Coffee heat rising

Pets

How DO they know???

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LOL! Just as I was about to stroll off to the Sprouts, along comes 

ROARRRRRR ROAARRRR ROOOOAAAARRRR!!!

Dayum! It’s Gerardo and his boys. 

Raising the question: How do those guys know when I’m in the middle of something that I can’t easily knock off, or just about to head out the door and need to get going?

They must have some kinda mental telepathy. ‘Cause it never fails. 

No kidding. Absolutely NOTHING can be going on, but when I get up to haul on some clothes and trudge to…where?

* a grocery store
* the Walgreen’s
* the veterinarian
* the dentist’s office
* a doctor’s office
* or just to a trailhead on the side of North Mountain…

THERE THEY ARE!

Sheeeee-ut! 

Now I’ve gotta sit around for 45 minutes, serenaded by leaf-blowers, weed-whackers, and assorted other noise-makers…waiting for them to get done so I can pay them for their (back-breaking!!) work.

Seriously: How these fellas survive a summer in this place just plain escapes me. It is hotter than the Hubs out there — I believe 112 was predicted for today — and they are working like mules. Even with top-of-the-line gasoline-powered tools, that job is best described as A Bitch. I can’t even imagine trying to do it at 11:30 a.m. on a 112-degree day with a 24% chance of rain.

And, since my Dear Son has kiped my car, to do the couple of local errands I was about to launch into, I’ll have to walk through even more ungodly heat, or else hire an Uber cab and pay for two rides (one to the stores; one back to the house). Neither of those are appealing options.

Apparently, a few of the grocery stores around here will deliver. But that poses its own problem: Most Americans do NOT know how to select produce. And since most of my diet consists of fresh fruits, vegetables, and meats, about 2/3 of what I order is likely to be…uhm…somewhat wanting.

*****

Our boys FLY through the (gawdawful) yard clean-up. And they charge me $100 for a job that the boss usually does for $80.

Grrrrr.

But truth to tell: I ain’t complaining. It’s hotter than hell out there, and they do a damn good job…

but…

OH HELL AND DAMNATION!

They’ve gone off and left the side gate open!

RUBY!

RUBY!!!

WHERE ARE YOU????

Shoot out the door, trying to chase down the dog!

Incredibly, she hasn’t gone far. Matter of fact, she’s in the house. Thank the Gods and all their angels.

Once that little dog takes off down the street, she is GONE. And unassisted, she’s unlikely ever to make her way back here.

*******

Godlmighty. MAKE THIS DAY STOP!!!!!

Makes the Old Folkerie Look Good…

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Gawd, I never imagined I’d have any such thought!  But here it is, not even 6 in the morning, and I’m being blitzed with hassle after hassle after HASSLE.

Got to take the dog for a walk before it gets hot — which means we’ve gotta get out the door NOW.

The pool is suffocating in dead leaves. WHERE is Pool Dude????  Amazon just delivered a new net for the leaf catcher, the original having plain worn out. 

Put that out back with a note for Pool Dude. No guarantee the guy is gonna show up.

Pool cleaning is one of the “professions” for which the state prison system trains its residents. So…that means chances are good that your pool cleaner is an ex-convict: not exactly the soul of reliability. I should wait here and see if he shows up, but you KNOW that if I do that, the dog will not get out for her walk. Because…

* The guy won’t show up before 10 a.m., by which time outside temps will be pushing 108 degrees; or
* The guy won’t show up at all.

Meanwhile, to get to the grocery store on foot before it gets too hot to walk up there (my son having purloined my car), I need to get started on that errand NOW.

But I can’t do that and take the dog for a walk. And even if I leave for the store right now, by the time I get back it will be too hot to take Ruby out.

My son is probably right: the time draws nigh when I will no longer be able to stay in my home. I’ll either have to move into an apartment (and what am I gonna do with the dog?) or into an old-folks storage bin (and what am I gonna do with the dog?).

Actually, I think some of those places will let you keep your dog. Ducky: how do you keep her from yappiing at every footfall that comes up the hallway?

Speaking of footfalls: better get the dawg out for her walk before the heat comes up: i.e., NOW.

“The Sound of Freedom”…

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Yeah. This morning the weather conditions are perfect: we’re being serenaded nonstop by the “Sound of Freedom,” as my mother used to put it while she perched on her back porch over morning coffee.

Noooo, muther, I used to think. That’s the sound of World War III, comin’ our way.

It never seemed to register with her that those fighter jets weren’t up there for pretty. They weren’t up there to amuse the locals.

They were up there to practice blowing civilization back to the Cave Man Era.

They’ve been blasting away all morning. They start as dawn cracks.

It’s almost 8:30, and we’re still getting ROOOOOAAAAARRRRRR ROOOOAAAARRR ROOOARRR from the air base near Sun City — a good 20 miles away. The racket whams through your solid block walls: there’s no escaping it.

{oh, this is nice: WordPress refuses to insert a link. Check it out: https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/glendale/2019/05/17/late-night-f-35-flights-luke-air-force-base-common-during-summer-months/3694405002/}

Really, if my son weren’t here I wouldn’t live in the Valley on a bet.

