I Am Married and I Have A Girlfriend

I Am And I Do......wanna See My Girl?

Her name is Beulah.  She is a dog that I did not want.  We have three.  Four years ago, my wife and daughter told me we needed a third dog because the two we had were old and were not likely to be around much longer.  I refused.  "Absolutely not, under no circumstances,"  said I.  She was from an unwanted litter.  A friend raises Black Labs and Border Collies.   An unplanned rendezvous between the breeds resulted in Beulah and her litter mates.  "But Dad!  She is Free," my daughter pleaded.  "No!  We do not need another animal!" My insistence was futile.  Home she came.  Not only has she turned out to be the best dog I have ever owned, but she latched on to me in spite of my not wanting her.  And yes, the other two dogs are still around.  One is 15 and the other is 18 now.

I told my daughter that I got to name her since apparently I was going to get no say in whether or not she came home to us.  I told her that her name was going to be Fart Blossom and she could not be called Blossom.  My daughter said "No Problem."

There was an old gal that lived in town here when I was young who's name was Beulah.  She was a bit of a kleptomaniac and the local store owners had taken to following her around their establishments so they could write down what she pocketed and then later bill her.  No one had the heart to deal with her thievery in a conventional manner.  I changed the dog's name to Beulah because she stole our hearts. 

I wrote this story 4 years ago.  The older dogs have since passed and two new dogs were rescued from the humane society as well.

Beulah mentored the first rescue, Karlie, who has become a very friendly dog.

As I wrote in a previous blog, Beulah has become diabetic and blind.  While this slowed her down a bit, her personality never changed.  Still the smartest dog I ever had.

Two mornings ago, I awoke at my usual 4 AM and Beulah was not sleeping on the floor on my side of the bed as she normally does.  This in and of itself was not completely unusual, however as I walked into the kitchen, she was sitting in front of the refrigerator.  She heard me and attempted to stand and seemed to have lost the function of her rear legs.  One partially and one completely.  My heart sank as I attempted to help her to stand and it was impossible.   I carried her outside and she urinated while sitting, making a mess of herself.  I took her into the laundry room and cleaned her up and spread a blanket on the floor, put some water in front of her (which she tentatively drank) and a bit of food.

She still seemed completely alert during this whole episode, and while I showered, I hoped that I would find her standing and wagging her tail waiting for me to let her out of the laundry room, but knowing that it would not be so.

I have had many dogs over the years.  Some have passed naturally and some I have had to help along.  It has never been an easy task.  Under other circumstances, it was made easier by the fact that the animal was obviously suffering or in distress.

Other than not being able to stand, Beulah seemed to be completely herself.  Alert, responsive and licking my hand as I pet her head.  She showed no signs of pain or distress.  This didn't change what needed to be done, it only made it harder.

My age and Beulah's personality made it impossible.  I called the vet, who is quite some distance away and explained the situation.  He told me to bring her in.  The first time in my life I have ever passed this responsibility off to another.  I am embarrassed and sad that I was unable to do this last thing for her, but she was too close.

I put some blankets in the front seat of the car and loaded Beulah in.  As I was driving away, my wife crying caused me to tear up as well.  Beulah squirmed herself around and layed her head in my lap as we drove.  I fed her treats as we drove and she sniffed my pocket and licked my hand.

When we arrived at the vet, a couple hours later, I took her out of the car and set her in the grass.  The vet looked her over and said that it appeared she had slipped a disc in her back or possibly even had a stroke and that there was likely nothing to be done.  It was her time.

A strong sedative was administered and within a few minutes she was asleep in the grass with her head in my lap.  A devil's mix of other drugs was administered and she breathed her last.

I rolled her in a blanket and loaded her in the car for the return trip home.  Before I left, I had asked my Dad to come down with the backhoe and dig a grave in the rocks close to the house.  When I got home the place was prepared and I carefully laid Beulah in it, still wrapped in the blanket.  I covered her over.

I have never marked the grave of a dog before, but I marked Beulah's.

I have quoted Mark Twain before, but what he said is absolutely true.

"Heaven goes by favor.  If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in."

I know she is there waiting with her tennis ball.

