My week started with high expectations. Mike called one of his cronies and arranged to meet him and another friend at a local restaurant Monday morning. We were going out for breakfast, something we haven’t done in a long time. I’m talking about a real sit-down-and-be-served breakfast out. McDonald’s doesn’t count.
I took road pictures.
The restaurant sits right on a little creek.
Instead of mowing this little sliver of ground or letting it go to weeds, they put in a beautiful wildflower garden.
“Good morning!” the waitress cheerfully greeted us when we walked in the door.
“Mornin’,”
Mike says. “We’re meeting Butch and Woody here this morning.”
“Oh!
They’ll be here around eight.” Butch and Woody are regulars.
When
she set up our table, she set a place for the other guys, too. I sipped my
coffee, Mike his water, while we waited for the eight o’clock hour to roll
around. About a quarter past the hour, and two cups of coffee later, Mike
called Butch. After speaking to him a few minutes, Mike hung up.
“They’re
not coming.”
Our
waitress came back around. “Are you ready to order or do you want to wait a
little longer?”
“They’re
not coming so we’ll order.”
Mike
got an omelet and I ordered biscuits and gravy.
“That comes with potatoes,” she said. “What
kind would you like?”
“Home
fries, I guess. Is there gravy on those, too?”
“There
can be!” she said and noted it on the ticket.
When
my food came, I took one look at it and
hated it immediately. The thin gravy sank to the bottom leaving chunks of
premade sausage boogies sitting all alone on top. Where was my creamy, thick,
white sauce with little pieces of sausage‽
“They
don’t use much milk,” I told Mike. But I was still willing to give it a chance.
I took a little taste, then another, then the pepper kicked in. “And they used way
too much pepper, too!” Crestfallen, I put my fork down and rinsed the pepper
down with coffee.
“Get
something else,” Mike suggested.
“No.
I’ll pick on this.” I picked up my fork and started pushing stuff around on my
plate. I broke a little piece of biscuit off and ate it. It was still awful.
“I
almost told you not to get that,” Mike said, taking another bite of his omelet.
He knows how picky I am about sausage gravy.
“Mark’s
makes good sausage gravy,” I pointed out. “And so does Kristy’s. I won’t know
if it’s good here until I try it.”
Mike could tell I was having a hard time eating it. “Just get something else.”
Paying for one ten-dollar breakfast was enough. I didn’t want to pay for two. “I’ll just pick on this and take the rest home for the dogs.” Although, I doubt the dogs would eat it either. It would end up out in the weeds for the whistle pigs or possums.
“I
don’t mind paying for two,” Mike said. “Get something else.”
About
this time the waitress comes around with the coffee pot. “How is everything?” she
asked.
“I
hate it,” came out of my mouth without me even thinking about it.
Her
smile dropped. “Would you like something else?”
I
was still sticking to my guns. “No, I’ll just pick on this.”
“Yes,
she does,” Mike chimed in.
I
ended up ordering eggs and bacon and when it came, I was a much happier camper.
“I’ll
pay for both,” Mike told her.
“No, that’s okay,” she
said setting it in front of me.
I know she wasn’t happy.
She wasn’t quite as chipper and smiley as she was before. When we paid for the meal,
we paid for the biscuits and gravy even though she didn’t charge us for them.
I can’t tell you how much
I appreciated her replacing my meal. The only other time I hated a meal, the
expensive, upscale restaurant we were in wouldn’t.
I talked about this in my morning love note to my peeps. My handsome redheaded brother also makes his sausage gravy with water instead of milk. So, I guess people do like it that way, just not me.
I
took a few more road pictures on the way home.
While we’re talking about food, let me tell you about a couple of other incidents that happened this week.
Do you ever make Hamburger
Helper?
In my whole life I’ve
probably only made it a handful of times.
Aldis had it and I
picked up a box for a quick, easy meal for us. Besides, it reminds me of a
story.
Working in a factory,
one of the guys was telling about his son going off to college.
“Ira got him a half
dozen Hamburger Helpers to take with him. He took them out of the box and said,
‘I don’t like these.’”
We were eating our lunch and listening
with rapt attention.
Bob looked at each of us in turn. Leaning
in for emphasis, he said, “She’s been making it for years!” He paused and a
smile crept over his bearded face. “When he came home, she made a box for
supper. You know what? He said he liked it!” It was a gottcha! moment.
