Greetings and salutations, everyone; yes, once again it is I, Chess the purebred border collie, here to bring you the latest news from our garden, which is mostly about the weather. You may remember me from such posts as “Tiny Little Flowers” and “Turned Up Missing”, among so many, many others.
Here I am in a characteristic pose. Our tiny little world didn’t come to an end today like the guy I live with said it might, what with all the predictions and everything, though he says we could still have thunderstorms tonight. Since I take goofballs and sleep on soft Pottery Barn sheets with the fan blowing cool air over my nose, I don’t pay so much attention to night-time storms as I used to. The weather people say that night-time storms in Denver are “rare”, which the guy I live with says means “happen all the time”.
Anyway, he was preparing for the End, partly by finishing up the cactus seedling transplant work, and partly by walking around by behaving like someone who’s preparing for the End. Fortunately there wasn’t a “supercell” storm or tornado intent on wiping us out. “Not yet, anyway”, he said optimistically.
Something almost as bad happened yesterday. The guy I live with was upstairs for some reason, and he heard this funny noise that sounded like an underground utility locator. He knows about such things. He looked out the window, and there was a guy below the Arizona cypress, locating. There was yellow location paint sprayed on the ground.
The guy I live with, since he used to do work like that, walked out into the front yard and asked the guy why locations were being marked in his front yard, which also happens to be a garden.
“Have to replace the gas line”, said the guy doing the locating.
The guy I live with told the locator that the gas line needed to be replaced next door, and showed him where the gas company had drilled holes in the driveway next door, probing for a gas leak. It was even marked and stuff; the guy I live with had talked to the gas people, because he has a tendency to chat with utility workers, having been one himself, long before I was born.
So, if we’d been on vacation, say in Seattle to get some sun, we would have come back and the front yard would have been dug up, by a backhoe. Whew, huh.
“The moral of this story”, the guy I live with said, “is never to leave the house.” Or at least be aware of one or two things going on, I might say.
Other than that, not much happened, except for one thing. Our garden is almost entirely dependent on the weather, and the guy I live with says in a year or so this will be to the point where almost nothing is ever watered. I have a movie about it for you, which you might enjoy, especially if you happen to live in a place where this doesn’t often happen (really, like here, but not this year), and then I’ll sign off. I’m still waiting for my vet to call to see what’s going to happen, but I’m being very patient and calm, as usual.
Until next time, then.
CALL THE VET, Chess. We all want to know as by this time we’re all heavily involved. Better yet have your buddy, the guy you live with, call. How he can be so patient I don’t know. Sounds like he was pretty patient with the locator guy too, having himself worked for a Utility and all. Make sure those yellow markings disappear. Maybe go out and, um, lift a leg, Chess. You know what to do. Your garden looks so pretty and green in the “Weather” video, pretty and green enough to be in England. Oh, such rain you have! Being the wise dry gardening buddies that you are, I know most of that rain stays on the property too and does not rush down street gutters to the ocean as rain does here. And, oh, such rain you have! Tomorrow I water the outside border roses – all I water these summer days in the drought – by watering can. I shall labor like Hercules. Now I must go and play the video again. Oh, such rain you have!
Oh, my doctor will probably be back tomorrow. It isn’t that she’s not calling, she’s not there. It’s okay. Not as big a deal as a Certain Party makes it out to be. I do have to have the thing removed, and that makes the same Certain Party nervous, but not me. I’ve been practicing for it by sleeping a lot. Unfortunately I hear we have to get up ridiculously early tomorrow so the trash can be taken out. It’s been really rainy here, as you can see. Not hugely rainy; we couldn’t grow rhododendrons with the rain we’ve gotten, for sure. The guy I live with had a small area devoted to rhodies for a few years, and got really annoyed when people fixated on them, as they do here, even talking about “xeric rhododendrons”, so he gave them all away. They needed a lot of watering, of course. Every now and then, when it rains as much as it did today, and we go out at Tinkle Time, the guy I live with carrying a flashlight, of course, I occasionally see a creature that the guy I live with says is called a “slug”.
Lovely, lovely rain, but why does it have to bring slugs with it! It’s not hard to understand why some folks say that to be a gardener is to never be at peace with nature.
We didn’t see a slug. There was one under a flower pot the other day, though. It rained last night. Why something nice, like rain, has to be accompanied by something not nice, like thunder, lightning, and other threats from the sky, I don’t know. I think slugs, in the US, are mostly non-native ones. (There are native ones, and somewhere in the house is a picture of a banana slug in the guy I live with’s hand. Really big slug.)
