Category: humor

The Wheels Have Come Off the Bus

My 30,000 foot viewLeave a comment

Our snow is finally gone, it’s staying light past dinner time, and it’s getting warmer, albeit slowly.

Spring is finally here.

For those of you who live where real winter exists, you are probably familiar with the concept of winter tires for your vehicle.

For those of you who don’t, these are more rugged, less slippery tires that are designed to help us navigate all the conditions winter decides to throw at us, so we can still leave our houses and be as much a part of society as we choose to be in the colder months. They are usually put on sometime around November, and come off around this time of year.

I have lived in places where winter exists all my life, but I have never actually participated in the “great tire switch out” in past years. I have always just had a good “all weather” tire on my vehicle and called it good enough.

Now that I live on a private, dirt road, with a couple decent hills, and this being my first winter here, with no context as to how well that road is maintained (very well, as it turns out), I decided to go with the less slippery winter tires this year.

Now that spring is in the air, it was time for those tires to come off, and my regular old tires to come out of hibernation, so I started my morning at my car guy’s place for this swap to take place.

The swap itself was relatively uneventful, besides a corroded lug nut they had some difficulty with, and I soon found myself back on the road with four “all weather” tires under me, and four winter tires riding behind me in my cargo.

When the car guy had stashed my tires in the back, he had stood them all up on end in a nice little row across my cargo area.

Not thinking anything of it when I got home, I popped open the lift-gate to unload the tires and was met with four very large tires barreling down on me. (I drive a large SUV, so these are very large tires!)

My reflexes kicked in and I assumed my best and quickest star fish pose, my arms going one way and my legs the other, and I managed to stop two of the tires with one of each.

However, I was not so lucky with the other two.

Now, I live at the top of a hill, and my yard slopes down this hill, all the way to the lake below me. The road to my house circles around and my driveway comes in towards the back of my house. My driveway has a nice gentle slope all the way down to the road, and you turn out of my driveway right at the top of the hill, heading down and around a curve. My neighbor’s house sits at the bottom of the hill and the top of the curve, diagonal from my house.

After interrupting the escape of two of my tires, I turn around to see my other two tires continuing their journey down my driveway to the road, quickly picking up speed as they go, apparently thrilled to be making this journey without a multi ton vehicle on their back.

The first tire took the inside lane, and as it made the turn out of the driveway onto the road, it hit one of the stones lining the edge of the drainage ditch there, and it’s journey (thankfully) came to a halt.

The other tire, however, took the outside lane, made the turn onto the road, and sped up significantly as it started it’s journey down the hill.

Somehow, it just missed the sand barrel at the top of the hill and careened down the hill, into my neighbors yard, through her driveway, jumped the little fence on the back side of her parking spot, and continued down the hill behind her house. (Luckily she and her husband winter in Florida, so neither they, nor their car are here at the moment)

At this point I lost sight of it from the end of my driveway, which is as far as I had gotten in the time it had traveled all that way, but there are a multitude of trees and other items on her hill, so I was sure it had come to rest somewhere on the hill.

I make it through her yard and to the top of her hill, trying to locate the tire’s final resting place, but having no luck.

And then I spotted it.

It had continued it’s journey all the way down the hill and directly into the lake.

I have no idea how it managed to miss absolutely every tree and obstacle between here and the lake, but yet it did.

It was floating about 10 ft out, with just a small portion of it still above water.

I get down to the lake and quickly realize it is just far enough out that there is no way I can reach it and still remain on dry land.

I look around for anything I can use to try to fish it out, and even try a couple sticks, but there is nothing long enough.

I start the trek back up the hill, trying to brainstorm ways I can get the tire out and still stay dry, but I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact I was going to have to get wet.

Which was extremely unappealing, as the ice has only been off the lake for a couple of weeks, and I’m guessing the water temp is not much above 35 degrees. And no, I do not belong to the cold plunge crowd, so this is not something I do for fun.

Luckily, I gave my dad a call to see if he had any great ideas on fishing tires out of lakes (he usually does) and sure enough, he did.

He suggested tying a rope around my hammer, and throwing it out into the middle of the tire, hoping the hammer would catch and drag it back in.

I make it back down the hill, and after a few unsuccessful throws, where the hammer hit the middle, but failed to catch on the way back, it finally did, and I was able to drag the tire back out, all while staying dry.

Hauling that tire all the way back up the hill to my house was another adventure all together.

All four tires are safely stored away until the next snow flies, and here’s hoping the only other “tires” that land in the lake this summer, are the inflatable ones designed to hold a person as they float lazily in the sun.

The Case of the Lost Chicken

My 30,000 foot viewLeave a comment

I have chickens. I know there are all the memes about women of a certain age and hens, or crazy chicken ladies. That’s fine. I can deal with the sterotypes and labels.

But I have chickens because nothing beats fresh eggs.

And they have the built in bonus of being the best composters to cut down on what you throw away.

So I have chickens.

When I moved into my new place, there was a convienently placed garden shed in the back corner of the lot, that was easily converted to a chicken coop with the addition of an inside wall and an outside run.

Now my chickens literally have the Taj Mahal of chicken coop set up. Lots of room to laze around inside, and even more room to run around, under the trees outside.

This current batch of hens (+1, which is a story for another time), I got when they were just wee little fluff balls, so they had some growing to do.

Now, I’ve had chickens before, but apparently, in my dog Pavlov’s mind, these new chickens needed to be oriented to the “ways of the Pavlov”, so he found it highly entertaining for awhile to make mad laps around the chicken coop when the chicks where in the run, and stir them up into a literal tizzy.

And the chickens, still being young and excitable, never failed to humor him and run around like chickens with their heads cut off and squwak.

