Hyperbole

 

This week my big ole rugged mountain man was reduced to a whining quivering baby by hernia surgery.

          Okay! Okay! That might be hyperbole.

          “What’s hyperbole?” you ask.

          Funny you should ask! My Miss Rosie has the perfect definition of hyperbole.

“It means exaggeration for emphasis.”

She’s had to tell me that succinct definition at least three times because I just couldn’t keep the words in my head. But I know something about that word and my mother that you may not know.

“What’s that?” you ask.

My mother’s read a lot of books over the years and she knew what the word meant, but she didn’t know how to pronounce it until … I don’t know exactly when, but I can tell you this. She lived most of her life without ever knowing the correct pronunciation.

“How do you know?” you ask.

I know because I was the one who told her. I have to grin as I see in my mind’s eye the surprised look on her beautiful face when she learned that hyperbole is pronounced HY-PUR-BUH-LEE with four syllables not HY-PER-BOIL with three.

I don’t want you to think I’m smarter than I am because it wasn’t very long before telling her that I’d found out for myself! And maybe that’s why we were talking about it, I don’t know. And like Momma, I was also pronouncing it HY-PER-BOIL in my head whenever I read the word.

But I digress.

Mike had a surgical hernia, a hernia caused because of his colon surgery. They scheduled the surgery for Tuesday but it was Monday afternoon before they called us.

“Your arrival time is eight a.m.,” she told us.

I guess it’s normal to be nervous before they put you on a table, put you to sleep, and cut you open. Me? I say my good-byes and I-love-you-always-and-forever’s to everyone I know before I go in for something like that, just in case. Heck! I even tell everyone the same thing if I have to get on an airplane, I’m so nervous — and so very aware that accidents, even freak accidents, can and do happen every day. There are so many ways to die. That’s why I tell my family and friends every single day that they are in my heart, aka, I love them.

But again, I’m off on a tangent and not sticking to the point.

“I know they’re going to make me get naked for the surgery,” Mike told me on the early morning ride to the hospital. “I dreamed I took my clothes off in the parking lot.”

The imagery was too much for me and I laughed. And I laughed. And I’m still laughing.

The sun coming up over the beautiful Susquehanna.

The whole way down our mountain I was trying to get a picture of the lit-up oil rig against the skyline but it was too dark and the pictures came out blurry.

It wasn’t until we’d gotten into town that there was enough light for a fairly clear photo. 

Crossing the Veterans Bridge going into Towanda. 

Heading up 220 toward Sayre and the Robert Packer Hospital I took a lot of pictures of the sunrise reflected in the side mirror and against the side of the car. These two are my favorites.

 We arrived at the hospital a half hour early. We checked in at the desk.

“And who do you have with you today?” she asked. You can’t drive yourself home from outpatient surgery no matter how much you whine.

“My wife Peggy,” Mike answered.

“Oh! Good name!” she says. “I’m a Peg.”

I glance at her name tag. Margaret, it says.

“Are you a Peggy or a Margaret?” Mike asked. Not all Peggys are Margarets and not all Margarets are a Peggy.

“I’m a Margaret,” she answered. “Margaret Ann.” She looked at me with questioning eyes.

“I’m a Margaret Mary,” I told her. “A good Catholic name.”

“Yes,” Peg agreed. “Irish Catholic.”

We talked about our ancestral homeland for a few minutes and I told her my cute little redheaded sister made a trip to Ireland and kissed an Irishman.

“I’d like to go to Ireland some day, but I don’t know about kissing an Irishman.” Peg handed me a paper with Mike’s patient number on it. “You can keep an eye on where he’s at on the monitors,” she said.

I remembered that from his colon surgery. The monitor changes colors to denote when he’s checked in, when he’s in pre-op, surgery, and post-op.

We thanked her and walked the whole way around the waiting room, almost making a complete circle before finding a seat. Peg had come out from the desk.

“You took the long way around,” she said.

“Yep,” I answered. “The scenic route.”

We waited almost an hour before they called for Mike.

