinner at The Depot a bit late tonight, but Marv was kind enough to save me some walleye. Several of the women (and none of the men, I'd like to point out) were shocked that I would eat "cold" walleye. (It was still lukewarm, by the way.) Who are these people and how did they get to be so bourgeois that they won't eat food if it isn't served piping hot? I explained to the woman next to me that it was fine and that I'm not a picky eater. And the woman across from me said, in a rather disdainful way, "How do you like cold walleye?" I said, "About as well as I like hot walleye." Which I guess sounded like I don't like walleye at all, but really only meant that I like it exactly the same. It doesn't matter to me. Someone actually suggested that I send it to the kitchen to have it heated. I mean REALLY!

It made me wonder a bit when we suddenly became so concerned with food that temperature was a potentially disqualifer for eating perfectly good food. I mean, it's not like it's mayo that's been sitting under a blazing sun for four hours. It's walleye that's been perfectly broiled and sitting on a plate for twenty minutes cooling to room temperature. Not only will it not kill me, but it tastes just fine.

So I ate my piece of walleye and half of a baked potato and the woman to my left says, "Well, you certainly polished that off!" And I was so sorry that she was leaving for home tonight and wouldn't be back tomorrow.

One of the women down the table eats like a little bird and always sends food home for our dogs, which is very sweet of her. I chose not to share with her that her walleye filet was lovely for lunch yesterday. And not for the dog. And guess what I'm having for lunch tomorrow? That's right ladies, not only will I eat a room temperature piece of fish, but I'll eat YOUR leftovers for lunch tomorrow. And I'll LIKE it!

Lunch today was less than stellar. We need to go grocery shopping, so what we have in the fridge is primarily condiments. So for lunch I had a piece of bread with chopped pickles, onions, tomato and mayo topped by swiss cheese and broiled. I can't recommend that one. But it was edible. (So you can only imagine that broiled walleye - at any temperature was a pretty big treat.)

I could have eaten the zucchini that was in the fridge, but it seemed like it would require more preparation than my lunch time would allow, so I figure I'll eat it Saturday when I can really look at it and contemplate my plan of attack. I also have a lot of rhubarb, so likely this weekend I'll whip something up with that.

I have my name-change get together Sunday. I hope my guests have appropriately low expectations, because I'm really not doing much outside of mowing the lawn and slicing up some things. I actually don't even know what I was thinking when I suggested it. I don't have parties, and I don't know what one does at a party. I suppose one grills? But I don't know if I even have propane. And where do people sit? Where do they eat? Ah, well, it's only Thursday night. I'll figure that out on Saturday. No need to get ahead of myself. Right now I just have to remember where I left my iced coffee and watch some TV. :)

What a day! At the moment, I'm hiding in the upstairs bedroom with the music cranked. Why? Because the rat terror downstairs will NOT stop barking. She's in her kennel at the moment because she attacked Nikki (the other dog) AGAIN. Her separation anxiety is just out of control. I tried to go downstairs a few minutes ago and sneak out the back door, but it didn't work. She heard me and commenced her wailing. So I'm back upstairs in the cat's room listening to Johnny Cash as loud as the computer will go. If I thought I would survive the jump from the second floor window, I'd go out that way. I am considering medication (her or me, I haven't decided yet), or boarding her for the next five days.

I love country music, but I have stuff to DO, and I can't leave this room without hearing her bark. She has SUCH bad separation anxiety that I can't even go to the bathroom without her screaming incessantly. And I can't take her in the yard off - leash because she can get under the gate. I can't get anything done because I can't have her and my dogs in the same area because she attacks Nikki. I had her on the leash in the yard with me, and Nikki just got too close and Dottie went for her! I put her in her crate, and was trying to get some work done, and she just SCREAMED without pause or stop. 