Brain Farts

One of the things I actually enjoy most about doing various chores on my tractor, besides being able to run over anyone who gets in my face, is the alone time.  My mind tends to wander to all sorts of subjects.  Past, present, future, other dimensions....not stream of consciousness shit mind you, but just random thoughts.  Politics, religion and arguments with self fall in there too.

Since I tend to want to hear what is going on with my equipment, I do not listen to music while I am operating it.  It is pretty hard to hear a bearing squeaking or a belt squealing while you are listening to Tom Waits or Frank Zappa.  Both of these activities; operating equipment and listening to music, take a certain amount of concentration, which as I get older, becomes more and more difficult for me to divide.

I find my mind is easily distracted.  I am guessing it shows in this bullshit that I call writing.  I will be riding on my tractor thinking deep and profound thoughts and a single moment of brilliance will pop up and I will make note of it.  Something I should do, someone I should talk to, something I should look up on the interwebs once I am done with the current chore.

Once I am done with the current chore, poof!  It is gone.  Oh sure, eventually the thought or task returns to me (usually while taking a piss at 3AM), but damn!  Frustration.

Since I was about 12 years old, and starting at my Dad's insistence, I have carried a small pocket notebook with me to remind myself of important things.  I usually have it in my pocket even on the tractor, but the chores I do there are generally not conducive to stopping and writing myself a note or adding something to a list and hence the reason those important thoughts are sometimes lost.  I guess it is a sign of age.  I have said that if I ever come down with Alzheimers, that I will be damn good at it because I have been practicing every day for years.

I've got it pretty good all in all and other than a few family heartaches, have nothing really to complain about.  When I am on the tractor, one of the recurring thoughts is always how things could have been different.  Better or worse.  I have worked my ass off for what I have and, contrary to a semi popular politician's comment, I did build what I have.  The only things ever given to me were examples of discipline and drive and everything I have is a product of that.  I have never spent a lot of time on the couch.  There are plenty of people I know, both here and in real life that I am sure think I would be well served by some time on the couch....the psychiatrist's couch that is...and I am not sure I would disagree with them, but life is what it is, whether I remember it or not.


A week ago I wrote that....sort of coherent I guess....today as I wrote out the check for my mortgage payment (yes, I still do that...every month.) I was thinking about how things change.  Thinking about my first job out of college (far from my first job).  I have told the story before...9 days living in my truck before I got my first paycheck.  January.  Madison, Wisconsin.  Fucking cold.  But really, all in all, no worries except getting out of the truck at 4AM to take a leak in the plant parking lot and hoping no one saw me, much less the yellow snow.

Now, I have very little concern about where I am going to sleep, but somehow things are so much more complicated and difficult.  Worries I never dreamed of having when I was sleeping in that truck in the cold.  Stress I could never have understood in those days.

No, no...there is nothing wrong, nothing to worry about other than a bit of melancholy longing for the days when things were simpler.

And yes, I made myself a note in my little notebook to remember to write about this when it first occurred to me this morning...perhaps it would have been better to have forgotten it.

Pull your head out of your Ass

Small town, dependent on tourism and a short season to "make hay."  There is not a lot of opportunity long term for young people here.  Employment for the most part, is seasonal and many are forced to work multiple jobs.  Those jobs tend to be in the service industry.  Waitressing, mowing lawns and the like, which are great as a second job, seasonal job, but as far as being able to make it?  Most of the kids move away because opportunity is elsewhere.  Businesses here are in many cases for sale because the owners are aging and in many cases tired of working their asses off.  I know the feeling.  Sometimes it feels as if the town is dying in a way because the old standby folks are trying to get out and put their feet up in their golden years.

This town is a mecca for summer employment in these service type jobs and some of the jobs pay fairly well except for the fact that they are not year round.

I own the service garage that I more or less grew up in and use it as my shop for maintaining equipment and some side job general repair.  I bought it from my Dad almost 30 years ago (Christ!  Time flies) when I really could ill afford to.  I just knew I would be back sometime and so the struggle to pay the mortgage was worth it in my mind.  But I was working elsewhere and soon had good, well paying jobs that made the struggle not so much.

The grey economy (read "cash business") has made sale of some of these businesses difficult if not impossible and several sit empty.  Not because there is not opportunity, but because you have to have a history of profit in order for someone to be able to buy the business.