I passed the time reading on my phone. I don’t care what anyone says, I like e-reading and all my electronics sync. It doesn’t matter if I’m reading on my phone, iPad, or Kindle. I can open any one of them and it’ll take me to the page I left off.

People came and people went as I sat there and watched the patient monitor. It was ten o’clock when Mike’s number went from yellow, pre-op, to green, surgery.

I finished my book.

I returned it to the library and went looking for something else to read. Nothing was grabbing my interest. I looked around the waiting room and saw an older lady reading an actual paper and ink book. The cover picture and title were so large I had no trouble reading it halfway across the room. Educated.

That sounds like a boring book, I thought and glanced how far into it she was. Only about a third of the way.

I decided to go to the bathroom and let my water down. A walk would do me good. When I came back, I sat in a different part of the waiting room, in a seat directly in front of a monitor.

A group of people came in. Mom, dad, two daughters and a boyfriend. They sat right across from me and their banter was distracting. Knowing I couldn’t read with all that going on, I played a few games on my phone. Mom went into pre-op, dad put in ear buds and watched his phone. A movie, I think. The kids left and things quieted down. I went back to the library.

A Snake Falls to Earth by Darcie Little Badger came up on Big Library Reads. That’s a global book club that recommends a book and has unlimited copies available. I borrowed the book and it was… strange. I went back to the library to look for another book and guess what comes up?

“Educated?” you guess.

And you would be right. Educated by Tara Westover. It’s a number one New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and Boston Globe bestseller. One of the most acclaimed books of our time, it says. An unforgettable memoir about a young woman who, kept out of school, leaves her survivalist family and goes on to earn a PhD from Cambridge University.

I took a chance and checked it out. I’ll tell you what. I don’t normally read memoirs but this book grabbed me from the first few pages. It is so good and I’m tearing right through it. I’m only about a hundred pages from the end and I’ll probably finish it tonight. I can’t wait to see how her story ends. And as far as I can tell, this is the only book she’s ever written.

Around one thirty, they came to get me. Mike had come through the surgery just fine. It took a pain pill, me, his nurse Steph, and half an hour to get him dressed and in a wheelchair to make his escape from the hospital to the car.

It was way past lunch. Mike was hungry, I was hungry. We decided to use McDonalds drive thru. Having recently installed the app on my phone, I had to figure out how to call up rewards and offers so I could give the code to the cashier and get a free Quarter Pounder with the purchase of one.

“Stop right here,” Mike says.

I stopped but couldn’t get the code to load on my phone. It was taking too long. I decided to move out of the middle of the parking lot. I started creeping forward when Mike’s like, “Just stay right here.”

“I’m in the middle of the road!” I said.

“So. There’s no one behind you and they can get around you.”

I stopped and tried to reload the McDonald’s offers. Two guys came out of McDonald’s and got in a truck I was stopped behind. Now I had to move and took a parking space several spaces beyond them.

“I’ll just go in,” I told him since I was already parked. “I know how to use the self-serve kiosk.”

We got our food and ate in the car. Leaving the parking lot brought on another argument about which way to turn to go home. “Rather than go back out through the construction zone, we’ll just go a different way,” I said.

“That way will take you way out of the way,” Mike said.

I was in the driver’s seat, literally. I punched GO HOME in the GPS to help navigate the side streets of Sayre and went the way I wanted to go.

A few turns later Mike realized where we were and it wasn’t where he thought we’d end up.

Score one for Peg!

I’m already rubbed raw from our driving spats when we pull in the garage.

“Don’t let Raini jump up on me,” Mike said.

I started in the house but Mike says, “Come and help me get out.”

I reversed direction and helped him get out of the car. We’re heading in, I snag Raini and get her kenneled, there was a mess on the floor, I had Mike settled but he was being demanding, I had to get the car unloaded, clean up the mess, and I was feeling overwhelmed!

“Just give me a second!” I cranked.

Things got settled down. The car got unloaded. Raini was freed, and the mess got cleaned up.

“What mess?” you ask.

Yeah, I know why you really didn’t ask that question. You were thinking about a poop or pee mess. But you’d be wrong. Raini found an old straw hat and had torn it up on the floor.

