Greetings and salutations, everyone; yes, once again it is I, Chess the purebred border collie, filling in for the guy I live with, and here to bring you up to date on all my trials and tribulations, as well as talk a bit about gardening. You may remember me from such posts as “Under The Weather”, among so many, many others.
Here I am in a characteristic pose, enjoying the sun, before the weather changed.
Since I feel like talking about myself first, as some of you know I went to see the doctor the other day, on what was supposed to be a routine exam, but I wound up getting stuck with needles, even though the guy I live with promised me I wouldn’t be. He said he was sorry.
It turns out I have anemia, and I had to go back today and get stuck with needles again, which I thought was excessive. My doctor thinks this might be something which can be controlled with medication.
Here I am looking slightly anemic.
The guy I live with claims not to be terribly worried about me, but then, he wasn’t the one who got stuck with needles two days in a row, now, was he?
The weather, as I say, has changed. Two days ago it was all sunny and stuff. The paths were really icy, though, as you can see.
all sunny
There was even a snowdrop flowering.
I liked the weather pretty much. 
The guy I live with spent some time on the phone, which he hardly ever does, since he “spent thirty years talking on the phone”, and I could hear him say “No, not rare pants, rare plants“. I thought that was pretty funny. Rare pants.
It reminded me of a totally excellent movie, The Wrong Trousers, which if you haven’t seen, you ought to. But “rare pants” was really good.
Well, anyway, the weather changed. The guy I live with says “things change”, and he says that all the time. “Things change; things change.” That never changes. He hardly ever changes his rare pants, either. Sorry, I had to say that. 
Oh, the irises are still alive. Here’s an out-of-focus picture to prove it. The guy I live with looks at them all the time, and mists them once in a while. Some of them start to grow with their roots in the air, which I guess is dumb, and they have to be gently replanted. Some of the irises have four leaves now. 
There’s not much else going on here. It’s winter, and we don’t do much in winter. Sometimes we wait for it to end, and then sometimes we just “experience it”, which isn’t as interesting as it sounds.
And sometimes we just hang around the house, doing nothing.
Until next time, then.
the miserable gardener 
Good to see you Chess. I was worried as it had been so long since you have graced the screen of my computer. Anyway you’re here now with all your news. Sorry about the needles, two days in a row even, suffering suckertash. Nice to see you walking down the garden path and chilling out in the other shots, just hanging out as you said. I do always enjoy seeing how much the irises have progressed and that cute little snowdrop almost standing straight now. As you may realise we are the opposite to you and here it is supposed to be summer however we keep getting the odd couple of cold days and night and then hot again, can’t keep up. And rain I’m over it I keep getting mud between my toes and when I go inside after nature’s calls my mum gets angry. My mum has seen the wrong trousers a couple of times but I haven’t, she said she will tell me about it. As you said until next time and eat more liver for the iron, maybe in the form of pate.
Thanks; especially for the liver suggestion. I’ll have the guy I live with go out and get some tomorrow. It’s “regenerative anemia”, by the way, and it has an even longer name. I guess that means the red blood cells are regenerating. My own liver is in good shape, as is everything else, I think. Funny; the guy I live with shampooed the carpet the other day and I went out and brought in some mud, because I thought the carpet needed it. For that “lived in” look, you know. The irises are progressing, though some aren’t, because someone said they needed to be dry, and so he kept the germinated seeds dry, and they dried out. Hard to know who to pay attention to. “Probably no one” is the answer I hear. It’s supposed to be 60 here (that’s, say, 15 something C) this weekend. That will be nice.
We are in S. Oregon and are always glad to hear from Chess. We worry when we don’t. I haven’t commented before because I am a somewhat less sophisticated gardener although I’m thrilled to say I’m growing some Iris foetida from seed. The dogs, well, they are somewhat less civilized than you, Chess. The girls, both youngsters, are primitive creatures with decidedly filthy habits. 13 year old Mackey, on the other hand is quite refined most of the time but tries to solve his problems with unwanted vet care by being rather “unfriendly”. He was abused before we took him in and doesn’t care for pain. Well, who does? The post about your old Los Angeles neighborhood almost got a comment because we grew up just blocks from there, on Highland and later on Plymouth. Small world, huh?
Thanks, yes, indeed it is a small world.
After my buddy Slipper died, the guy I live with broke the cardinal rule about such events, and made a major decision within a couple of weeks, and introduced a rescued border collie into our house. I think the rescued dog had been abused, too, because I was attacked constantly, even though I tried to make friends, and the dog had to go back the next day. The guy I live with apologized to me, profusely, but I understood. He could have gotten me a puppy to train after that, but was so traumatized by the experience that nothing happened. I admit I do like being the center of attention.