Enter my property and my foolish notion of community and youth.

I was approached by the daughter of a gal I went all through grade and high school with (the grade below me, and no longer with us).  A young gal with a bit of ambition.  "Would it be possible for me to use your corner on odd weekends to sell t-shirts promoting the community?"  "My friend and I have started a business and are hoping to make a go of it."

I asked her what she expected and her needs were extremely simple:  Space for an 8'x8' canopy for shade, a place to park her car and nothing else.

I told her she was welcome to set up in my yard and wished her luck.  She wanted to know what I wanted.  I told her "nothing but your success."  She was tickled and grateful.

They set up for a weekend and did great.  Most of the traffic coming here goes by my corner and she sold many T-shirts and other printed items like bags and can coozies all promoting this town.  At the end of the weekend she called and thanked me and said they had done great, could they come back for the 4th of July.  Absolutely, I told her.

About mid week, I get a telephone call from the local police officer who left me a message asking me to call him.  When I did, he asked me if I knew that the girls were using my property and I told him absolutely, with my blessing.  He told me he had been asked to investigate the "peddling" by the local town chairman (chicken shit mother fucker - but I get ahead of myself).  I told him that not only did they have my blessing but that the property was zoned commercial and we had sold all sorts of miscellaneous when we operated the building as a service garage.  I also told him that the girls were a legitimate business with a taxpayer id and sales tax license.  I figured that was that.

The girls came back and had a great 4th weekend.  They were so pleased and grateful they gave my wife and I a $50 gift certificate to a local restaurant because I had refused to charge them anything for the use of my property.  They planned to come back in mid august for a couple weekends and for Labor Day weekend in September.

I am happy to see not only young people with ambition, but happy to see them succeeding and hoping for bigger things.  This town needs it.  As I mentioned, us old farts are busy, tired or dead.  If they are successful enough, maybe they might consider buying or renting one of the empty shops!

Today I get the mail and in it is a letter from the Zoning and Planning Department.  "It has come to our attention that you have begun operating a retail sales operation (T-Shirt Sales) on your commercially zoned property.  A conditional use permit is required for this sort of use of your property and since you did not apply for one prior to starting your activity, you will be required to pay double the normal fee for this permit."

"In addition, you will need to provide 2 parking spaces for every 400 square feet of the operation on your property and will need to contact the county sanitarian to determine if public restroom facilities will be required.  The county building inspector will need to be contacted to determine if the structure on your property is suitable for the sales operation and additional permits may be required to accomplish any changes required by the inspectors office."

I find it a bit disingenuous that they kept using the term "your property."  Damn fucking straight it's my property.

I called the zoning and planning office and asked for the fellow that signed the letter.  He explained that he had a complaint and when I explained what was actually going on, he laughed.  I told him his letter wasn't very damn funny.  He said that the girls do not need a permit for selling as they are so long as they do not operate for more than 10 consecutive days.

Tomorrow I will pay the town chairman a visit and ask him to pull his head out of his ass, since I am sure he is the one that contacted zoning and planning.  Stupid as fuck in a dying town.  Just what we need.

It may be a generalization, but it seems like people are frightened or maybe jealous of ambition.  Myself I encourage it.  As I mentioned, I hope these gals do so well they want to expand and buy one of those shops.  Entrepreneurship should be encouraged, not regulated to death.  I spoke with the young gals grandmother who is two doors down from the shop to let her know what happened, because I intend to berate the jackasses responsible in a very public way.  I might even apply and pay for the zoning permit myself and tell the gals to have at it.

People really have no thought for the future.  Some don't have enough sense to pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the bottom.  Our society encourages and rewards the lazy and shiftless and penalizes the ambitious...it needs to stop.

stupidity is not for the faint of heart

my typing is not real good right now.  cutting the tip of your finger off is not conducive to efficient accurate typing.  not to mention it hurts like an MF.

how did i do it you ask?  careless and stupid is my answer.

This also makes making hay, repairing equipment and general chores very difficult.

I wont even mention picking my nose.

Blues, Despair and Agony on Me

Deep dark depression, excessive misery...

If you ever watched Hee Haw, you know the rest...

