Pax the elder of our pack of four dogs is getting old.  Both knees are torn and we started giving him pain meds.  It was just too painful for him to get around.  We were thrilled when we started giving him a second pain pill (in the morning) and he became more active.  No dog lives forever.  He is thirteen — old for a big dog (he must be eighty pounds) now.  His rear muscles have atrophied.  The vet said to make him as comfortable as possible.  He has been around forever.  He is the father of two of our dogs.  He is feisty.  Sometimes he will come into my room just to get one pat on the head and then he leaves.  He is one confident dog.  He literally prances up and down at the end of the day for after the last “out” for all the four dogs he will get some kind of treat.  And he knows that and gets all excited.  Now it is a slice of bread with some peanut butter dabbed on it to hide the pain pill.  He has always loved bread.

The black-eyed susan is not going to make it.  There was a “freak” blossom but it became too cold and the bloom wilted before the flower unfurled.  Black-eyed susans usually bloom in the height of summer.  I was watching this particular flower really carefully.  It is four weeks into the Fall.  Indian summer has passed.  It is just too late in in the season.  The flower tried.  I felt bad for it.

My Dogs Were Alert

Author: siggy

My dogs were alert:  They heard the click of the door of the kitchen door which led to the open garage but not the click of it close.  Within ten seconds I was chasing the three dogs all over the neighborhood.  They were on the loose.  They enjoyed their minutes of freedom.  Finally I caught Coco and put her into the fenced yard.  Then a little later both Tilla and her Mom, Sweetie, trotted to me.  All of them had a good run.

I have a “confused” black eyed susan:  It is budding.  They flowered several months ago and now all that was left was pods containing seeds but this one wanted to put out a single bloom.  I am keeping my eyes open for the flower to unfold.  It is still warm outside.

There are too many clothes in my closets.  I found eight long sleeved shirts and grouped them.  There are so many shirts I hardly wore.  I don’t even know where they came from.  I still think my clothes breed in secret.  I did not buy them.  There is a clothes giveaway in town and my wife must have gotten some of them there.  I am ready to give some back.  My favorite ones get lost in the shuffle.

The orange Gerbera daisy lasted weeks.  There was a new bloom–bright orange.  The old one stood erect–petals and all.  The only thing that faded was its color–now pale-white pink.  I was amazed the flower lasted that long.

Part of our yard was covered with pine needles.  It happens every fall.  We have four large white pine trees clumped together.  There were thousands, maybe millions, of brown pine needles that fell to the ground.  In fact, a few days ago we were playing a game of scrabble in our yard and there was an avalanche of pine needles upon us.  It amazed me there were so many.  This happens every Autumn–this shower of needles.

Tilla jumped enthusiastically on my bed to greet me.  He wanted a hug and was now on eye level.  His body shook all over in anticipation of my greeting.  Wouldn’t it be nice if all your friends made it that plain how glad they were to see you.  There is nothing like a dog for unconditional love.  In fact, some people prefer dogs to humans:  they don’t disguise their feelings.

Indian Summer Is Over

Author: siggy

Indian summer is over.  Within the last week, we ended a week of weather whereby it hit eighty each day.  Now sometimes the high temperature of the day falls below sixty degrees.  Now it is wet and cold.  I am no longer wearing tee shirts and shorts.  I have to pack them away.  The summer is over for good at least until next year.

Our Local Post Office

Author: siggy

Only at a local post office.  Tilla, my dog who loves car rides, figured out when he sees my car keys he might be able to get a ride.  And it is more than that:  he gets a biscuit from the postmaster.  She said all the dogs get them.  And the owners expect them.  Only from a local small post office can this happen.  Tilla made the connection.  He will get a biscuit when we go to the post office in the morning to gather our mail.  He will not forget.