I don’t think I have any filthy habits, though I used to like rolling on dead worms. Now I like eating snow. Snow is excellent. Almost like ice cream from the sky.
The guy I live with has been gardening since Sputnik went up, but he says he’s still learning. If you wanted to know the real truth, he probably doesn’t know much of anything at all, because there are always new things to be discovered.
I was very relieved to see the new post, Chess, since I found the silence to be ominous. I hope the new medication for the anemia isn’t too annoying. My first instinct would be to give you steak on a daily basis.
We just repainted our building elevators, and went to a purple iris-like shade for the interior with slightly darker trim. I’m thinking of donating some iris photos for the elevator walls. We deliberately chose the color to give the impression of being in a garden rather than in a moving metal box.
It is tough introducing new pets. We got in a new rescue cat in November because the Maine Coon died. He spent the first month jumping on the other cats and pinning them to the ground until the purebred rescue Siamese decided to civilize the new cat. The new cat is now much better behaved and the Siamese will play with him (although he still makes it clear that the other cat is an idiot). It is a huge amount of work to train a new pet.
Thanks; the reason there haven’t been so many posts doesn’t have so much to do with me as with the weather, and nothing much going on. We should hear in a couple of days what’s what with me. Painting is really fun. After my mommy died, the guy I live with painted almost the while inside of the house. He mostly used the same colors that she did, which is why the living room is kind of purplish, but then, with the kitchen and hallway and bathroom, he decided to pick out different colors. It gave him something to do. He used low volatile compound paint, which cost a lot, but was safe for us to breathe. If we had gotten a puppy shortly after my buddy Slipper died, I could have trained it, the way my buddy Slipper trained me. I wouldn’t be able to train a cat, though. I was at my doctor’s office a couple of days ago and there was one there. It was really gross. I don’t know why they let such creatures in there.
Dear sweet slightly anemic dog, the world is once more fine with you returned to enliven its webbings. I will point out you left us *over a week ago* on definite cliffhanger note. Your reappearance permits your readership to exhale. Happy to hear the anemic state was so handily identified — you will be surprised, once you receive medication, how much perkier you will feel. Indeed, perky enough to handle instruction of proper puppy deportment; such tasks as, you know, the mode of tracking in mud to newly cleaned carpet. Think what a model of sang froid you will be, if not outright zen. You, puppy, and the guy you live with can sit around experiencing winter, examining growing iris, drawing hope from emerging snowdrops, listening to talk of rare pants.
Do be careful of the ice on snow-eating expeditions. Cheers, Chess!
Thanks; well, it’s the guy I live with’s fault, because he has no sense of the passage of time. He talked to the doctor today and it’s not an autoimmune disease, and he’s going to talk to my doctor, the one who’s known me since I was very little, on Monday, to see what the next course of action is. Probably getting stuck with needles again. I know the guy I live with has an ancient bottle of liquid iron out in the shed (you know, for “acidifying” soil…it didn’t really work, and now it doesn’t need to, since no plants needing acid soil are grown here), and I hope he doesn’t get any ideas. Snow is pretty good, but it doesn’t taste like much. All of the purebred border collies who have lived here have enjoyed eating snow.
Whew, what a delight it was to see a message from Chess popping up in my email in-box. Pshaw, pure bred border collies can bust a little anemia to bits with the awesomeness of their highland hearts. When I went to the Long Island Scottish games a few years ago under the glowering skies of oncoming Hurricane Irene, the caber-tossing contest went right ahead on schedule because, as it was announced to the hundreds of us Celtic-Americans who hadn’t the good sense to stay home, “We Scots eat hurricanes for breakfast.” I know you have Scots blood in your veins, dear Chess, which will give you all the vim you need to get that hemoglobin back to where it has to be.
I have been married for 10 and a half years and I haven’t yet got my husband to sit down and watch The Wrong Trousers OR A Grand Day Out…which he really must see because it will explain why one must always use a Yorkshire accent when one says the word “cheese”.
Um, no disrespect Chess, because it’s not gracious to comment on physical appearance, but it looks like you’ve made up for all the weight you lost during your last “incident”. Lots of brie, I hope, and then even more brie.
Thanks; well, I did gain back four pounds. The Wrong Trousers is really excellent, as is A Close Shave (“What’s wrong with Wensleydale?”) and A Matter of Loaf and Death. And The Curse of the Were-Rabbit too.