Not that I have anything to really be depressed about other than a general lack of time to finish what I have started or, in some cases, start what needs finished.  Sometimes, things get in the way....work for instance.

Cross state association meetings for instance....one day meetings, because of time and distance, that are actually three day trips.  Three days I can ill afford with Haying season on top of me and equipment to fix and prepare.  But this thing called work, that actually pays the bills, keeps getting in the way of my insane hobby jobs.  Really though, it is not the jobs that are insane.

This trip, for a four hour meeting, requires an 8 hour drive one way.  The only lucky thing is that another association member is on the way, two hours from me, and we have arranged to car pool.  This means that one trip I drive the two hours to his place, park my car and ride with him the rest of the 6 hours.  The next trip I drive the two hours to his place, pick him up and he rides with me the rest of the 6 hours.  It is a good arrangement really.  Our respective organizations save a few bucks in travel expense and a 6 hour drive goes much quicker when there is a bit of company and conversation.

This trip, it was my turn to drive.

Those of you that know me, know that I grew up working on cars and engines and other such and that my fleet of vehicles is, lets just say, vintage.  My newest vehicle is 15 years old.  My traveling car is a 1995 Chevy Caprice.  It runs like a million bucks and rides great, but is slowly rusting away.  It is a great car.  Comfortable, good gas mileage and above all, good get up and go, however, I always get a bit of good-natured shit when I show up with it.  My peers will say things like, "tell me that is not your company car!" all the while knowing that I do not have a company car...

In any case, as I said, it was my turn to drive.  I stopped for gas about 20 miles before getting to my associate's house so that we could complete the 6 hour part of the trip without a stop.  Filled her right to the top and down the road I went.

I was approximately one mile from picking him up when there was a loud noise and a horrible dragging/scraping sound coming from the rear of the car.  I immediately pulled over.  I knew what had happened without even getting out of the car and I dreaded getting out to survey the situation.

Mustering my courage, I got out of the car to see what I had feared.  The straps holding the gas tank under the car had rusted through, or rather, the bolts holding the straps had rusted to a point of failure and the gas tank (quite luckily a plastic one) was being dragged on the road under the car.

As I looked closer, I was relieved to see that there were no leaks other than a bit of incidental spillage that was coming from the broken fuel line.  The tank was still attached to the car, but only by the electrical for the sending unit and in tank fuel pump and the vent pipe.

Holy Shit!  Now What!  If I was home, no big deal.  I would walk or get a ride and go get my car trailer and haul the rust bucket home....but I am not home.  I am two hours from home.

I call my associate and tell him the situation.  He is not sure who I should call, but says he will be at my location in a few minutes (remember, I am only a mile from his house).  I look around, and, coincidentally, there is a state patrol vehicle in the parking lot of the house in front of which I have stopped.

I walk over and knock on the door and the officer is the one who answers.  I ask him who I should call locally for a tow and repair and he gives me a name and number.

I call them and they are only about 5 miles down the road and can be there in a few minutes.  The officer comes out and proceeds to write down my license number so he can run it in his vehicle, which he is pulling out of his driveway and behind my car to provide flashing lights.

While we are waiting, I ask him if he found anything.  He laughs and replies, "no, should I have?"  I told him that if he had it might have been my ticket out of attending this meeting that has put me in his front yard.  Again he laughed.

My friend shows up and the roll back truck is right behind him.  I assist the driver in getting my car on his flatbed and give him my contact information and tell him that we have to get on our way to the meeting and that we will be back the following afternoon.  He says that if it can be fixed, they should be able to get it done by then.

My friend tells me as we are driving off in his vehicle, "that is one hell of a way to get out of driving!"  "Seriously," he says, "why are you not worked up over this situation?"

"I have been through much worse," I reply, "and really, when you think about it, I am pretty lucky."

"Lucky?!?!" he exclaims.  "Are you kidding me?  Your gas tank fell out of your car!"

"True," I reply, "but think about it, it was a plastic tank.  A metal one might have created sparks and exploded....lucky.  It happened right in front of a state patrol officer's house and he was home and could give me some help finding someone to fix it....lucky.  It happened only a mile from your house and you did not have to come far to get me and I did not have to figure out how to get either to the meeting or home on my own....lucky.  It could have happened half way through the 6 hour portion of the drive and we could have both been stranded but it didn't....lucky.  The tow truck driver was there in no time flat and figures they can fix it by the time we get back tomorrow....lucky.  Even better, you are driving and I am riding....lucky."