That night, when I headed in for bed, I see that she had a session with the hat on the bed, too! What a mess! She did a really good job of tearing it up and scattering the pieces.

Wednesday and Thursday were really tough for Mike. I had to help him get out of the recliner every time he had to go to the bathroom and I had to help him get settled back in the recliner, too. He watched some TV but mostly he slept.

Friday the pain was worse if anything. Mike was so frustrated because he didn’t want to hurt anymore and he didn’t want to keep taking Oxycodone.

“It really hurts, Peg. Shouldn’t I be better?” he asked.

“You had surgery. You’re old. These things just take time!”

By Friday afternoon Mike was convinced something was wrong because the pain was so bad. I called his doctor and after talking with Mike for a few minutes, Dr. Barrett’s nurse called in a prescription for a muscle relaxer. I ran to town and picked ‘em up. Mike took one and it wasn’t long until he was felling better. I’m guessing he expected it to hurt when he moved so he was tensing up, making it hurt worse.

“Can I show them your belly?” I asked. I know you wanna see it.

“No!” Mike said but he laid back and lifted his shirt for me.

He’s got a whole bunch of tiny little holes from the laparoscopic surgery, and a dimple below his belly button; but he’s on the mend.

Mike has started sleeping in bed again and is able to get himself up and around.

My best girl Joanie commissioned me to make her a double-sided porch sign. We nailed down Thanksgiving pretty quick and I practiced on Miss Rosie’s first. I showed you that one last week. I made a few changes when I made Joanie’s.

Joanie and I spent many hours designing the Christmas side. Later, she thanked me for my patience when I thought I was the one bugging her!

I was ecstatic when she picked a purple night-time nativity silhouette.

“I can do that easy!” I told her.

“Well, maybe with some color?” she adds.

Sh—I mean poop! “I can’t paint what I can’t see,” I told her. Find me a picture with color.”

She found one. It had a lot of stuff in it.

“Too complicated,” I told her. “Too much stuff in it.”

“What’s going on?” Mike asked.

It was evening and every time Joanie and I had a back and forth, the phone dinged. There was a lot of dinging going on this night, that’s for sure!

I scrolled back up to one of the first pictures Joanie showed me and turned it toward Mike. “She wants me to paint that!”

“You can do it,” Mike said. Boy! He sure has a lot of confidence in me.

“It’s got too much stuff in it!” I was overwhelmed just looking at the picture.

But by now I kinda knew what Joanie was looking for and I sent her a couple of ideas. She picked this one and the next day I prepared the board by painting the whole thing in a wash of dark blue and black.

You can’t paint on a wet board. It was a beautiful day outside so I went out to sand more boards that Mike had cut for me. I have two more commission boards to make and didn’t have two boards.

“What happened to all the boards you showed us last time?” you ask.

Well, most of them are reclaimed boards of varying lengths. Since this lady wants two the same, they won’t work. The two that are the same length got stained in two different color stains so they wouldn’t work either. Luckily, Mike had an extra board when he got lumber to finish the enclosed patio.

So! Joanie’s board is drying on the table, Mike was comfortable and in no immediate need. I took my phone, boards, and belt sander out to the back of the dog run where I do the sanding. There’s a small concrete patio out there from when this was a sawmill. What it was for, I don’t know. I pulled the sawhorses out from under the awning, got the extension cord, set my board down, plugged the belt sander in, turned it on to adjust the belt, it ran for a few seconds and quit. Just stopped.

The simplest answer is usually the right answer.

I checked the plug. It seemed tight. I tried the sander and that wasn’t it. I unplugged it and plugged it back in. Still no go. Maybe the power’s out, I thought and waited for the generator to kick on. It didn’t. It wasn’t a power outage. Maybe I blew a breaker, I thought and went to check.

“The belt sander quit on me!” I yelled to Mike as I went through the kitchen to the wayback where the extension cord for the sander was plugged in.

“You burned up the belt sander‽”

I didn’t like the way that sounded but couldn’t deny it since I was the only using it. “I guess so! But I don’t know how I did it!”