What a delightful account of things almost happening! And about the yellow spray paint: I do not have any idea how The Guy You Lived With kept his cool. If I am in line for the express checkout at our local grocery store and I see someone with a cart load (or half a cart load) of stuff I can hardly contain myself. BTW, people who crash the express check out line are so predictable. They always say they are going to call the police on me but they never do.
Never leaving the house is what I love to do. It’s getting to the point that these days, walking across the backyard to dump the daily garbage onto the compost heap is my idea of travel. I haven’t had to water our tomatoes in a week and we can’t leave the Ritz crackers out on the kitchen counter for even an hour or they’ll get soggy.
And, dear dog, any mention of the word “oncology” in relation to a certain pure bred border collie IS a big deal. I promise not to scream at people with 20 items in the 10 Items or Less line anymore if you never have to deal with biopsy reports ever again.
Funny thing about express lanes is that sometimes, it’s the only one open at my local Safeway. We were in line one day with a loaded cart and some tourist (we get lots of those in my little moutain town) commented “Isn’t this the Express Lane?”. Even the checker rolled his eyes and said “It’s the only lane open.” 🙂
People don’t get it, do they?
I go in on Tuesday for my operation. Not a big deal since they’re just removing the sore from my side, which is the size of a quarter, or less, really. I mean compared to what it could be, you know. The guy I live with used to be a really bad waiter-in-liner until he read a thing that said waiting in line is good practice for realizing that you’re not the only person in the world who wants to get through the line. Look at all the other people who have to stand in line. Then, one morning, he suddenly had no reason to be in a hurry to get through the line, because the only ones who were waiting for him at home were me and my buddy Slipper, and so, in a sense, he became the line. He became a person whose sole purpose in life at that very moment was to stand there, in line, experiencing it. He would even deliberately go into lines where the person behind the counter was in training.
I don’t mind standing in line. Everyone has to do it, so what makes me any more special? I hope the procedure goes well, Chess. I’ll be thinking of you.
Thanks. The doctor said the extra body fat works to my advantage. Should I repeat that?
Yes, please. Repeat it loud and long. I’ve actually read that body fat can work to advantage in humans with certain kinds of cancer (but to their disadvantage with other kinds).
I’m pretty patient waiting in line, except when I get behind someone who splits the contents of his/her basket into several different orders, paid for separately, usually with coupons, some of which have expired. I don’t yell at them, but I do send them death rays with the skunk eye. Clearly room for improvement with this (my patience, not my skunk-eying).
One of the few times I’ve ever yelled at anyone was when we came home to find an envelope sticking out of our front screen door. It was a bill for a lawn service, for a house with a different house number on a nearby street. And there was one of those little signs stuck in our lawn warning saying keep of the grass until the poison it has been sprayed with dries. I was furious that my chemical-free lawn and garden had been sprayed. I called the company & the guy was all, “Well, accidents happen.” I remember screaming something about the ability to read being an important requirement for the job.
Our utilities are buried, and we have utility box in corner of our backyard. I decided to call to have lines located before planting shrubs near one of the boxes. It was clear whoever I was talking to was not from the area and possibly not from this planet. They wanted gps coordinates, which I didn’t have, because I’ve always been able to find my house with just the address. Once they marked the lines, I put down paver stones to mark them so I never had to go through that again. The pavers look kind of wonky running through my woods, but they are very functional.
The guy I live with would point out that the word “accident” in Latin literally means “they will happen”, so saying that accidents happen, etymological fallacy aside, is somewhat redundant. No one seems to be hugely worried about the sore on my side, just that it needs to be removed, you know. I’m not looking forward to it, though the guy I live with is looking forward to it even less.
corrections: eyeing. off the grass. utility boxes in both corners of our backyard.
I view standing in line as a chance to be alone with my thoughts. Or read People magazine, depending on my frame of mind. There was a study recently that proved most people – most MALE people actually – would prefer giving themselves electric shocks, to doing absolutely nothing (i.e. being alone with their thoughts).
The guy I live with says he tries not to have any thoughts at all. You might be surprised how easy that is for him.
Love the video. Perfectly framed shot. Accident? I recommend a cheeseburger and fries, pre- and post-surgery. No thoughts until after.
Thanks; the guy I live with says nothing is an accident, except when it is. (Very deep, huh.) Cheeseburgers and fries sounds excellent any time.