(Thankfully this was relatively short lived, and Pav has now learned “no chickens”- again, and the chickens have learned to ignore him)

However, back when the tizzy’s were still a thing, I went out one night to put the “girls” to bed, and upon doing a quick head count, realized I was coming up one short.

I went inside to see if she had put herself to bed earlier, but no.

I walked around the entire coop and run, trying to see if she had found a hole and a way out, but there was no escape hatch.

Huh. Strange.

Where did the feather ball go?

I did have some wire laid across the top of the run, more to keep the neighborhood hawk and eagle OUT of the run than to keep the chickens IN, but the chicks were still young enough they weren’t really proficient flyers yet, so I didn’t think she could have gone up and over.

But after a little more investigating, I decided that she must have somehow flown out, because she certainly wasn’t still in.

I expanded the search into the woods a ways, but there was no sign of her, and it was getting dark.

I figured she’d either find a spot to roost for the night and show up in the morning, or the friendly neighborhood fox would take her home with him.

The next morning, I got up and headed out to the coop to see if the wayward chick had made her way back, but still nothing.

I did another loop in the woods and around, looking for any sign of her, but still no luck, so I figured the circle of life had swept her up.

For the next two days, I kept an eye out for her, and did a sweep every morning and evening, but still no chicken.

I need to pause here to paint a visual picture of my coop for you.

The garden shed I converted to my coop is a full size shed, probably 18 ft x12 ft or something close. It’s tall, with a little loft area over the coop section, and situated in the back corner of my lot. However, it is not situated on level ground. So whoever initially put this shed out there, attempted to make it as level as possible, by put it up on cement blocks at the corners.

Quite a few cement blocks.

This made it relatively “level”, but also left quite a crawl space under the building.

When I put up the run, we ran chicken wire all around the bottom of the building, to prevent the chickens from going out under the coop, and to prevent anything coming in.

Because I know chickens love to dig, on the side of the coop inside the run, I also put a piece of wood, probably 3ft wide up against the building, in front of the chicken wire, so they couldn’t get in there and dig under the wire.

Then the ramp to go up to their door was also going up over this piece of wood.

On day 3 of Operation Missing Chicken, I am on my way out to open the door and let the chickens out for the day, when I happen to look into the run, and notice something odd protruding from under the ramp.

I stop and look a little closer.

I can’t say for sure, but that kind of looks like a head?

I open the gate, go into the run, and sure enough. There’s a little chicken head poking out from under the piece of board up against the building, under the ramp.

My little missing chicken had somehow wedged herself up between that board and the wire, likely during one of the Pavlov tizzy runs, and had spent 3 days trying to work herself out. I can tell you, there was not a lot of room to work with.

She must have gone up head first, and it must have taken her all that time to turn herself around and stick her head out, hoping someone might finally see her and come to her rescue.

I helped her get out from under the board and back to solid ground.

The poor thing tried to stand upright, but promptly fell right over. (Imagine if your legs had been stuck in one position for 3 days and you tried to stand on them!) She also had some toes that were not in the shape or position they should be, which weren’t helping.

I was a little concerned about her ability to recover from this, but she was still with us for the moment, so I figured first priority was food and water, since she hadn’t had these for 3 days either.

I got the other chickens out in the run and then took her inside and got her some food and water in dishes she could reach sitting down, and she let me know she had definitely been missing both.

I hung out with her for awhile, trying to decide what she was going to need. She kept trying to walk, and kept falling over, but she did seem to be standing for a little longer each time.

I decided the best plan was to let her hang by herself, with plenty of water, and get some rest. Then we’d see where we went from there.

It took her a few days to get all her kinks worked out, and to unbend herself back into normal chicken form, but now she’s out there running around with the rest of them like nothing ever happened.

And hopefully she (and the rest) have learned their lesson about playing hide and seek with Pavlov.

Laundry Day: Now Featuring Music and Error Codes

My 30,000 foot viewLeave a comment

I have been in my new place for almost a year already! Time flies when the days are short and the air is cold!

When I purchased this place it came with a set of pretty old laundry appliances that I knew I was going to update at some point. We’re talking those ancient relics of washers where you actually had to load the laundry from the top, and your clothes were given a ride around a maypole to get clean.

About a month or so ago, the dryer stopped warming up on the regular cycle. For some reason, it would still dry clothes on the gentle cycle, so I have been managing to limp it through the winter. But then, about a week or so ago, the washer’s lid quit locking, which meant the wash cycle could never fully engage, and my clothes never got their maypole ride. If I slammed the lid just right, while crossing my eyes and holding my breath, I could possibly get it to latch, but I realized this was probably not a long term solution.

So it being almost spring, the time for all things fresh and new, I decided it might be a good time for a new laundry duo.

That, and the fact there was a sale.

So, I ordered my fancy new matching laundry set, with the front load doors and missing the now extinct maypole, set up install and waited.

My install was scheduled for yesterday, and for any of you that know me at all, you know it was not going to just be an easy, story free process.

The delivery team actually showed up on time (right at the start of their 4 hour window too!), and set right to work on getting my old machines out of the way and the new ones un-boxed and ready to take their place.

We were only about 5 min in when the first issue arose.

As the install tech went to shut off the water (there was an easy shut off valve right there at the hook ups), to disconnect my old washer, he pointed out that the valve seemed to be shot. It was not completely shutting off the water flow, and there was a slight leak when he went to disconnect the hoses. He mentioned I would need to get someone to come replace the valve.

Ok, fair enough. I’ll add it to my to-do list. In the meantime, I grabbed a towel to tuck around the hook-ups while he was making the switch to prevent the leak from making too much of a mess, and on we went.

They get the old machines out of the way, carry in the fancy new washer and start to get it into place. This is where the fun really started.

As he is positioning the washer, he tells me he has not hooked up any of the hoses, but he’ll leave them in the tub, so I can connect them after I have the valve replaced.