There’s an electronic mouse thingy plugged into the same outlet I was using (those things don’t work) and the light was on so I knew there was power to the outlet. I unplugged the extension cord and plugged it back in. All the while I’m thinking. There’s a button on the side of the belt sander to keep it on so you have to keep the trigger depressed.

“You shouldn’t use it because the sander can get too hot,” Mike told me when I first questioned him about it.

Did I listen?

NO!

I use it because it’s so much easier for me. If I burned it up, that’s how I did it.

Coming back through the kitchen, Mike yells, “There might be a reset on the sander.”

I went back out to my sanding station and the sander still didn’t work. I looked for a reset button but didn’t find one. I started banging the sander against the sawhorse. It already wasn’t working so there was nothing to lose. Nobody was more surprised than I was when it roared to life.

I tried not to use the button that holds the trigger in but it tired my arm out. I compromised. Rather than sand all my boards at once, I decided I’d just take one to the sanding station and let the sander cool while I made the trip back to the kitchen patio and pick up another board. I only had four to do.

The weather was beautiful! Did I tell you that? The sun was shining and I was getting hot in my long-sleeved oversized paint shirt. I tore it off and tossed it aside, working in just my bra. The sun will give me a good dose of Vitamin D, I thought. And with no neighbors close by there wasn’t anyone around to see me. Just then I heard a car on the road and looked as he passed the house. With all the leaves gone I could see it. If the driver looked at just the right time, he might catch a glimpse of me. My bra is way more modest than a lot of bikini tops I’ve seen! I justify and don’t give a flip if they see me or not.

Raini and Bondi pretty much stay with me all day wherever I am. They ran and chased each other around the dog run. Tiring of the game, I see my shirt dragging behind a certain Blue Heeler. Raini played with my shirt. I turned off the sander and grabbed my camera.

“You silly girl!” I told her.

She stopped playing and looked at me. 

                                         I finished the board I was working on, turned off the sander by pressing the button, picked up my board and headed back to the patio for another.

I was surprised when Raini wanted to help me carry the board.

I let her.

She wasn’t able to keep a grip the whole way and had to bite at the board several times before she got another hold on it.

Is that going to leave a mark? I wondered.

Silly me! Of course it is!

Looking at it reminded me of a conversation that took place years before.

“Peg, you do know how they get those marks in there, don’t you?” my handsome redheaded brother asked when he saw a cool table we have.

“How?”

“They use a nail.”

We use a Blue Heeler and we’re gonna call it character.

By the time I finished sanding the boards, Joanie’s board was dry. I sized the picture to fit the board, found a sheet of carbon paper, taped it on and went to work transferring the image. It was less than ideal. Black carbon on a dark blue board is less than ideal. I suspected I was going to have problems and might need to redo a couple of lines so I left the tape on and just flipped the picture back out of my way.

Then I set to work blocking in color. It was actually looking pretty good!  

Guys, I’m not an artist. I’m just a crafter. I don’t have any real talent, I just know how to do stuff. And in this case, after blocking in the faces, I had to put the carbon paper back in and find my eyes and noses and mouths again. It’s a good thing I had the foresight to leave it taped in place.

I built my colors slowly and with a few happy accidents, was fairly pleased with the outcome.

“I knew you could do it!” Mike praised.

“I didn’t know I could do it!” I said.

Joanie wanted her board to say, “O’ COME LET US ADORE HIM.” I didn’t want a repeat of low contrast that I’d gotten using the carbon paper and I knew we had a box of chalk. I printed the words, cut them out, coated the back with chalk, placed them as best I could, and using a pen, transferred the words. It worked beautifully!

Two coats of protective spray and it was done! 

I’m pleased with the outcome.

Joanie is pleased with her porch sign.

And everyone who saw it was impressed. 

“It’s really good,” Miss Rosie said. 

I also made this one when I had some down time and sprayed the protective coat on it the same time I did Joanie’s. This one is like twelve inches wide by ten inches tall.

