Nut Case

Thanks to everyone who's been shopping at my eBay store, and Bill's Etsy shop. I appreciate your business, and you are getting some great bargains! (I'm adding more limited edition prints of Bill's: Williamsburg, Philadelphia, Cape May, Washington, D.C. for starters.)

I thought I'd share our day with you. Tuesday, April first. I would love to tell you that this was an April Fools' joke. I would also love to tell you that this is one of my stories rife with exaggeration and hyperbole. (OK, that's redundant, but I just love to pair those two words; Bill would say that exaggeration and hyperbole are the air I breathe in and out.)

It is neither joke, nor yarn. It is my life.

The waking up wasn't particularly unusual. Oh well, it was, but it's too personal to describe here. I stumbled down our steep, twisting stairs, my hand in its routine death grip on Very Old Dog's collar to prevent his somersaulting down. That would be the most expedient route for him, crash, slide, bump, but certainly not the most comfy. With Very Old Dog are Maria, Fat Charlie, Delia, and Sam I Am. Maria barks from the time she gets to the top of the stairs until I put her breakfast dish down. I help Very Old Dog up the one step up into the kitchen, Bill holds the kitchen door open, and the first group zooms outside. I head up for the second group. Back upstairs, I get Mama Pajama, Luciano, Lindy Loo and Swede William. Down we go, celebrating the morning. The dogs are celebrating the morning. Me, not so much.

Apparently, without my strangle hold on Very Old Dog's collar to prevent him from falling, I was unable to maintain my own foothold, and there I went: crash, slide, bump and all. Wheeeeee! Luciano thought this was a very fun day, and Swede William gave me a happy shout out. "Ah-wooooooo!" (Roughly translated, that means, "Yipppeeeee! What a klutz! Let's jump on her head and smother her with licks and put our tongues up her nose!") Mama Pajama, ever practical, got the heck out of harm's way.

I said, "Ow."

I fed the dogs their breakfast, (ah, Maria is finally pacified) and then commenced fixing mine. Oh, rats. I had
neglected to get milk on Monday. Worse yet, when Bill had offered to go, I said, “No, no. I’ll get some on the way back from the post office.” And then I forgot. But I found a little thingy of heavy whipping cream that wasn’t cottage cheese yet, so that worked in the coffee. Bill had eggs and I had toast with the last of the home made raspberry rhubarb jam, which Laurie grew, made, and brought.


That turned out to be the highlight of the day.


Next, I went out with the dogs, and De-Pooped the Yard. Back we go upstairs to work, (hanging on to Very Old Dog's collar for the benefit of all). Five hours of frantic photographing product, editing, uploading to eBay (I know, the thrill is overwhelming) and then I throw Sam I Am in the shower, following right behind him. Saint Sam has gotten used to this. It's therapy day at the hospital. Or so I think.

Arrive with Sam at the hospital and see no little Scotty dog. Heather is a twelve year old terrier who has been visiting for years and years and is the darling of the eighth floor. And we meet her in the lobby. I ask the ladies at the information desk if Heather and her Cathy already went up. "No, but two big dogs did."


"Greyhounds?" I ask, thinking I might have the wrong day.


"No. Big hairy dogs."


That does it. Sam will surely bark at big hairy dogs and that is a therapy dog no-no and I must have the wrong day. I know it's the same week as Kennel Club meeting, but maybe it was Monday, not Tuesday. I take Sam back out to the van and decide to see Miss Phyllis and Maddie.


Only they weren't home. I leave a note on the back of an old armband number from the dog show last week. Charming. Sam I Am has suffered the indignity of a shower with a naked old human for nothing.


I go to the post office to mail the sold items, and then to my little gift store to stock the new items onto the shelves and bring some more home for eBay. Get home just in time to walk the dogs, in a 'get the walk done, no nonsense, move along, no time for dawdling' kind of way. Throw their dinner in their bowls. The second Tuesday of the month is Kennel Club meeting. The other Tuesdays, we have an informal conformation and obedience practice, and puppy socialization. I'm in charge of scheduling these and getting the building unlocked. I had emailed a non-member that we wouldn't be having class, since it was meeting night. I had arranged to arrive early before the Kennel Club meeting to help Ginia fix the ring for the upcoming Show and Go, but I forgotten that I had to go to the City Commissioners meeting.


I called Ginia to tell her I would set up the ring after the Kennel Club meeting because I had to go to the City Commissioners meeting. Ginia said, "What are you talking about?"


"The Kennel Club meeting tonight."


"There's no Kennel Club meeting tonight."


"Yes, it's the second Tuesday."


"Patience, this is the first day of April, how could it be the second Tuesday?"


"It's not Kennel Club Meeting? Oh Lord, then I should be having practice. Now! I'm not there. I'm here. I have to go to the City Commissioners' meeting."


"Patience, you have too much on your plate. Bless your heart." (That is polite Southern Speak for, "Patience you are one Hula short of a Hoop," and when your heart has been blessed in the South, well, it's like saying someone is too dumb to find their way out of a paper sack, in a very friendly, sympathetic sort of way. So to speak.) And Ginia was being kind!


The City Commissioners' meeting went from 5:30 until 8:00. The issue that I had to be there for (involving separately a Board on which I sit, and the Art District where we live) was the last on the agenda. We straggled out with four friends and went to the best restaurant in Paducah. We sat at the bar, Bill with a martini, I with my water, and had oysters Rockefeller and salad, and enjoyed friendship and laughter.


We came home to the dogs, and enjoyed a long welcome howl. We decide to have a treat of cookies and milk.

Only, I had forgotten to get the milk ... again.






Hug your hounds