Not sure I was completely understanding what he was saying, I said “I’m sorry, what?”

He replied that since the valve was leaking (in the off position) he wasn’t able to hook up the new washer to the valve. It was against the “rules”. So thus, he had also decided he just wouldn’t hook up the hoses to the machine either.

So, just to be sure I am understanding this correctly.

You are going to leave the washer not hooked up and the valve off and leaking until I can get someone to replace the valve, instead of hooking up the new washer and turning the valve back on where it doesn’t leak?

Of course. Makes total sense to me. Might as well just turn my utility area into a swimming pool while we wait for a plumber. The dogs have been dying for a swim.

After some negotiation, we agree he will at least connect the hoses to the machine and leave them where I can easily reach them, so I can easily connect them “once the valve is replaced”.

He finishes everything else, cleans up all the packaging and they jump in the truck to take off.

And as soon as he is in the truck, I connect the washer hoses and turn on the valve, thus stopping the leak and preventing an un-planned for pool.

He had also explained that I had 48 hours to make any reports of issues with the install, and then after that I would have to deal with the manufacturer for any issues, so I decided I might as well run a load of laundry and make sure everything was functioning as expected.

The washing machine did it’s thing with no issues, despite the now non-leaking valve, and my clothes came out clean and wet, while the utility room stayed dry.

But now it was the dryer’s turn.

I load the clothes in, turn on the cycle, and watch the clothes start their tumble routine.

Before they have a chance to complete their whole routine, however, I am called back to the machine with the melodic sound of the “there’s an issue” tone. (It’s so nice that these fancy new machines play you music instead of those harsh old buzzers)

Flashing on the display are several lights and a “nP” error code.

Digging out the manual and searching the error code list, let me know that this code indicated an issue with the power source and the fact that the “power cord had not been connected correctly”.

Hmmmm…. Guess it’s a good thing I have that 48 hour window.

Of course it was too late to call by that point, so first thing this morning I am on the phone with the 800 number provided as the techs had made their exit.

An hour and multiple transfers later, during which I am told they can’t get anyone out for over a week to fix the problem, then being sent to LG to see if they can somehow fix the issue over the phone (I know, I was surprised these new “smart machines” could be smart enough to re-hook up their own power cords correctly, too ) and finally back to the installers who finally “make an exception” to get someone out here first thing Monday morning to see what they could do.

I’d like to say I’m hopeful that I will be back to a fully functional laundry set up by mid-day Monday, but I’ve learned to be ready for anything.

Maybe there will be a “to be continued….” added to this post.

It’s a Black & White Problem

My 30,000 foot viewLeave a comment

I know it’s been awhile. I haven’t traveled nearly as much as I used to the past couple years, so travel stories haven’t been as abundant.

However, I’ve realized even when life isn’t in the clouds, my Life On The Ledge still has things to share. Although the characters are different, the entertainment value is still strong.
So back by popular demand (or no demand at all) the all new view from my Life on the Ledge!

This story starts in the black of night.

Right before I’m headed off to bed, my trusty four footed companions decide to do their excited dance at the door. I figure the chances are about 90/10 that the dance is due to some uninvited visitor in the yard vs upset tummies that were going to wake me up in the middle of the night with the need to use the bathroom. I hesitate for a minute, but decide that despite the low odds, I really did not want to be woken up in the middle of the night, so I opened the door and let them out.

As soon as the door opened and they took off around the garage, I knew I played the wrong odds.

Sure enough, their run was soon accompanied by their “Oh, look! A new friend!” bark.

I gave it a minute or two, then called for them to come back in. Not only did they not appear, but I recognized their “Hey look! We want to show you what we found!” barks, so I grabbed my flashlight and decided to go look so we could all go to bed.

I came around the garage and the flashlight found the pups hanging out in front of the chicken coop.

Followed quickly by lighting the black and white fluffy friend running around inside the chicken run.

Luckily, when I gave a quick yell to the pups, they came running back to the house with me, and I decided our little skunk friend could show himself out.

Apparently, Pavi’s experience last year getting sprayed in the mouth by a skunk (Yes. Directly. In. The. Mouth) was enough for him to learn to leave the black and white kitties alone and he had avoided the spray.

Ember, however, had not had the chance to learn that lesson.

She seemed to only have gotten a glancing blow on her neck, though, which I quickly scrubbed with dish soap and vinegar before it could set in, and the smell remained quite mild, considering.

Bullet dodged.

So off to bed we go to a great night sleep.

Bright and early the next morning, we’re downstairs and ready to start the day.

Somehow, even before my coffee, my brain kicks in enough for me to think maybe I should just go double check that our guest had made his way back to his own home over night before I let the dogs out.

I was really glad I did, because sure enough, as the chicken coop comes into view, there is our Oreo colored friend, still running back and forth in the run.

Hmm. Why did he choose to stick around? Surely there are more exciting places to explore than my chicken run.

The chickens had dug a hole in the corner of the run, which I had covered with chicken wire to keep them from escaping, and I realize Oreo had pushed up under the wire from the outside to get in. But now that he was in, he was standing on the wire, so couldn’t burrow back under it to get out , so now he was trapped.

Which means now I have to get close enough to the coop to let him out.

My run has two sections to it, a larger one and a smaller one. Both sections have doors in them, and since Oreo is currently running back and forth in the smaller section, I decide my best bet is to open the door in the larger section.

So I very slowly make my way towards the door, keeping my eye on Oreo the whole way.

At first, he is too focused on his panicked pacing to notice me, but just as I get into range to touch the door, he stops and looks at me.

So I stop and look at him.

I figure as long as I’m seeing the two-eyed side of him, I’m safe. It’s the one-eyed side I need to avoid.

So I keep my eyes on him and slowly reach out and open the door.

Once I get it open, I quickly retreat around the corner of the barn, and watch from a safe distance.