We all laughed.
So, I made Hamburger Helper for lunch
and remembered that story.
“How was it?” I know you value my opinion.
Mike liked it.
I remembered why I don’t buy it very
often.
A chicken recipe came across my Facebook
feed that had simple ingredients and looked like something I could make.
I decided to make it.
I thawed out four chicken breasts and
made the sauce.
“Always double check your recipe to make
sure you put everything in,” I heard Momma in my head.
I ran my finger down the list and saw
salt. I hadn’t put salt in it. I skipped to the beginning of the line for the
amount.
It smelled good as it baked but the
first taste told me it was way, way too salty. I scraped the sauce off and ate
it anyway.
“If I make it again,” I told Mike, “I’m
not gonna put so much salt in it.”
Cleaning up the dishes, I picked the
recipe off the counter and read it again. Yes, it has salt — season salt, which
I’d already put in. Dummy me didn’t read season when I double checked my
ingredients and added an extra teaspoon and a half of table salt! No wonder it
was too salty!
I told Mike my mistake. “Did you know
when you married me that I’m not perfect?”
He didn’t answer.
>>>*<<<
We made a trip to Dickson City for
ceiling tile. Mike needed one more case and five singles.
“Maybe Home Depot sells single tiles,” my
handsome mountain man said.
Lowe’s only sells them by the case.
We left early. The fog was just starting
to burn off the mountain tops.
This place used to house honeybees. I
don’t know what happened to them.
“It looks like they lost a branch,” I said, noticing the fresh scar.
Driving past, it looks like a sizable branch landed on the house. I didn’t do a good job getting a picture on the way home, either.
Home Depot had the ceiling tile we
wanted and they also only sold them in cases. But they also carried a four-pack.
Mike needed five.
“What are you gonna do?” I asked.
“I’ll see if I can’t salvage one of the old ones.
We left Home Depot and went back to Lowe’s for the case of ceiling tile because it was cheaper there. It wasn’t much of a drive. They’re right down the road from each other.
In Lowe’s, in the ceiling tile section, someone
had opened a case of tile and taken a couple out.
“Maybe where someone else opened them,
they’ll sell us one,” Mike said. “Would you go look for someone and find out?”
I found a couple of guys stocking a
shelf not far away.
“Excuse me. Can you help us in ceiling
tile?” I asked.
“I can try,” one of the guys replied. “What
do you need?”
“We need one ceiling tile. There’s a case
open. Can we buy just one?”
“I don’t see why not. They have a barcode
on each tile.”
“But it says on the shelf, sold in
cases only,” I pointed out.
He left his job and went with me back to
where Mike was waiting. He pulled a ceiling tile from the opened box and pulled
up the sticker to reveal a barcode.
“See,” he said showing us. “It has its
own barcode.”
I put my finger on the handwritten sign
on the rack above the ceiling tile cases. “It says sold in cases only.”
“This was already open. Do you think
they’d sell us just one?” Mike asked.
“I don’t see why not. It’s silly to have
to buy a whole case for one tile. I’ll tell you what. Take it up to customer service
and tell them. See what they’ll do,” he suggested.
Mike and I did that. After waiting ten
minutes for our turn at customer service, explaining the box had been opened
already, and we only needed one tile, we were flat out told, “No. We can’t sell
them individually.”
We left the ceiling tile there and walked
away. They were not flexible on the policy at all.
“Maybe so many tiles got damaged that
they were losing money,” I suggested. It’s always about the money. “So, we’re
back to plan B?”
“We’re back to plan B,” Mike confirmed.
Something else we were going to the city
for was a birthday gift for me. I loved having Bird, I already have a bird
cage, and I wanted another bird. When we were in PetSmart getting supplies for
Bird, I saw the colorful little Zebra Finches. That’s what I wanted.
We talked with the gal for quite a while.
She said Zebra Finches are a good beginner bird because they’re easy to take
care of.
These little guys are quick and she had
a hard time catching a pair for me.
“How can you tell which are the male and
which are the female?” I asked.
“The males have orange cheek patches,”
she said.
“Do they sing?” Mike asked.
“No, but they make a little meep,
meep,” she said imitating their sound.
Suddenly, from the cage we were standing
in front of, came an answering chorus of “Meep, meep, meep.”
“How old are they?” I didn’t know if she’d
have a definitive answer to that or just a guess.