Dunno, though, where you’d go to escape. Anyplace within 40 or 50 miles is gonna be shuddering with jet engine noise. And the racket no doubt is with us forever…at least for our foreseeable lifetime.

Yea, verily… If my son weren’t here, you can be sure I’d be somewhere else. WHERE else, though, remains a bit of a mystery. Might have to move out of the state. Tibet, maybe???

***

Speaking of morning rackets:

yappa whine
yappa whine
yappa yappa yappa yappa
yap yap WHINE!

Get off duff. Put computer down. Let the dog out.

Let more noise in: rrrrooooarrrr roarrrrrr rrrooaaar…

Any question why the Old Bat is a crabby harridan?

****

LOL! Where could one go that would be quieter?

In theory, the ranch should be, if only it were still accessible to its former owners. But…it’s not.

The ranch sits on the edge of the Mogollon Rim, overlooking the Valley. The West Valley, where Luke Air Force Base reigns noisily supreme. So you’re not gonna get away from much airplane racket up there.

That notwithstanding… {sigh}… I do so miss the ranch. It was beautiful.

Wonder what Ruby would make of a cow? Probably not much, before one of them booted her into the middle of next year.

A ranch dawg, she ain’t! 😀

R-O-O-O-O-A-A-A-A-R-R-R-R

Beloved Pool Dude!

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Dogs know.

HOW they know escapes me. Can they read a calendar? It appears not. Do they have Dog Telepathy? That must be it.

Ruby the Corgi loves, adores, and worships Pool Dude. Seriously: she thinks that guy is the best thing that has ever walked across the surface of the planet.

Pool Dude comes around on Tuesday. And I’ll be damned if she does not know when it’s Tuesday.

Can she read a calendar? One would think not: she’s a DOG, after all. Besides which, the only calendar in the house hangs on a wall in my office, halfway to the ceiling. Even if she could read it, she couldn’t see it well enough to parse out the day of the week.

But come any Tuesday morning, that dog is standing at the door waiting for him.

And OH! The joy when she spots him.

My joy, too: the man keeps that pool sparkling clean. He’s amazing…and he does it with just one visit a week. When I tried to keep it clean, I’d be dorking with it every day…and I sure never got it to look like it does now. Not one day a week, to say nothing of seven days a week. But one weekly trip from Pool Dude keeps the thing looking pristine: every day!

Arf!!!

Coyote Morning

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Urban coyote

Out the door around 7:30: the little dawg and I head out for her favorite route, circumnavigating the park.

It’s a beautiful morning. Clear, not too smoggy, cool enough to be just this side of cold but not really cold. And as we trot along, who should we come nose-to-nose with but…oh yeah! Wile E. Coyote…

Ohhh shee-ut.

What could make a more delicious breakfast than a 30-pound corgi?

Fortunately, I happen to have in hand  a shilelagh that passes as a walking stick — carried for just such an encounter.

Dayum.

Wile E. is the reason I can’t just let Ruby out in the back yard to do her thing, whilst I go on about my business fixing breakfast or dinner. The local coyotes will ghost right over your six- or eight-foot backyard wall and take off with your dwarfish dog.

At any rate…we make our way past the local wildlife without incident. Short-cut through Lower Richistan without incident — probably because a fair number of workmen are out puttering around. Make it back to the house without incident. Hallelujah.

ohhhh well. Give me a four-legged predator over the two-legged variety, any time.

😮

Wow! I’m in!!

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Dunno how, but for reasons unknown WordPress just let me back into Funny about Money.

Yeah. Here we are, coming onto midnight. The crazy-making Ailment is kicking up, making every tap on the keyboard HURT. And now the goddamn system goes down.

Yeah. Now I can’t get back into my li’l website.

Wander off. Go over to Dropbox. Mess with Google News. Dodge another gunshot. Wonder where the cops are (they usually show up when the bullets start to fly).

Put the dishes in the washer and turn on the machine. Come back to bed. Lift the dog onto the bed. Climb under the covers. Hear the cop copter returning…hmmmm…he’s a ways to the north.

That means the pistol-waving clowns are probably on Main Drag North.

Charming.

Oh well: at least they’re not in the back yard.

Rub CBD cream into the buzzing hands. Console self with reflection that the pain and tingling actually have backed off considerably.

Seriously: just now only the soles of the feet and the palms of the hands are buzzing like an electric current was flowing through them. Earlier, that buzz extended up the forearms to the elbow, up the lower legs to the knees, over the lips, and through the upper gums.

Palms and soles, I can live with.

Let the dog out. Wait till she does Her Thing and then call her back in — in addition to the melody of gunshots ringing out, it’s also the Coyote Hour. Those li’l pups jump over your backyard wall and will go after your dog if you’re stupid enough to let your dog out.

What. A. Place.

Dog gets on the bed.

Stick the new dirty dishes in the washer. Turn it on. Come back to bed. Rub CBD cream into the tingling hands.

Interestingly — oddly — the buzz of peripheral neuropathy has backed off a little. Not gone, by any means…but just now it’s significantly milder. BUT…whatever ails me is causing my fingernails to lift off their beds. That hurts, but not as much as one would expect.

Just what I need: to have my fingernails fall off!

😀

Ain’t life in Olde Age grand?