But Oreo has just resumed his frantic pacing along the back stretch and seems unaware his path to freedom is behind him.

That’s fine. I’ll go inside, get some breakfast and coffee, and surely he’ll be gone by the time I’m done.

Except he isn’t.

I load the dogs into the car for our morning walk and go to check, and Oreo is still doing his military march on the back of the chicken run.

Now what?

I decide maybe I need to open the door that is closer to his pacing path.

And also about 3 ft from Oreo’s business end.

I find one of Pavi’s strategically placed, enormous sticks lying between me and the coop (Now I realize he wasn’t creating a mowing obstacle course, but a home defense system!), so I grab it and again slowly advance into the danger zone.

I use the stick to flip the latches on the door, but I can’t get the right angle to pull the door open with it, so I have no choice but to creep in and pull the door open.

But I make it! And now Oreo has a clear escape path just 3 ft behind him.

I take the dogs for our walk, and when we get back an hour later, this time I’m sure Oreo has moved on.

And yet again, I’m wrong.

Not only is Oreo still pacing the perimeter, one of the chickens, who had still been shut up in the inside coop, had somehow let herself out, and was now pacing around with our black and white friend.

2 doors standing wide open to the outside world, and both of them are just getting their steps in the cage.

Obviously time to regroup.

Oreo is now in the larger run area, but also under the inside coop. As far from the doors as it is possible to get. The chicken is hanging out by the open door, so I figure I need to shut the doors and figure out how to corral Matilda before I can continue trying to encourage Oreo to move on.

I decide if I can try to corral Matilda in the smaller area I might be able to grab her and remove her from the equation, so I go get some grain and throw it down in that area to lure her in.

Sure enough, she takes the bait.

But as soon as I open the little door to try to nab her, she squawks and runs the other way.

Straight at Oreo. And straight into his smelly shower.

Somehow, I still avoid becoming collateral damage, but now Matilda is not happy and squawking and flapping, and Oreo is even more agitated.

Perfect conditions to continue with Plan Rescue.

Matilda finally calms down enough to go back to the grain and I’m able to grab her.

So now I’m standing hugging a skunk stink chicken.

Somewhere along my quest of collecting useless trivia, I had remembered hearing that once a skunk sprays, they are unable to spray again until their supplies replenish, so I had googled that earlier in the morning to see if I might be able to use that to my advantage, knowing he had sprayed the dogs last night.

While it is true, they can actually spray 5-6 times before they deplete their supply.

So I do debate, for a minute, whether I should just throw the chicken at Oreo 4 more times to run him dry, but quickly decide I’m unlikely to come out of that plan unscathed.

I stuff Matilda back in the coop through the nest boxes and reach in and lock the door so none of the other girls get the bright idea of trying to join the party.

Then I swing the outside doors wide open again.

Meanwhile, Oreo continues his frantic marching.

Now what?

I grab what is left of my blackberries from the fridge and again venture back to the danger zone. I toss a handful of berries back towards Oreo and then strew the rest of them to the door and out.

There. Plan Hansel and Gretel is sure to work.

I head inside to give Oreo the room he needs.

An hour or so later, I again make my way out to the chicken coop. Only to see Oreo still running back and forth.

Really??

I had already tried a stick to attempt to prod Oreo towards the exit, but it wasn’t very effective through the wire of the run.

Which is how I find myself doing something I never thought I would be doing .

Throwing rocks at a skunk.

Oreo is still pacing as far away from the door as possible, so I start throwing rocks at the coop near Oreo to get him to move in the other direction.

And it works! Oreo runs to the other end of the run- right past the two open doors (and over all the blackberries) and resumes pacing on the other end.

Old Oreo is proving to be a formidable opponent.

Apparently Oreo is only going to go out the same way he came in.

Except now Oreo is pacing directly over the entry point.

So now I’m throwing rocks again to get Oreo back to the other end he just came from.

Once he is safely back at the far end- again- I move in, tug the wire out from the bottom of the run, prop up the corner with a piece of wood, and move in for the final volley.

Back to the other end of the run to throw rocks-again- to move Oreo back to his chance at freedom.

Finally!

Oreo gets back to open corner, slips back out under the coop, and disappears under the fence.

And I survived 3 hours of battle with a skunk without getting sprayed once.

Victory!

Hopefully chickens don’t have a strong sense of smell, because their coop was not so lucky.

The Big Bad Wolf and the Scary Woods

My 30,000 foot view1 Comment

I have two big dogs. And while I didn’t get them for protection, and they are both friendly to dogs and man, I always figured they’d be good to have on my side if ever we were to run into Big Scary Monsters.

Today I learned how true that is.

It’s been cold here this weekend, so we haven’t been venturing out for as many daily miles as normal. In fact, it was a balmy 2 degrees when we woke up this morning, so we decided to postpone our morning walk a little and hope for a little more red to appear on the thermometer.

By the time we ventured out around 10, it had warmed up 6 times over to a much more reasonable 12 degrees. And since it was also nice and sunny, it felt like at least 13.

We had done a nice vigorous hike through the woods to get our body temp up, and Pavi had rearranged the forest by moving a few trees from here to there to keep his blood pumping, and were heading back to the car.

We had come out of the woods and were crossing the field to the parking lot, when Pavi, my big, intimidating, 95 pound black Shepherd, suddenly stops dead and stares intently into the woods.

Then the hackles all the way down his back go up and he starts barking at whatever he is staring at.

I walk up next to him and prepare myself for an enormous porcupine, or coyote, or wooly mammoth or BigFoot himself to charge out at us.

But nothing happens.

After a few more seconds pass with no monster emerging from the woods, I start to relax.

But my furry 4 footed companion has not.

And now he’s added a little lunge forward/ leap back move to his armor.

This helps me pinpoint the Big Scary Monster.