Sometimes you just gotta make a fun piece, know what I mean?

 Let’s call this one done!

Give Thanks

           I’m always up to something.

          Right now, it’s porch signs but I’m dreaming of other pretties I’ll make this winter. Things with cardboard and clay and glass, things I can make inside while the winter winds howl outside and the snow swirls around in great drifts.

          “You can’t make porch signs inside?” you ask.

          I can paint them inside, but not sand them. Theoretically, if I have a bunch of boards ready, I could make porch signs all winter.

          Speaking of which, I did get a bunch of boards ready. I got ten boards sanded, but only got eight of them stained. You may notice the board on the far right is a little more red than the others? I was near the bottom of my can of stain and even though I always stir my stain before using it, there was a layer of red pigment sitting on the bottom.

          Ayi-yi-yi!

          “Mike!” I yelled, walking in from the patio. He was in the recliner watching Gunsmoke. “I need another can of stain!”

          In the meantime, that guy can just be a little redder than the others.

          The early part of the week was spent designing a Thanksgiving/Christmas sign for my best girl Joanie. I was working when she was working. The only difference being she has an actual job. I’d send her different samples and need her to choose. Sometimes I had to wait for an answer but I expected that. In fact, if she hadn’t’ve replied until she was off work, that would’ve been okay with me as I’d built that time into the project, but she answered me on her breaks. Christmas is taking some time. She has something specific in mind and I don’t know that I can deliver. We got Thanksgiving nailed down pretty quick though.

          “I like the one on the left,” she said.

          Figures, I thought. The one with the more complicated cornucopia.

          I need to finish Miss Rosie’s reversable Thanksgiving/Christmas porch sign, too, so I showed her these two designs.

          “I like the one on the left but I want the GIVE like the one on the right,” she said.

          Besides everything else that happens during a normal day in my house, I designed on Monday, made stencils on Tuesday, prepared the boards on Wednesday, then I couldn’t put it off any longer.

          I was not looking forward to painting this board.

          “Frankly, I'm nervous to try a new pattern, just because it's so complicated. Lots of layers. Maybe I'll do a practice run on a small piece of board,” I told my morning peeps.

          Then I was reminded of the advice I’ve often given.

"How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time! Now, how do you do a complicated project? One step at a time! Just jump right in there. You never know what you can do till you try. I have great confidence in you,” my beautiful West Virginia gal told me.

Not regular confidence but great confidence. It made me smile but did little to dispel my misgivings.

          I pulled my stack of stencils toward me and started ‘weeding’. Taking off the stuff you don’t want. And I found a way to put off painting the cornucopia a little bit longer.

          I’ll paint my WELCOME sign first!

          I got my fancy-schmancy palette out and laughed at myself as I scraped old paint off. I’ve got a bunch of these, I could just toss this one and get a new one, I think. But do I do that? NO! I scrape away and keep using the same plastic oatmeal lid over and over.

          Putting on the stencil, dabbing white paint on with my sponge took all of fifteen minutes. I’ve got other elements to add to the board but can’t until the paint dries.

          Now I really was down to it. I had nothing else to work on.

          I sat there weighing my options and couldn’t make up my mind. That’s the thing. If I’m doing something for myself it doesn’t matter and I make a decision. If it’s for someone else, I want them to be happy. I called Miss Rosie. “I’m doing the same cornucopia for both you and Joanie. I can’t decide if I should do it on a scrap piece of wood first or just jump right in and practice on yours.” Before Miss Rosie could say anything, I rushed on. “After all, she’s paying me. I want yours to be nice too but what if I practice on scrap and it comes out good? Then I’ll be sorry I didn’t put it on yours.”

          Miss Rosie didn’t consider it very long. Maybe she has great confidence in me, too. “Just go ahead and paint it on mine.”

          “Okay, but if it doesn’t come out good at least you’ll still have the Christmas side.” That was the bright side.

          My stencil is a Cricut (pronounced cricket) designed stencil. It’s made in five layers so you can change the color of your material and lay one right on top to the other. It took me forever to figure out how I was going to work it. I decided I’d have to paint it rather than dab it, therefore I’d only need the outlines. To get the outlines of all the elements, I needed to cut three layers of the stencil.

