The dog is, apparently, on a regular schedule. This involves mad twirling and begging to play from 6 to 8 a.m., after which is a period of intense disinterest in all things physical or fun which lasts until about 5 p.m., at which time she begins the process of ‘getting under the people’s feet’ and ‘obnoxious whining to go out and play.’
Methinks she’s trained herself to our workly schedule.
How do I know this? Easy – I’m working at home today, and after about 2 hours of her being wherever it was that my feet were supposed to be, and emitting high-pitched whines that probably could peel paint from the walls if only moderately amplified, she just QUIT at 9, which was when I was ready to take her out back and play.
Three tosses of the squeaky bone and she was content to lay in the sun, surveying the backyard like the queen I’m sure she thinks she is. Fine then, Skeeter, just LAY there and fail to amuse me with your bone-chasing antics! I shall go inside and annoy the cats!
Which is, of course, exactly what she wants me to do.
Saturday afternoon was gorgeous, so we decided it might be a good idea to go to Shelley Lake and feed the ducks, geese, and dump chickens, then take a bit of a walk on the lovely 2+-mile paved walking path around the lake.
It was a grand scheme, until one of us (me) had to pee. OK, usually not a big deal; there are bathrooms at both the Arts Center and at the boathouse. One slight issue though – neither the arts center nor the boathouse potties were open. Because of COURSE it makes sense to close them at 2:45 on Saturday afternoon , when there are approximately 800 people using the park, some of whom are having picnics with young children and grannies and persons of the female persuasion who do not have that handy thing for a picnic dangling between their walking legs. Of COURSE let’s make it so there’s no place for THEM to pee, should the need arise! Makes. Total. Sense.
There was no way I was going to make it through 2+ miles of walking without wetting my netherbits, no way at all. So, the walk, which was really the big draw for going all the way down to Shelley Lake, was a no-go. Ah well, the geeses were certainly very happy we came, because they got stale pancakes (not a big hit), old blueberry bagels (a bigger hit with them than with the inhabitants of the Tiny House), some bread ends (a crowd pleaser) and about 10 pounds of ‘duck and goose food' that Biff picked up at the hardware store (the certain favorite of all!).
While feeding the geeses, a little red-headed girl, her baby brother, and their Dad came up behind me. I had the prized bag o' duck chow, and as a consequence the animals were a-swarming around trying to get a bite of hulled corn and whatnot. Well, that little girl just HAD to get in on the action, and who can resist a redhead? Nobody, that’s who, which is why several handsful of goose food found their way into her wee paws and straight into the gullets of the gooses. Then she did me one better, and started feeding the geese right out of her hand…something which I have not yet worked up the stones to do.
Mock me if you will, but I’ve seen those America’s Funniest Home Videos of people getting owned by an angry goose. My hands? Stay well out of the way of their nippy lil’ beaks, is what I’m saying.
Not so for the pint-sized fowl feeder. Oh noes. She laid her hand out flat, and the geese waddled up and started feeding. I was not the only one amazed; her Dad chuffed out a smoker’s chuckle, wheezily declaring “hey, can I get a handful of that stuff? If SHE’S going to do that I have to at least TRY” and of course I said yes, being as how I like to encourage people to stretch themselves to do new things. Yep – I’m all enably like that. And so, through the judicious distribution of bird food, a father and daughter grew closer that day. Touching, no?
It was shortly after that that we discovered the bathroom issue and as a result had to truncate our afternoon in the North Carolina Springtime sun. Really, Raleigh, could you not at least have a port-a-john around so that we, the forecasters of pleasant afternoons spent rambling through an urban greenscape, can make good on those plans with their out-of-town guests? WOULD IT KILL YOU to do that? WOULD IT?
I do not think it would, and so purposefully petition you so to do.
One final thing: our dentist sent us a $25 gift card to Target as a wedding gift. HOW AWESOME IS THAT????
Plenty awesome, is the answer. Plenty DAMN awesome. It almost forgives all that gum-pokey crap they do every 6 months. Almost. Fifty bucks might have done it.
With that, I bid you a good afternoon. Y'all be good, Tiff be out.