Someone had rolled a big ball of snow, like the bottom of a snowman, through the field and left it beside the trail.

And this Monster Snowball had set off all the alarms and sent my ultra tough protector into DefCon 5 mode.

It wasn’t until I went and sat on the snowball and finally lured my watchdog in with treats, so he could neutralize the threat, that we could finally continue down the trail and back to our car.

I don’t know what will happen if we ever do encounter Big Foot, but at least I know I am safe from snowballs.

Protect the Family Jewels

My 30,000 foot view1 Comment

This weekend my niece turned 5. And you can’t turn 5 without all the presents.

You just can’t!

So the pups and I headed out for a road trip yesterday morning for the 2.5 hour drive to my parents house.

I have a nice big car for my little monsters, and one of those cargo gates in my car, to keep those monsters in their area, and we have taken many a road trip (including one all the way cross country) with this set up without any issues.

Everything with this road trip started out in much the same way. But about an hour into our trip, things started to go in a different direction.

All of a sudden, my boy Pavi, starts pacing around in the back, whining and basically freaking out.

Strange. He sometimes gets a little antsy on a long ride, but not like this.

I try to talk to him from behind the wheel and get him to calm down, but he doesn’t, and now he’s trying to climb over the grate barrier into the back seat. Meanwhile, I’m trying to talk, then coax, then adamantly insist that he knock it off and stay in the back, all while hurtling down the highway at 75 mph.

Needless to say, none of that works, and within a few minutes, Pavi is halfway over the barrier, but since he is literally a monster, he can’t get the rest of the way over and is now stuck half in the back and half in the backseat, and now is truly frustrated.

I decide I have no choice but to get off the highway at the next exit, find a place to park and get him unstuck.

I pull into the back of a motel parking lot, get out of the drivers seat and open the back door to figure out how best to unstick my dog.

I decide the best route is to try to get him fully into the back seat -which is full of presents, dog gear and all our stuff, btw, and is making it even harder for him to find solid footing to squeeze through the small gap between the ceiling and the cargo barrier. I put his leash on him and proceed to try to assist him up and over.

I just start gently tugging and trying to coax him over, when something odd catches my eye.

Why does Pavi suddenly seem to have an extra appendage trying to make the trip over the barrier?

It takes me only a couple of seconds to realize that, indeed, my buddy’s “wee Willy winkey” is in fact tangled in the barrier grate.

Precisely at the same moment that he starts to howl in discomfort.

Now I have no idea how this appendage came to be tangled in the gate, or why the pen was even out of the case at this moment, but I don’t have much time to consider that, because full blown panic is starting to set in for Mr. Magoo, and he is wriggling something fierce to get himself out of this situation which is only going to end very, very badly.

So I do the only thing I can do.

I reach in and untangle the family jewels just before Pavi makes the final push into the back seat and out the door.

We spend a few minutes walking around outside, mainly to lower both of our blood pressure’s, but also because I still don’t know what set this all off in the first place, so I’m expecting expulsion of some sort of bodily fluids on top of all that fun, but nope. He seems fine now.

So we head to the back of the car to load up and get back on the road.

As soon as I open the back, it is evident what set off this series of events.

One of my two monsters has vomited all over the blanket I have covering the cargo space, and Pavi is adamant he is not going to spend the rest of the road trip riding in those conditions.

I decide, after all this drama, him riding shotgun for the rest of the trip is not the worst that can happen, so I open the passenger door and he happily climbs in.

I climb back in behind the wheel, and look over to set some ground rules about where his turf stops and my starts, only to notice that poor “Little Pavi” is now resembling our famous east coast red hot dogs, swollen to the size of a kielbasa.

That can’t be good.

I’m neither male, nor a veterinarian, but I know enough that this could be bad enough to warrant medical attention if it stays this way or gets worse.

And it’s Saturday, when all normal vets are closed, and I’m an hour from home and an hour and a half from my parents, and no idea where there might be any emergency vets on that route.

I make a call to my dad and my sister, they do some quick Google work and send me the info for a couple emergency vets along the way, and I decide since the big guy doesn’t seem to be in any obvious distress at the moment, we’d keep going and hopefully make it to one of the emergency vets before we had a full blown emergency.

Luckily, after several minutes, Little Pavi returned to normal size and returned himself to his shell, Big Pavi had calmed down and didn’t seem to be in pain, and a larger crisis seemed to have been avoided.

And lucky for Pavi, there were no plans to put those Family Jewels to use at any time in the future, so all’s well that ends well, as they say.

Do the Thing & You Will Have the Power*

My 30,000 foot view2 Comments

Anyone who knows me, knows that winter is not my favorite time of year. Many of you may wonder why I would choose to move back to Maine, or even more, how I grew up in Maine and then lived in Colorado for 20 years, and not like winter, but the fact remains winter is my least favorite season. I have been told living on the coast of Maine results in us having less snowfall than the rest of the state, which I will admit was a huge plus in my book.

What I was not told, however, was that thanks to our lovely coastal breezes, we do experience coastal gales that seem to wreak more havoc than snow.

When I first moved here and spent some time wandering the neighborhood and exploring with my faithful four legged companions, I started to notice that a large majority of my neighbors up and down the street had generators attached to their houses. I decided some investigative research might be in order, and decided to start polling my neighbors.

Sure enough, the resounding results of this survey was that Yes!! a generator was a must living here. Not only did the coastal gales knock out power on a regular enough basis, but evidently when power did go out, we were also low on the priority list for getting that power restored, living way down here on our peninsula and all.

I have never had (or needed) a generator before, but I decided to embrace coastal living and call in the experts. I connected with an electrician, scoped out the perfect generator to meet all my electricity needs, and put in my order.

Back in June.

I was told the generator would be delivered by mid August and installed by the end of that month, in plenty of time for gale season.