          I put the first stencil down and traced around it. Tore it off, put the second stencil down and was tracing around to get the details when it hits me.

          Maybe you know where this is going. Maybe you’ve got it figured out already. But you know me! I’m a slow thinker. It wasn’t until I was halfway done with this that it hits me.

          I could’ve printed the picture on paper and used a piece of carbon paper to put the design on the board, accomplishing the same thing without using three sheets of the much more expensive vinyl.

          Aye-yi-yi!

          Done’s done and done bun can’t be undone.

          I didn’t have a clue what I was doing but the first thing I did was block in a very light coat of basic color — where I knew what color I wanted. Brown for the cornucopia, red, green, and yellow for the apples, orange for the pumpkin.

          I didn’t overwhelm myself trying to figure out the whole scheme of it, I took it one bite, one color at a time.

          Six hours later I was down to the goblet and didn’t have a clue how to do it. Regardless, I was done for the day. Maybe if I let it rattle around in my head overnight an answer will come to me.

          The next morning I put the problem to my peeps and they came back with some fabulous suggestions. I made the stem and base bigger, rounded some lines, painted it dark green with lighter green and white highlights, and added gold accents. My photo makes it look black, but it’s not. All the colors look darker because I’m outside and I’ve sprayed it with a top protective coat.

          Once it was dry, I had Mike take me down to the Kipps.

          “She’s gonna die when she sees this,” I told Mike. She didn’t. In fact, I wasn’t even sure she liked it.

          “Why’s that?” you wanna know.

          Well, I know now she likes it, loves it even maybe, but I didn’t get a wow like I usually do. It’s pretty but maybe it’s not a ‘wow’ kinda pretty. I’d have to say, with the wisdom hindsight gives us, that maybe she was taken aback. Stunned might be too strong of a word.

          “Peg, that’s really good!” she said.

          I exhaled a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and grinned.

          Later, Miss Rosie explained the look to me. “I was surprised. It didn’t look like the picture you showed me.”

          Lamar took down the fall board and put Christmas up.

          “Flip it over,” I said. “Thanksgiving comes first.”

          “If Joanie’s comes out as nice as this, I’m sure she’ll be pleased with it,” Miss Rosie said.

          One thing’s for sure. I won’t be as nervous.

          >>>*<<<

          We made a couple of forays out into the world this week. We made an early morning shopping trip to Tunkhannock. The fog hadn’t even burned off yet.

          “There’s the sun!” I told Mike and snapped a picture. “He finally decided to come out and do his job!”

          The closer we got to Tunkhannock, the less fog there was.

          I love this picture! I was going for the cow under the leafless tree and when I saw it on the computer, I saw I’d captured a hawk sitting in the branches.

          I’ve kinda got a thing for birds on wires.

          They’re fixing up this barn, for what, I don’t know. But I see it’s got a couple of garage doors installed.

          There’s still a little fog lingering over the Susquehanna. 

          >>>*<<< 

          I keep telling Mike he needs to get a hobby rather than sitting around watching TV all day. He doesn’t want to build bird houses.

          But he has decided to finish out the newly enclosed patio.

          We have a lot of pieces of one by six knotty pine left over from various projects. Mike went to the upper barn where it was stored and brought it all down. He set up his saw and his lights and he goes out and putzes.

          “I need a few longer pieces,” he told me.

          I’m thinking, great! I need a can of stain. “Let’s go to C.C. Allis and get some,” is all I say. That’s the lumber company way out in the middle of nowhere.

          “Nah. I’ll just use what I’ve got.”

          The more Mike worked, the nicer it got, and he changed his mind about buying a few boards.

          Our second trip out was to get Mike’s pre-surgical COVID test.

          “Pre-surgical?” you query.

          Mike’s developed a surgical hernia after his cancer surgery. They’re going to fix it on Tuesday. It shouldn’t be a big deal because they do it on an outpatient basis.

