I’ll Take the Fifth (Of July)

For selfish reasons–I’m glad the Fourth of July is over. Last night, fireworks explosions carried on, till almost midnight.

Max scratched on the bedroom door, to get out, till it was over. There wasn’t anywhere else to go. Why couldn’t he rationalize the same as humans? “Max, settle down, go to sleep.” My spouse slept through all of it.

All five dogs were affected to some degree. Great-grand-dog Dexter, Greta, Bogart, my grand-dogs, and Max and Maggie, hung out in the basement till bedtime.

I don’t begrudge anyone’s Fourth of July festivities. From this pet owner’s perspective–I’m glad it’s over.

Vacation Update

Still away from home base. Visited family in NW Ohio and scratched visiting the Air Force Museum off my bucket list.

Don’t very often take time to read books. Reading a book, given to me by my brother, about dogs and their special relationships with humans.

“Always By My Side” by Edward Grinnan, is a good read. The gist of it, we humans can learn a lot about ourselves from our canine companions.

Contemplation

From three years ago, a message about self-awareness.

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Self-awareness

Contemplation

Weren’t part

Of an egret’s

Innocent game

Even though

The self

Reflected self

Were one

And, the same

The rippled

Reflected self

Was perceived

As a stranger

http://www.jasontaylorphotography.com/–

 

 

Moms and Mom Stand-Ins

Miss Oneia Gahr, was as close to being my substitute mom as anyone.  My great-grandmother was her father’s sister.  She was mother’s best friend, attended the same college–earned a teaching degree.

Their personalities were exact opposites.  My mother was quiet and reserved, Oneia was outgoing and plain-spoken.  Mom taught fourth-grade elementary, Oneia, high school mathematics.  Miss Gahr was a strict disciplinarian at home, and no doubt, the same at school.

Several summers were spent working on Miss Gahr’s dairy farm.  As an adolescent, it seemed like pure drudgery.  Who knew dairy cows didn’t like their mornings interrupted?  “Talk to them gently, in a low voice, or they might kick you.”

That didn’t mean to act goofy and crazy, “Hey girls what’s happening this morning?” But, rather to be gentle, not boisterous.  It worked, and I never got kicked.  It did nothing, however, to stop swats from muddy cow’s tails.  To them, I was just another fly that needed swatting.

Whatever needed to be done–she worked as hard as any man around the farm.  She cut me no slack when it came to cleaning the dairy barn.  And, oh that cattle waste–tons of it, had to be hosed away.

Miss Oneia went at life full tilt.  Driving was no exception.  She liked flashy land yachts.  Had a slew of Pontiac Bonneville convertibles in the sixties.  Before that, she had a fifties-era, Ford hardtop convertible.

Riding with her in the old rattletrap Chevy pickup over farm roads was a neck-snapping thrill ride.  Nothing topped the day the wiring in the Ford two-ton grain truck  caught fire under the dashboard.  Acrid smoke filled the cab as the insulation burned.  Miss Oneia grabbed a hay bale hook, yanked out wires till the smoke subsided.

We always considered her part of the family, not just a distant relative.  All three of us boys raised bottle calves that she donated.  My sister raised a white pig.  She tutored me in Math and Geometry.  Happy Mom’s Day to both my mom, and my substitute mom!

 

 

 

What Sisters Were For

Max is now seven.  He’s gotten a bit chunky, has slowed down; grunts when he rises or lays down.  A characteristic he adopted from his daddy.  Maggie, his canine sibling, is six–shows no signs of slowing down.  She goads him until he plays or grooms her.

Every morning we go for a walk.  Max isn’t as eager to go–especially in warmer weather.  Maggie is relentless, “C’mon brother, get up–it’ll be fun!”  She nudges-finally lays down beside him and rolls him over.

Max grunts, accented by intermittent snoring, “Let me sleep, please.”

He relents and out the front door we go.  Max rebels, the only way he knows how.  At the end of the driveway, he stops, sniffs the air; turns around.  “OK, I’m done, take me back to the house.”

When Maggie and I return, Max is once again ready to go.  So, I take him on a shorter walk, as time permits.  Maggie did her job by pestering her somewhat laggard older brother.  She’s mean to Max, but he still loves her.

Intermission

Halfway point of the first week of jury duty.  Given the day off–for which I am grateful.  It’s supposed to be a stormy day.  So far, the experience has been somewhat like I figured it would be–especially the hurry-up-and-wait part.

Yesterday, a two-and-a-half hour lunch break, after which, we were sent home.

Such were the vagaries of serving on a jury pool.  Back to normal routines, at least for today. If there’s no danger of being blown away in a raging storm, I’ll go to the gym.  My dogs remembered their morning walk and treat routines.