But this is 2020. So of course that didn’t happen.

When I still hadn’t heard anything from my electrician by the last week of August, I decided to reach out. He replied that he was going to be off the following week for Labor Day, but they could come out to get the work done the week following. Great!

The Monday after Labor Day I reach out again to find out when I might be on their schedule for that week. I am told Wednesday at 9am.

Wednesday at 9am arrives, but my electrician and my generator do not. Nor have they arrived by 11am. So I take to text again, with a patient inquiry about when they might be popping by. I am told by 1pm.

I know you know that if I am writing this, this is not what happened.

1pm comes and goes, and after yet another text to try to figure out what is going on, I am told that “Oops! I thought you were another customer, and we are now at their house doing their work, and so sorry, but we won’t make it to you today after all.”

Let’s just say the next few texts weren’t exactly patient inquiries, but we finally come around to the idea that they will be at my house the following Monday afternoon at 1:30.

This time, wonders of wonders, 1:30 actually brings electricians to my door. I also had some work they were going to do in my barn at the same time, so he says they’ll start with that, to which I reply “Great, and then we can talk about where you want to put the generator.”

“Oh, we don’t have your generator” is what I get in response.

I give him my signature blink, and say “I thought that was why you came out today”

“We have no idea when we are going to get the generator. The factories are completely backed up due to COVID and just can’t make them fast enough, so they have no idea when they are going to have any to ship out”

Is it just me, or does anyone else feel like there might be a small lack of communication occurring here?

He goes on to say, “We are telling all our customers they can cancel their orders and get their money back, but you aren’t going to be able to find any anywhere else either. Or you can continue to wait. Right now they are saying hopefully mid October”

I decide I don’t have much choice but to wait, but you can believe I jumped on the phone trying to find anyplace that might have a generator hidden in their back room or a better time line to report, but of course I didn’t .

Fast forward to mid October, when I am again told, nope, no generator. Now maybe end of December, but who knows. This time he throws in the extra caveat that they are offering free hook ups on portable generators to all their customers if they choose to go that route. But I might want to get on that ASAP if I wanted one, because the first big storm that knocked out power and those would all be gone too.

So now I find myself shopping for yet another generator.

I find one that gets great reviews, is big enough to handle all my devices and gets a thumbs up from the electrician, so I order it.

It ships the next day and is supposed to arrive the following Wednesday. My electrician is on standby to install it on Thursday, and I will be ready for all the gales the coast wants to send my way!

On Tuesday I get the tracking notice that my generator has arrived in Portland, and is on track to be delivered the following day.

Again, Wednesday comes, but does not bring my generator with it. Nor does Thursday.

You all know by now, that I did not just take this lying down.

By Friday I had talked to at least 5 different people at each of the freight delivery company that got it to Portland, the “Last Mile” delivery company that was supposed to get it from Portland to my house, and HomeDepot corporate offices. I had reached high level managers at each company, had their direct cell numbers, and had all of them calling each other to figure out what was going on with my generator.

Home Depot had a local store associate who was going to pick it up and drive it to me. The “last mile” delivery manager physically drove to the freight dock, saw my generator, tried to pick it up to ensure it was put on their truck the next day.

And still, my generator sat on a loading dock 45 min away from my house for a week.

The freight company finally guarantees the last mile company they’ll have it to them “first thing in the morning” on the Thursday before Thanksgiving, and the last mile company guarantees me they’ll have it to me by end of day.

The generator arrives at the Last Mile at 2pm- (Can I just pause to say the reason the freight company is so backed up might be because they consider 2pm “first thing in the morning”??) – but they come through and still get it to me by end of day. Whew!

Now to get the thing installed.

Through all this, I’ve been talking with my electrician and he has assured me they would have me up and running by Thanksgiving if it arrives by the end of the week. I let him know I have it, and he says they’ll be there Monday or Tuesday.

Again, I know I don’t need to spell it out for you…. Thanksgiving comes and my generator is still sitting in it’s box outside my front door.

And we lose power the Sunday after Thanksgiving.

I have now purchased 2 generators, and still spend 17 hours without power or water or heat.

My less and less patient texts finally secure an appointment for the install the following Monday.

I really wish I could say that was the end of the story.

They do show up to do the install, but as soon as he takes the generator out of the box, he turns to me and says “Do you have the cord?”

Because of course. Why would the generator actually come with the cord?

I make a flying run to town to buy literally the last generator cord in stock anywhere in town, get back just as they are finishing the install, get my tutorial on what breaker to throw and button to push when and in what order, and finally have a working generator.

Just in time to lose power again 7 hours later.

I am out in the pouring rain, gusting winds and pitch dark with two flashlights that I can’t get to work, trying to hold my iPhone in my mouth so I can see to get the “cord sold separately” plugged in so I can start the thing, but of course this isn’t a typical cord, and I’m a generator newbie, and I cannot figure out how to plug it in. I am stuck at step one.

After an “I don’t think the cord fits” text to my electrician and a desperate FaceTime call with my dad, I finally get it plugged in, get it started and survive the remainder of the 27 hour outage with all the modern comforts.

And thanks to another 24 hours without power 3 days later, I am now a seasoned generator owner and operator.

Maybe someday I’ll actually get my original generator too…

*Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Death of Muskrat

My 30,000 foot view1 Comment

I know being stuck at home with quarantine and social distancing can start to feel old and mundane. But I am here to share a story that shows even home can be an exciting place to be.

It started Thursday night when I happened to notice some animal had been hit by a car across the street from the end of my driveway. I did a double take, hoping it wasn’t someone’s cat or small dog, and once I determined it was only a muskrat, I didn’t give it much thought, assuming the road crew, or whomever was in charge of disposing of road kill would be along eventually to do their thing.