He thought a moment and replied, "You have to drive the next two times.  And don't bring that car."






P.S.  The car is fixed and I will be home in the morning......Lucky.

Ebb and Flow

As most of you know, we have a number of horses.

The oldest one, a quarter horse that is 29 (nearly 30) years old managed to get out of the pasture and has disappeared.  She has been getting skinnier and skinnier and I have been preparing my wife for the inevitable end that is coming.  "Failure to Thrive" is the phrase most often used when animals are reaching a (hopefully) natural end.

I was not prepared for this.  I am assuming that she wandered off to die in private.  This might sound warm and fuzzy, but honestly, it isn't.  I would much rather I had her body to bury now rather than find it when the turkey vultures show me where she is.

We spent the last two days scouring the 40 acres to the south of us, which is full of chest high juniper bushes and thick pine plantation.  We searched as much of the large 60 acre swamp to the west of my property without finding so much as a hoof print in the mud.

We let the neighbors know, called the local constable and pretty much exhausted ourselves looking.  I am convinced that she is laying in the junipers not far from the pasture.  The problem is, in that area, you could be 3 ft from her and not know it.  We will have to wait....we have done all we can.

My wife insists on walking after work tonight, and perhaps we will find her, but most likely nature will have to show us where she is.

This sort of thing has not happened before and it really sucks.

The only thing that makes it slightly better?

While walking through the prickers, my wife scared up a fairly big doe.  Both the deer and my wife were startled.  As we continued walking, we nearly stepped on her fawn, which could not be more than a day old.

Perfectly still with only a hint of shivering - likely from fear and not cold.  We snapped the above shot and moved on with our search, wondering how it is that we can stumble across a newly born fawn no bigger than a large house cat and not find a horse.

Life goes on. It always has and always will.

Pain

My last post here was August.  A while ago....looking at how things change, eternity actually.  I have written about the dogs here numerous times and on that other site as well.  A brief update here.  Beulah, around Christmas time, began to drink copiously.  Being a former copious drinker myself, I didn't really pay attention to it, until two days in a row there was an accident in the house.  Unheard of for her.  A trip to the vet confirmed fears and she was diagnosed with diabetes.  In addition to this, a cataract was forming in one eye.  An injection daily of insulin would hopefully slow down progress, but within about 3 weeks, my best girl was completely blind.

If you have read my earlier stuff, you might assume that this would lead to her end.  It hasn't.  It may still, but not yet.  She has adapted unbelievably well.  She is still herself.  Happy, affectionate and smart.  My dad told me I should put her down.  I can't.  Not yet.  I told him that some people need seeing eye dogs.  Beulah needs seeing eye people.  She knows the house and only bumps into things when they are not as they were.  She finds her food and water.  She stands patiently for her daily shot and wags her tail when I praise her when it is complete.  She goes outside and follows me by listening for my footsteps.  She actually, to an extent, chases the ball still and will bring it back to my voice.  She finds it by ear and smell if I roll it past her not to far.  She wants to play with Karlie, but it ends up being too much for her.  That is the part that is heartbreaking.  She comes to my bedside and puts her paws up on the bed and licks my hand to go out in the night if she needs to.  I can't put her down yet.  She is still herself.  She loves us even if she can't see us and we still love her.

I put down Rascal two years ago in April.  It still bothers me, but she was 19 years old and could no longer walk.  I have put down many animals in my life and may be getting soft in my old age, but as long as Beulah is still there, I won't let an inconvenience to us be her end.

We rescued another dog, Brinley, from the shelter.  A three year old border collie mix who is very sweet and can play with Karlie and take the pressure off Beulah.  It has been working out well although some adaptation has been required.

Dogs are the best.  They give you everything unconditionally.  I know that the end will come for Beulah, as complications due to the diabetes go beyond the blindness.  I will be vigilant for her sake.  For now though I will be happy with what she can give.

Mark Twain wrote, "Heaven goes by favor.  If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in."