This morning I took her to the dog park for an hour and ran her around for a mile and a half and then walked her two miles this afternoon. I give her marrow bones to chew, etc. etc. Everything that has worked for EVERY other dog I've had with SA fails miserably with her. Nothing wears her out. Nothing keeps her interested. She just wants to bark and scream unless I actually just hold her in my lap. (In which case, she's fine as long as Nikki stays away...which isn't fair to my dogs and I can't just SIT there all weekend.) I have her for five more days (three already) and I think I'm going to lose my mind. 

So basically, I've exhausted everything I can think of short of Benadryl. I had to come upstairs and turn on the music loud and my dogs are outside (I can still hear her screaming outside, so there's nowhere to go to get away from it.) Gypsy doesn't want to come in the house because then she's trapped with the screaming.

I have been advised by a local animal rescue that I can give her a half of a Benadryl. And myself a glass of whisky.

Yesterday morning I got a perky email from my older sister reminding me that her little dog would be visiting. I vaguely recalled an exchange some time earlier that went (in my memory) like this:
"Hey, we're going on vacation! Can you watch Dottie?" and I thought about it for about a millisecond and responded, "Sure."

End of discussion, right?

Well, apparently there's a point at which that "sure" becomes "Yes, today, please!" because Dottie arrived yesterday and I've spent the last 24 hours trying to figure out what happened between "vacation" and "sure."

Today at work, Bob asked me what, exactly I meant when I said the dog screamed all the time, so I did my imitation of Dottie's crescendo from a mere irritating whine to a full boar ear-piercing scream. When I finished, he was suitably impressed and remarked that he once knew a dog who sounded exactly like that. I didn't ask what happened to the dog.

But actually, the fact that I can present her with the novelty of chewing on marrow bones and other things does seem to mitigate her craziness a bit. I also gave her a peanut butter-filled frozen Kong today. I can't actually find the Kong, but I'm just going to assume it's in her crate somewhere and push aside the slight concern that she actually ate the whole thing.

She also makes my other dog, Nikki, seem comparatively sane, which is no mean feat. When I got home yesterday, Nikki was barking her fool head off all the way out the door and across the lawn. Then she stood barking at the fence until I walked through the house from the front door (where she'd exited the premises) to the back door where I bade her - in what now seems a needlessly churlish way - to get her hairy butt back in the house and shut her pie hole. Ah, what I would give for a bark that were so easily stopped!

My dogs have never had it so good. We took the dogs to the dog park yesterday to get out some of Dottie's electrified energy, and it seemed to have some effect as she was quiet all night, which actually surprised me greatly. So this morning we went again! The dogs are stoked to have Dottie as a guest as it seems to mean that everyone gets great things to chew on and daily trips to the dog park. YAY!

Yesterday evening I very nearly implored Marv to save himself and stay home, but trooper that he is, he opted to take his chances. I, not being so trusting, made him promise that if he didn't sleep all night due to this decision, he forfeited his right to be a pain in the ass because he was exhausted. He promised. We shook on it. And then we went to Walmart and stocked up on chewing apparatus (for the dogs.) (Is that apparati?)

I was prepared to let Dottie chew on a live cow if it would make her stop her incessant whining and barking. And, by God, it worked! She didn't start barking again until Marv came downstairs this morning.

I came home for lunch and came and left to the sounds of whining and barking though. And tonight it's been an entertaining evening of watching Nikki eyeballing the crate full of chewables and Dottie guarding them. Dottie wants to take the items out of the crate - no doubt to parade around in front of Nikki and Gypsy, but she has had to learn the hard truth that she can go in the crate and she can come out of the crate. But the treats stay locked up. Gypsy, like Dottie, gets snappish and crabby when treats are on the line, so there are NO treats outside of crates.

At night we're "locked down" now. Nikki in a crate, Dottie in a crate, and Gypsy is in the Big House. In other words, there's a gate stopping her from going in the kitchen or downstairs, and a gate stopping her from going down the hallway upstairs and to the bedrooms, but she has the livingroom and dining room to herself. Three cats were locked in the "cat rooms" upstairs, and poor Basil was wandering the house - wherever he goes at night

Well, one day down, and only nine more to go!