“They’re all supposed to be six months or
under when we get them.”
The info on the cage front said they
live about five years. I didn’t want one that was four years old.
Since then, I’ve learned Zebra Finches
are bred in captivity and can live as long as twelve years if well cared for.
The lady at PetSmart gave us a box to
get them home.
“We have some other shopping to do,”
Mike said. “They’ll be okay in the car with the air on?”
“Don’t leave them in the car. Take them
in the stores with you,” she advised.
And that’s what we did.
Birds are not like dogs.
Birds are not even like cats.
They don’t wanna cuddle or be touched.
We’ve had them for four, five days by
the time you get this. Zebra Finches are quite active, and quite the talkers,
too. All day long they dart from perch to perch, keeping up a steady stream of
chatter. They’ve learned to recognize Mike. When he comes out to the kitchen he
stops and talks to them. They fly to a perch close to him and talk back.
“Have you named them?” you ask.
Only as a joke. I call them Meep and
Meepette, you know, like Smurf and Smurfette?
>>>*<<<
A Hummingbird Moth on Bergamot. Momma
called them Humbees.
I love Bergamot! It’s in the mint family
and you can make it into a tea or cookies. The flowers are edible and can be used
in salads as an interesting garnish. They have a strong peppery flavor, which
can become more enhanced with the drier the condition of the flowers.
Native Americans used this herb to treat
digestive disorders, coughs, and the flu. The tea made from this plant was also
used to treat any discomfort in the mouth.
Bergamot was also used to dress wounds as it had some qualities similar to a disinfectant.
You can eat the leaves, flowers, and
young shoot tips — raw or cooked. They are used as a flavoring in salads, fruit
salads, drinks etc. The leaves give an Earl Grey flavor to black tea.
A Skipper on Bergamot.
Evening primrose.
Pokeweed. I see the legs of a little
flower spider on there, something I didn’t see when I was taking the picture or
I’d’ve gone for a flower spider picture, too!
“How’s Raini this week?” you wanna know.
She had to wear her muzzle three times
this week, but only twice for going after Bondi.
The first incident was when Bondi tried
to come through the pet door from outside. Raini nailed her. I don’t know why.
I calmly grabbed her collar, pulled her off Bondi, and muzzled her.
The second time was when we were playing
a nightly before-we-go-to-bed game of jump. Bondi’s ball gets thrown down the
hallway and she chases after it. I just toss Raini’s ball into the air right by
the bed and she jumps for it. Their paths crossed and Raini gave a warning
growl. I gave her a muzzle and put both balls away.
Bondi is very afraid of Raini. Sometimes
I have to go outside and carry her in because she won’t come in on her own. Yesterday
she sat in the other room and whined until I went and got her so she could sit
in my computer chair with me. I’m hoping time will soften the edges of her
fear.
The third time Raini wore her muzzle was
because we’d taken her to Tractor Supply for her rabies shots. I didn’t have
the slightest idea how Raini would react to other dogs. The only other dog she’s
been around, other than Bondi, is Tux and she’s known him since she was a pup.
We got to the clinic twenty minutes before
the listed start time and the line was already forming. A lady with two dogs
was first, then a young gal with a kitten in a carrier, then us. The two dogs went
nuts barking at Raini. Raini was afraid and tried to hide behind my legs as the
dogs barked and lunged at the end of their leashes.
“Their tails are wagging so I think they
just want to say hello,” the lady said to her young daughter with her. The dogs
were siblings, four months old.
The daughter wanted to let our dogs get
together and kept after mom.
“I don’t know what my dog will do,” I
told her. “I don’t want her to bite your dogs.” Then she sorta understood that
it isn’t always about what your dog may or may not do.
The lady took her dogs a little way into
an adjoining aisle and out of sight of Raini so they quit barking.
Other dogs showed up behind us and I listened
to the idle chatter of the owners. The lady directly behind me with a Poodle Yorkie
mix, talked to her dog a lot. “Nice going, George. I walk you out in the grass
and you wait until you get in here to poop.”
She did clean it up but I had to smell
poop for a good while after that.
The people behind her, a youngish white
man and nine- or ten-year-old black girl, talked to George’s mom. He told her they
had two more dogs out in the car besides the two with him and had a total of
nine dogs in all.
That’s a lot of dogs! I’m thinking about how much money it
takes to take good care of that many dogs.
