Showing posts with label Betsy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Betsy. Show all posts

Sunday, July 7, 2013

The best way to water your garden

It’s been a fun July, hasn't it, at least for all of us on the east coast.  From a gardening standpoint, this weather is better than an automated irrigation system.  I imagine that my vegetables and flowers are enjoying the constant precipitation, but can we say enough?
It is STILL raining here in the Smoky Mountains, and that is getting quite old.  Rivers and streams are over their banks, the ground is so saturated that roadways are being undermined, hillsides are subject to mud/rockslides, streets are flooded in all of the usual locations and in many other places that have never had standing water problems. 
View to the south.
The worst part is that it is not over.  We are still in for three more days of rain, and the forecast shows a significant chance every day for the next week.  The humidity is through the roof (the local TV weatherman called it “juicy”) and nothing is exempt from the effects of the moist atmosphere.  “People towels” have to be changed after each shower, and the “doggy towels,” well, let’s not even go there.  And yes, Sebastian is still a “leash only” potential runaway, so with each soggy-dog potty trip, there is an equally soggy daddy tagging along.
The rains earlier this week came in straight-line downpours that were reminiscent of Southeast Asian monsoons, and providing you could stay indoors, it was actually pleasantly relaxing, but the past few days have been peppered with thunderstorms.  My Bubba, Sebastian, is one of those dogs that is terrorized by the crack and rumble of thunder.  I have spent numerous hours holding him while he quakes uncontrollably, oh, and note the date, fireworks are in the same frightening noise category.  The Fourth was pretty much a wash out, but Friday night cleared up around dusk so that every yahoo who had enough gas to drive across the South Carolina border had the opportunity to explode their contraband pyrotechnics.  I sat for hours holding an inconsolable doggy.
All of this during the time that my wife, Shirle, is visiting her daughters down in Florida.  I think she has this pretty well timed; she is due to fly back on Thursday, which only has a 30% chance of rain and hopefully starts a period of drier weather.  It is hard enough for me to take on the onus of solo household duties while working full time, but the added issues with the weather and dogs has left me needing a vacation (ha, like that will ever happen).  But she will be back soon and life will resume its normality.  I am looking forward to getting in the truck and going to town without taking Betsy and Sebastian with me.  Bubba can’t stay home with the threat of a thunderstorm, and that limits my in-store time to a quick dash leaving the dogs in the truck.  If there has been anything good about all of this rain is that the sun has been obscured, and the temperature has been cool making my few shopping trips rather tolerable for my stowaways. 
Meanwhile, work has been relatively light which fortuitously gave me the time to rebuild the server on my network.  My four months of computer issues seems like it has come to an end.  I am working from my desk on a full size keyboard and 23” display; I am so weary of the laptop routine.  It is not like the weather has been beautiful and I've been working outside on the deck.  Instead I've been rotating on a carousel of a recliner in the loft, to the living room sofa, to the kitchen table, to my desk already over-crowded with the peripherals of the malfunctioning computer.  Each stop has a somewhat limited duration of comfort and tolerance.

Enough of these silly ramblings, I should take the dogs out before those clouds decide to water my garden again.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Puppy Love?

     It was about ten minutes before 2:00 AM when Sebastian sat up in bed, did a whole body shake, and said in his limited canine vocabulary, “Dad.  Wake up; I have to go potty.”
     I made a futile attempt to reason with him, which only resulted in him getting loud and barking at me, “I’m serious!  Get up; I need to go now!”
     I dragged myself from the soft comfort of my bed, donning my LL Bean slippers and rubbing the much needed sleep from my eyes.
     Sebastian was already off the bed and sprinting back and forth from the bedroom door to my feet in a futile attempt to make me hurry.  I lifted his sister down to take her with us since his argumentative
Betsy
retort to my innocent questioning had roused poor Betsy from her peaceful slumbers.  Betsy is a cute kid, but the dumbest quadruped child I have ever known; she has never learned any language at all.
     Illuminating the kitchen, staircase, basement, garage and finally the side yard with painful light, too bright for my over-dilated irises, the three of us made our way outside.  Vacuous Betsy, driven only by mute instincts, immediately found an appropriate spot for her business and patiently waited while Sebastian surveyed the area for the possibility of nocturnal chipmunks.  

     “Nope, none by the birdfeeders; better check the garden.”  
     He thoroughly checked behind my Earthboxes, along the as yet to be transplanted Knock Out rose bushes, along the embankment above the drive; he peered into the dense coppice on the steep grade over the house and finally, with a crouched stealth technique that is more feline than canine, sprang to the retaining wall hoping to catch some unsuspecting rodent frolicking in the woods below the house.
     To his surprise, none of the elusive prey that he desperately wants to capture and play with were awake at that early morning hour.  But to be sure, he backtracked to the garage and rechecked every spot previously known to harbor those quick and evasive toys.  Frustrated, he sat down in the middle of the driveway with the intent of a doggy-style, overnight stakeout.  Knowing what he had forgotten, the real purpose of this pre-dawn sortie, I dragged my insolent leashed brat around to all the places he normally uses to relieve himself.  He showed no interest in anything other than a vigilant chipmunk watch.
     I eventually gave up and took both kids in, darkening the passageways behind us as we climbed the stairs back to the bedroom.  I did scold him for waking me for no reason, but he doesn’t understand how chipmunk hunting could be considered no reason.
     Back in the warmth of my bed, I slowly slipped over the edge of the precipice, returning to the mental quiet of sleep.
Sebastian
     “Dad?  Dad, wake up, I forgot to go potty.”
     It is needless to say that as I roused myself for the third time this morning, this time with coffee, news and urgent business emails, my normal office companion is still sound asleep downstairs in the bedroom.
     You have got to love him.