I did some running around yesterday. My intention in mid-week was to get lawns mowed in town, but Thursday was too busy with customers coming and going, and then Friday it poured rain.
I had many errands in the afternoon and felt rather “accomplished” in the end … recycling and garbage dealt with, shopping, delivering a gift, and visiting too.
There was at least one yard sale in McBride today, and guess what? I had resolve enough to not go in for that. Instead, I got back to weeding flower beds and made some headway. It’s daunting.
I babysat Clyde just for a day. He is a wonderful big baby dog, maturing into a joyful but sensible adult mastiff who is always welcome here. His owner and I chat in the driveway most visits, and try to get other people’s business and behaviour figured out. Because John has been in the Robson Valley 5 years and I have lived here 41, sometimes I can provide my own brand of character reference for others (and I’m usually charitable!).
Now I’m antsy about getting back to the gardens before I run out of “steam” and resolve. Will talk to you later!
So now the first part of this post is a day old. Again, I dropped the old bogging ball.
Yesterday I tackled one of the big perennial beds, and Gary came along to help. He calls himself a “demolition man”. Once he ascertains (with my advice) what are precious plants worth keeping, he can shovel and pick roots and “burn through” large sections of overgrown garden. Then, I do some fine-tuning, usually sitting down amongst the shrubbery, and I say, “in the mud and the blood and the beer”. Really, among the sweat, soil and bugs, and nasty insidious roots. Usually no blood or beer.
We made progress, and then it started to rain in the evening. I was asleep in front of the TV for awhile, then moved to bed and was wide awake. Too cold, too hot, restless and achy, unable to even close my eyes, trying not to cry.
In part, was worrying about Rae’s oldest dog and some other issues related to dogs staying here indefinitely. At 1 am., I went out to check on Taffy, as she is not able to move around at will very much, and certainly not able to enter and exit a dog house.
I didn’t like where the old gal had wedged herself and I tried to make her more comfortable. I could not get her to her feet in order to move her to a more rain proof run. Taffy’s kennel is vine-covered and stays remarkable dry. I put a rain-resistant blanket on her anyway.
In case you wonder why Taffy doesn’t stay in an indoor-outdoor kennel, this is because she is unable to get to her feet at ALL on our concrete floor. Several times per day, when Taffy had one of our executive suites, I would help this poor old overweight sweetheart outside, so that she didn’t have to defecate where she lay. Better to have her in a kennel with better footings and comfort. I still have to help her up, but she can at least make a few steps unassisted.
Despite my great hope that, with portion control of Taffy’s diet, and diligence with giving her medication, the dog is not enjoying a second puppyhood. She appears to have lost a little weight but is not a well dog. Rae reports that her dog is 15 years of age, which I say is geriatric for a golden retriever.
I was telling good friends this morning about having EIGHT refugee pets here at this time. I didn’t belabour the point … it was just conversation. They said to me, “Oh, by the way, just so you know, if we get killed in a car accident, the dogs are staying here forever. With you. No legacy fund!”. This actually lightened the mood, even considering the darkness of the humour, and I admonished them to be careful in the roads.
Today, I almost double-booked myself for grooming, so I must get ready. Nice to talk with you.