Last evening, the dogs and I went out in the yard for our nightly game of ball, when Ember suddenly perked up and took off toward the end of the driveway. I turned to see a crow take off at the same time, and caught up to Ember just as both she and I realized the birds had picked up the muskrat and decided to use the end of my yard as their dining table for their dinner.

I grabbed Ember just as she grabbed hold of a piece of Muskrat’s innards that apparently seemed too appealing to leave.

And I was left with no choice but to yank them out of her mouth and throw them back to the birds.

Needless to say, the rest of the evening was spent with her visiting every window, trying to convince me to let her out to finish her dessert, and me trying to recover from the forced, and way too up close encounter with dead things, and trying to decide if I could make do without that contaminated hand for the rest of my life.

That would have been bad enough, but of course the story doesn’t end there.

This morning, I get up, hopeful that the crows and turkey vultures, have finished their dinner, and cleaned the remains from the dining table that is my lawn.

But of course they haven’t, and Muskrat lay right where he was left.

And now it’s Saturday, so even if I wanted to call the town office and ask how to get in touch with the roadkill crew, there is no way to do this until Monday.

So I am forced to take matters into my own hands, and find myself out on my lawn with a shovel and a Hefty bag, cleaning up Muskrat’s remains. I decide I have little choice but to make my first trip to the dump in my new home town.

Not only is this my first trip to the dump, but also my first experience dealing with road kill, so I really have no idea what proper protocol is, and as I pull in, I stop at the attendant station to explain the situation and figure out where I’m supposed to take poor Muskrat.

“I don’t think we take road kill here” is the response I get.

“Well, what am I supposed to do with it then?”

” You can talk to the boss. That’s him right over there”

I walk over to The Boss, and again explain the situation.

And again get “We don’t take roadkill here” as the response.

And again I ask “What am I supposed to do with it then?”

“You can bury it”

“Where?”

“Just in your yard”

Planning a Muskrat funeral was not exactly top of my to-do list for the day. And starting an animal graveyard in my yard is not a very appealing option. I’m tempted to ask why, if my yard is an acceptable burial site, the dump is not, but I refrain.

” I can’t bury it in my yard. I have dogs”

“Yeah, if you have dogs, they’ll dig it up.”

I blink at him.

“You could just throw it across to the other side of the road” he replies with a shrug.

I give him the head tilt and more blinks, because I’m truly at a loss as how to reply to that.

I turn to walk back to my car to figure out a plan B, and as I pass the attendant shack, the lady I first spoke to, asked what The Boss had said to do. I told her he was not very helpful, and I was still unsure how I was supposed to dispose of Muskrat.

“Just take it to the woods and dump it. That’s what the cops would do if you called them. I hit a baby deer once and that’s all they did. Let the other animals take care of it”

I don’t know what else to say but to thank her and get back in my car.

I’ve watched enough mob movies to know that a car driving into the woods and tossing a Hefty bag out of the back, or digging a grave to bury a bundle is never viewed as suspicious activity. But that seems to be the only option I am left with.

Had I known how quickly my life would devolve into the seedy underbelly today, I would have had more coffee this morning.

And this is how I find myself driving deep into the woods and disposing of Muskrat in an unmarked grave, wondering again how I landed in the role of clean-up in the death of Muskrat, and if “the dump people made me do it” will hold up under future questioning.

RIP poor Muskrat. RIP.

Is There a Mr. Fix-It In the House?

My 30,000 foot view1 Comment

I thought I had been lucking out the past few months. Not only did a get a bit of a break from traveling so much, the trips I did have to take were relatively smooth and story free.

I should have known the odds would need to right themselves eventually.

I just didn’t expect it all to happen in one trip.

I had a “quick” trip planned to North Carolina this week. Out on Wednesday afternoon, and back Thursday evening. Since there aren’t a lot of direct options for me into Raleigh/Durham, NC, my out flight was a connection in Baltimore.

The flight from Denver to Baltimore was smooth, and even arrived a little early, giving me those few extra minutes to grab some food before boarding leg 2. If I had seen the future, I may have grabbed a little more to eat.

We boarded the Raleigh bound flight on time, but were quickly informed once boarding was complete, that there was a maintenance issue with one of the plane’s navigation systems. Not to worry though. Maintenance was already here addressing the issue, and we hoped to be cleared to leave shortly.

No big deal.

Sure enough, they were back on about 15 minutes later saying maintenance had fixed the issue and we would be pushing back.

They finished up the paperwork, closed the main cabin door, and we pushed back from the gate.

Only to have them immediately put it back in drive and pull us right back up to the gate.

“Sorry, folks. While maintenance did fix the problem with the first navigation system, now the second system is throwing an alert, so we need to have them back to look at that one.”

I can already see where this is headed.

About 10 minutes later the captain is back, this time with a less optimistic message.

They are pulling the plane from service for the night, so we all have to deplane. Please see the agent at the top of the bridge for information on a new plane.

I’ll give them credit. We were off the plane less than 5 minutes before they were sending us to a new gate, with a new plane, and less than 30 minutes later we were all loaded on the new plane.

The problem was, the bags were not so lucky.

We were sitting on the plane for an hour, before the little carts with all the checked bags finally pulled up beside the plane.

At exactly the same moment that the flight attendant  came over the intercom to call for help with a medical emergency for a passenger in the back of the plane.

Which meant the bags had to wait to be loaded on the plane until the Emergency Medical Response team could board the plane and get the passenger back off.

Another 45 minutes later, the medical emergency has been taken off for care, the bags have been loaded and they announce they have closed the front door and we will be leaving soon.

Which was evidently just what the man in row 2 was waiting for as his cue. He decides to choose that moment to throw a fit and demand to be let off the plane.

Despite the fact that the flight attendant explained in order to do that they have to get clearance to re-open the door, get ground crew to do so and re-do all the paperwork which will only delay things even further, the man continues to demand to be let off the plane

I’m actually surprised he made off the plane in one piece. I thought the entire plane was going to riot .