          “While we’re in Wysox we can take the back way to C.C. Allis,” Mike says.

          So now we’ve got road pictures from a road we don’t travel very often. 

          I thought these people had decorated for Halloween with a creepy green monster peeking out of the window. 

         On closer inspection, I see it’s leaves with sunspot highlights for eyes.

          C.C. Allis, like a lot of places, is having trouble getting and keeping enough help.

          Mike and I walk up to the counter to order our lumber, Stacey says hello, and the phone rings. “Hang on a second,” she says and answers the phone. We wait five minutes as she gives the caller prices and availability for a bunch of lumber. I can tell she’s almost done when another line starts to ring. I’m afraid she’s going to put that caller ahead of us, making us wait even longer, and I had the perfect snarky comeback ready. “What‽ Someone who’s calling is more important than someone who took the time to drive down here‽” I don’t mind if they answer the phone — if they put them on hold! I didn’t have to use my snarkiness though as someone else picked up the ringing line. She finally hung up and apologized.

          “It’s okay,” Mike says amicably.

          I almost screamed, “NO! It’s not!” still feeling a bit snarky, but I let it go.

          “Can we look at the number four, one by six knotty pine before we pay for it?” Mike asked.

          “I don’t have anybody to show it to you,” she said.

          I’m thinking, So if we order it you don’t have anyone to load it for us? We can’t buy it today or what‽ Doesn’t sound like any way to run a business if you ask me!

          Stacey started calling for a yard guy when one walks in. She recruits him to take us up to the shed.

          Inside, I see someone decorated!

          While Mike and Ed load our twenty boards, I take pictures of the machines.    

      

          On the way home I took more pictures.  

          Raini has learned a new trick.

          Remember the light switch deal? She’d jump at me every time I turned the light off before going to bed? She knows the switch turns the light off and she could probably be taught to turn the light off herself. Instead, I discouraged her jumping at me. But she always watches intently as I turn the light off. And I watch to make sure she isn’t about to jump at me.

          “I’ll turn the light off,” I tell her and she races in to the bed.

          This week she’s made the association between the doorknob and the door opening. She gets so excited she jumps at the knob when I reach to open the door. It if was a lever latch, she could probably open it herself.

          “Why is she so anxious to go out?” you may wonder.

          That’s a good question! Especially since she can let herself out through the pet door any time she wants.

          Raini has this thing about the birds. She races out the door, gets to the edge of the patio, and leaps into the air to scare the birds like it’s her job! And I guess for now, it is. It seems harmless enough so I don’t feel the need to correct her behavior.

          The page on Blue Heelers said you should give them a job, even if it’s to go get the mail with you. I know that my oldest, much-adored sister Patti gave Dakota, her Blue Heeler a job. Every night they would walk around the perimeter of the property, then Dakota got a pig ear for her reward.

          I can’t think of a single job for Raini to do. I don’t trust her to stay with me because the last time I took her out without a leash, she took off. She did come back, five minutes later.

          And Raini chases cars. Her fence line runs parallel with the road and when she sees one coming, she’ll run the length of the dog run after it. That’s more than sixty yards. I wish she wouldn’t chase cars but I guess a sprint inside the run is a good way for her to burn off steam.

>>>*<<< 

          There’s only picture left in this week’s picture file. It’s this beautiful buck that someone hit with their car down in town.

          “I wonder if someone will stop and take the antlers,” I mused out loud.

          Later, on Facebook, I saw a post by Trapper John. “Sad to see them like this. A pretty 9 point, not far from where I got my 11 point,” he wrote.

          His picture was better than mine since he stopped and I snapped mine as we drove by.

          “Do you know what happened to it,” I asked Trapper.

“Someone picked it up. Normally if nobody picks up a roadkill the commission takes it to a dump or sells the horns. The game commission has a deer dump at those building down the road from your house,” he told me.

“Do you have to get permission to pick up a roadkill deer?” I asked.

“You’ve gotta get a permit for the meat, and you’ve gotta surrender the head and hide to conservation officers as well,” Trapper told me.

And now we both know. 

Let’s call this one done!