Not Even the Dogs

Harley B has been with us off and on since he was just a pup. We are our youngest son’s dog sitters. We love the son and I guess we are pretty fond of the dog. But Harley is as difficult to manage as any teenager. One good thing about him is that he will eat anything. Well, almost anything. He doesn’t eat cooked asparagus, thank you very much. He ate every sprig that came up in the bed where it was planted this spring. In fact, he dug every plant up at least three times before he finally gave up trying to decide why I planted those awful looking roots and left them alone. Like a goat, however, he grazes on just about anything that grows.

Our other major problem with Harley is the fact that he has found a secret way out of the yard. So far it is his secret alone. After both of us have walked the fence line and examined both sides of the fence, we still have no idea of how he is getting out. He never goes far, fortunately. He prefers the bench on the front porch to his dog house any day. But his favorite spot is between our chairs in the office floor—preferably with the air conditioner going. Oh to lead a dog’s life in this household.

The youngest son promises to come get this dog next year when they move out of California and back to God’s country (Texas, as if you didn’t know). Meanwhile we got a call from him letting us know that we had forgotten something---his birthday was yesterday. Shaking head and wondering where my sense of motherhood went. Actually, I think I have forgotten the birthdays of the other two children and my own as well—at least once. NEXT year I will try to remember, but no promises. At least this year his birthday was celebrated with lots of wind—Ike made landfall on his birthday.

Ike has still been active even though the folks on the coast are beginning to push out from under the debris. In Arkansas the wind blew trees down overnight and now the winds in Indiana are supposed to punish them for another few hours. Each state has its own version of “bad” weather. We get so much wind on a normal basis that most of the trees that had ever planned to lie down and roll over have already done so. One of the things I would like to do is see a season in each state—well, except maybe Kansas, Nebraska, and Nevada or one of those places that is so packed with people that someone’s lights are always shining in the night.

A couple of friends aren’t exactly satisfied with life and the way things are going right now. So that makes at least three of us. I suggested that we volunteer for park intern duty. All three of us are teachers and ready to do something a little different. So far I have found a couple of places in Colorado that sound pretty good. Then there is that wilderness trail up in Wyoming or somewhere up there in the northern part of this country. I suggested that I could do the trail work if one of the others would do the cooking. Carla volunteered to call Pizza Hut. Hmmm. Maybe Robin would do the paper work and keep the bears out of the pizza cartons.

Well, that darned dog is out again. I know he can jump into the back of the truck flatfooted off the ground—without the tailgate being down, so maybe the fence is just not tall enough. Or maybe he has learned to climb a chain link fence. Either way, I have to go put him back in the yard before he scares someone or licks the neighbor’s kids clean. I wonder if the park service would allow a dog to go on an internship . . .