Another 30 minutes later, we are FINALLY ready to go. For real this time.

I finally get to my hotel and in bed a little after 12:30AM, and had to be up at 5:30AM for a 7AM meeting. That set my Thursday up to be a great day!

I come out of my early morning meeting to a message that my flight for that afternoon had already  been delayed for 3 hours.

You have got to be kidding me!

This time my plane, which was starting it’s day in Burbank, was scheduled to make a pit stop in Denver, on it’s way to pick us up in Raleigh to take us back to Denver.

Evidently, before it could leave Burbank, however, it was pulled due to a flat tire and left Burbank 3 hours late.

Even I can change a tire in less than 3 hours.

So, this is how I find myself landing in Denver, 3 hours later than planned, and then still have to make the drive home when it’s already past my bed time.

Now, not to toot my own horn, but I had done a remarkable job of staying cool and letting all these irritations roll off my back to this point, if I do say so myself. Even though I was beyond tired,  I figured the irritations were at least behind me, and all I had to do was make it home.

I should have known better.

I get to my car in the garage, and pull up behind one car in line to pay my for my parking and put the airport behind me.

And I watch as the guy in this car tries 3 times to insert his parking ticket. Then watch as he tries 3 different credit cards to pay his fee. And then continue to sit there, and sit there, and sit there, as he does who knows what. Finally, after about 10 minutes, the arm goes up and I breathe out my irritation as I assume the guy will finally leave.

Except he doesn’t.

I’ve already admitted I was beyond tired, so I assume maybe this guy is too, and possibly he fell asleep behind his wheel and failed to see the arm go up releasing him from parking planet. So I decide to play a gentle alarm on my horn to wake him up and urge him into freedom.

Except he still doesn’t move.

So I toot again.

This elicits him popping his head out of his window and yelling, “Stop that!”

Stop that?? Ummm, what??

Maybe he doesn’t speak horn? He wasn’t able to figure out the message I was trying to send?

So I decide to help him out and translate to plain English for him. I pop my head out of my window and say

“You need to go!”

To which I get,

“I’m not going! They have my license on camera showing I didn’t pay!”

I am beyond confused as to what this guy is missing, but he must be more tired than I am. The arm doesn’t pop up to let you out unless you pay. The arm is clearly up! So, I decide to translate for this guy again.

“The arm is up, so you obviously paid. Now you need to go!”

To which the guy decides to pull his head back in his car, put it in reverse and back it quickly up half the distance to my front bumper.

This seems an interesting move for a guy who was just expressing concern about them having his license plate on camera for not paying, but doesn’t seem concerned about being on camera backing his little car into my SUV.

I get it. Drive and Reverse can be confusing. And this guy is obviously having a difficult time figuring things out at the moment. So I decide to try to help one more time.

I pop my head out the window and say,

“Ummm, you need to go forward…”

Which got him backing another several inches towards my car in response.

Then his head is back out the window and he yells, “I’m not going! If you don’t like it, you can move!”

“Ummm, I’d love to! Except you are in my way, and I can’t!”

Now the parking attendant two booths down starts yelling at the guy that he needs to go, but the guy continues to just sit there.

I try one more time and offer “He’s telling you you can go!” out the window, as the attendant continues to yell at the guy, and the guy continues to sit there.

Finally, another attendant comes out of the main booth and starts to walk towards the guys car. The guy finally decides to move.

After reversing one more time to come as close as he can possibly come to hitting my car, without actually hitting it, he finally puts his car in drive and takes off.

I sure hope he managed to find his way home and to bed a lot easier than he found his way out of DIA parking.

At least I found my way home and to my bed without anymore delays.

Goldilocks & Papa Bear

My 30,000 foot view1 Comment

While things have been a little quiet on the travel front this summer, tonight I have a story for you, thanks again to my dog Auni.

As any of my followers know, Auni suffered from a broken leg this past winter, and already has arthritis in her front leg. So as part of her “therapy” to keep her as active as possible, we go on almost daily walks.

Tonight, we headed out for our constitutional after dinner, and after the thunderstorms decided to clear out, around 7pm.

We were having a nice leisurely walk, stopping to sniff anything that might be suspicious, and exploring everything that might have changed since our walk two days ago, when I happened to catch a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of my eye.

We have a creek that runs parallel to the road in our neighborhood, and most of the driveways have little bridges going over the creek to get up to their houses.

Taking his evening constitutional and heading across one of these little bridges in our direction was our neighborhood Black Bear.

When I saw him, we were about 10 feet from running smack dab into him at the end of the driveway.

Luckily, since he was looking in the other direction, and ambling even slower than my canine companion, we were able to quickly back up about another 10 feet and come to a stop before he got to the end of the driveway and the road we were on.

And it gave me a few seconds to get my camera.

fullsizeoutput_1d76

 

I actually never carry my phone with me on our walks, but I happened to be waiting for a return call (on a package delivery issue, of course) and so had brought it with me tonight. However, my photography skills were a little lacking after this one picture when I realized he was looking right at us. I figured I should maybe pay more attention to what he was going to do, then take pictures.

And what did my faithful companion do? The same companion who literally turned into a wild woman 3 nights ago, when this guy was clearly outside our house around 10pm? That night she was pacing back and forth across the house, barking at every door and trying desperately to make me let her out to face her foe head on. (There were a few moments when I wondered why I wasn’t doing just that). But tonight, when she actually did confront her foe head on?

She sat calmly by my feet and watched him with me from our spot on the side of the road.

Which is probably a good thing in hindsight.

Our fellow ambler spent a few seconds in the above pose checking us out, and then turned and loped off across the street and into the yard on the other side, and we turned and continued our walk back to our house.

It’s always nice to make new friends in the neighborhood.