“What time is it?” I asked the young gal
ahead of me.
“Ten after,” she said.
The clinic was supposed to start at the
top of the hour. I’d been waiting a half hour now.
Raini liked the sound of her voice and strained
at the end of her leash. “She’s never bitten anyone,” I told her. “I only
muzzled her because I didn’t know how she’d be with other dogs. She wants to
say hello. Is it okay if she does?”
The young gal held out her hand, an
invitation for Raini to come closer. I relaxed the leash. “Hello pretty girl,”
the gal cooed and scratched her ears. Raini liked to beat me to death with her
tail.
By this time several of us were sitting
on the floor. Raini came back and laid down next to me.
Suddenly, we all became aware of a huffing,
chugging sound getting closer and closer. I knew the snorting, chuffing,
grunting sounds of a bulldog when I hear it! We all watched until he came into view
and took a place at the end of the line.
“How would you like to listen to that
all day long?” I asked Kitten Gal.
“Noise canceling headphones. That’s all
I’ve gotta say.”
I laughed.
First it was dogs barking, then dog poo,
and now it was heavy dog breathing. So many sights and sounds and smells and
Raini was exceptionally good. She sat in my lap some, her head on my shoulder. A
few times she tried to leave. “Stay with me,” I told her and pulled her back.
Then she’d lay down again. She never barked. Never growled. Never tried to go
for another dog — or the kitten in front of us.
We were told the vet was running late.
At quarter past the hour, we were told
the vet was there but her staff was not.
It was half past the hour when the
clinic started.
The vet-tech came out with portable
scales and took down all the information for the two four-month-old pups and
owner. She went over a list of services they provide that might be pertinent to
pups, listed what the gal wanted, gave her a price, collected a signature, and
moved to Kitten Gal.
Then it was our turn.
Raini weighs thirty-five pounds and she’s
fifteen months old. She needed another shot as well as rabies. The vet-tech
listed it and gave me a price. Even without a vet’s office call, it was still ninety
dollars.
They were finally ready to start taking pets
and the lady with two dogs went into the back room where the vet was set up and
the line moved up.
I didn’t know Raini was paying attention
and wanted to follow the other dogs through the doors into the back. “We have
to wait our turn,” I told her.
After a bit, they came out, went past us
and out the door.
It took — forever! — another five
minutes or so before they came out for Kitten Gal.
We moved to first place in line and
again Raini wanted to go into the back room. She stood and eyed the doors. “Wait,”
I told her pulling her to a stop. “You really wouldn’t want to go back there if
you knew what they were going to do to you.”
Having lost my jibber-jabber partner, I
turned to George’s Mom.
“Have you been here before?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s eleven and I’ve
only ever brought him here.”
“Does it usually take this long? This is
my first time here?”
She shook her head and answered, “No.
Usually it’s right in and out.”
“So, you don’t go to a vet?”
“Uh-uh.”
“What do you do when he gets sick?” I
wanted to know.
“Knock on wood, he’s never been sick.”
The vet-tech came past us to the young
man behind George’s Mom. “The vet said she isn’t comfortable giving a rabies
shot at this time. It could harm the unborn babies.”
I couldn’t hear all of what he said. All
I heard was, “Would you rather....”
I looked at George’s Mom. “I think I’d
wait.”
“Me, too,” she said.
I didn’t know the young man could hear
us, but I didn’t care that he did.
“What if she gets rabies?” he asked me.
“The chances of that are pretty slim if
you keep her in.”
“We have foster kids and part of the agreement
is the pets have to have rabies vaccines.”
“Oh, gosh. I guess you don’t have any
choice then.” I felt bad for the little unborns.
He shrugged. “I’ll just wait and talk to
my vet.”
“Where do you go?” I asked, knowing
there aren’t a lot of choices in our area.
“Wysox Animal Clinic,” he answered. “It’s
a lot cheaper than the other one.”
Damon pushed open the door, looked at
me, and said, “Raini Dae.”
“Yep.” Raini was eager to be moving at
last and trotted right into the back room where the clinic was set up.
“Has she ever had any problems with her
shots before?” the lady vet asked.
“Not that I remember.”
“Sometimes, with the one shot, I give a little
Benadryl to help them,” she said. “Is that okay?”
“Sure. That would be fine.”
“The Benadryl shot is an intramuscular
shot and she’ll feel a pinch,” the vet said.
Young, strong, Damon held Raini on the
table. She felt it! She yipped and tried to get away, but Damon held on to her.
Raini calmed while the vet went to get the next shot.
“These next two shots go just under the
skin and will just be a little prick,” she explained.
Damon held Raini and the vet was fast
getting the next shot in.
Raini said that was it! She was done!
She’s leaving! And she was fighting Damon to get down. He held her and much to
my surprise, even in her distress, she didn’t try to bite him.
The vet approached with the third and
final shot. As soon as she touched Raini, Raini had a fresh fit of fight.
“Hold on a second, Doc,” Damon said.
She stood by. “Tell me when you’re
ready, Damon.”
As we waited, the vet turned to me. “They
know as soon as I touch them that a poke is coming.”
It was probably a good two minutes
before Damon gave her the okay and she went in for the shot. It was done.
They have a little station set up where
you pay and because of our wait, they gave us five dollars off the service.
Raini couldn’t get out the doors fast
enough. Someone tried to pet her on our way through the store but she wasn’t
having any of that. She wound around behind me and made for the outside. I
twisted in a circle and shrugged.
“It’s okay,” the lady said. “She’s shy.”
Out in the parking lot a whole new drama
was taking place.
“There’s a dog in that car that’s
barking and carrying on,” Mike told me.
Raini was circling our car looking for a
way to get in. She wanted to go home.
“So?” I said.
“The cars not running, and it’s gotta be
really hot in there. That poor dog.”
So, Mike was talking to a guy parked
behind our car, who was having a fit over the dog locked in the car with the
windows shut tight. Another guy parked beside us was also in on the dog watch
but when Raini and I came out, he wanted to pet Raini. Raini wasn’t having any
of it and just kept asking me to open the car door for her. I did and she
jumped in.
“I tried to pet the other dog but she
growled at me,” he told me.
“Bondi growled at you‽” I couldn’t believe it.
“What’s her name?”
I know it’s an unusual name and most people
don’t get it the first time, so I explained. “Bondi. She’s the bond-ee and I’m
the bond-er.”
“Yeah. Every time I’d reach in, she’d
growl.”
He demonstrated, reaching in the open
driver’s window. Sure enough, Bondi growled. Secretly, I was pleased. My vicious
guard dog. All eleven pounds of her.
I became aware of a commotion behind us.
I’d vaguely been aware of a couple coming out of the store and going to a car a
couple of cars over from where we were while I was talking with this other guy.
“NEXT TIME I’M CALLING THE POLICE!” the
man behind us yelled as he was getting back into his truck.
“I guess we missed all the excitement,”
I told the guy I’d been talking to.
“Yeah, well, that’s okay.” He did
something with his car, then walked away.
Mike and I got in our car. “What
happened?” I asked.
“That guy said he left his car running,
but it wasn’t running the whole time we were there!”
“Maybe it’s like the time we left our
car running with Bondi in it when we went into the store. We weren’t in there
very long and when we came back out, our car wasn’t running either,” I reminded
him.
“Yeah, but we were there for quite a
while and it wasn’t running.”
“Break a window,” I said.
“You can’t do that anymore. You have to
call the police. Unless it’s a kid inside, then you can.”
All
in all, we were there for an hour and a half.
How much money did we save?
I don’t know.
I only have one more Raini story.
I mowed the dog run this week. Both dogs
have a fit when I get the mower out. Bondi just barks at it but Raini will
actually dash in and grab the wheels. I make them stop and stay away from the
mower. How do I do that? Easy. It’s called a fly swatter. I don’t have to hit
them with it, the threat is usually enough to keep them away. Pretty soon they
lose interest and sit on the patio while I mow.
Mike went to get the mail. When he came
back, both dogs were barking at something. He thought they had a cat cornered
or something. Turns out, they were barking at the mower.
A couple of days later, Raini was
barking her fool head off. I let it go, thinking she was barking at a cat on
the other side of the fence. But Raini didn’t stop and I thought it prudent to
make sure she hadn’t cornered a cat, or possum, or skunk, inside the dog run.
Nope. It was the mower.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her. To which
she frantically replied, “Bark! Bark-bark-bark-bark!” She dashed in, grabbed
the back wheel, and pulled the mower out. I thought there might be something
hiding under it, so I checked. There wasn’t. She was just trying to herd the
mower.
And with that, let’s call this one done!
