Rocky Update

Rocky is doing well. Thank you all for asking! 

He is not supposed to exert himself for 10 days. Daughter C has sequestered him in her room. He comes out occasionally to say "Hello" and to see what's up in the world. I think he's recovering quite nicely. 

Miss Missy, on the other hand, is a mess. She sits by his door and cries and cries. And then when he does come out, she's embarrassingly preoccupied with his... his... . Well, let's just say she's noticed Rocky is not the same boy he was a few days ago.  

More Than We Asked For

For the last few days A. Leland and I have been asking for a little rain for our gardens.

Poor Missy

2-4-6-8 Who do we appreciate?

We've had some rain and cooler weather so I've been opening the windows in the Den the last few evenings.

Missy does love to look out the window.

Occasionally, something on the wind will capture her attention 

and she will signal to Rocky that he should come running & pay attention, too.

And then he gets bored and hops back up on the bed b/c he doesn't smell anything.

"Please forgive me, but I've had quite enough."

"'Enough' of what, Missy?"

"Well. You know. I know Rocky has a job."

"That's right. His job is to guard the joint. He is a Vicious Pit Bull."

"RUFF."

"But you know what? I am trying to have a job, too. I am trying to guard the joint, too, Marica! Pardon me for being so bold, but you have no idea how many evil vicious smelly things there are out there wandering around your garden."

"ruff."

"I know. There are armadillos and possums."

"Do you know how foul-- is that the right word? Fowl? they smell?"

"No."

"And all the while I am trying to guard your vegetables from these evil... ."

"ruff."

"And I bark in my robust bark and you think it's cute... .  I quit. You don't appreciate the danger I signal. You don't appreciate the work I do. I am under appreciated. I quit. I am just gonna be a fat and lazy dog like that dawg on heyhaw."

"Oh! No! Please don't quit, Missy."

.... 

"Mr. Big Food saved some of the fat from that roast for you."

"Ummm."

"R.U.F.F."

"Absinthe?" "No. Not Absinthe. Absence."

"Good Lord, Missy, you really should get your hearing checked. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Absinthe just makes you stupid."

"Oh. I see. So you think they are going to forgive you for being absent from posting? You're not worried that your ... (cough, cough) ... readership has moved on to other blogs that tend to posting on a more ... (cough, cough) ... consistent basis?"

"Ruff? Ruff."

"No, Missy. I'm with Rocky on this one. I think my loyal readers understand that I sometimes need to clean each and every book I own and that takes time away from blogging. And they understand that I don't have to take photographs and discuss every single meal I have with good friends."

"Ruff."

"Last evening's meal was enjoyable, wasn't it? It warmed my heart to see everyone in the kitchen at the last minute, pitching in to make salad and salad dressing. Oh! And to find the butter knife. Sorry about that napkin, by the way."

"RUFF."

"I know. I know. I am ashamed of my behavior."

"As well you should be. I cannot replace or repair that napkin, Missy. And it was really old."

"ruff"

"mmmrruuff."

"Well. You served your time. I do want to caution you to not mess with the dominoes. They are a choking hazard and the last thing I want to do is to put my arm down your throat to yank out a domino before you choke to death."

"ruff?"

"Those little ceramic tiles we've been laying out out on the coffee table and elsewhere."

"Ruff."

"I'll do my best."

"No. Young Lady. You will do better than your best and you will leave the dominoes alone."

"RUFF!"

So I "scored" a set of double 12s at Tuesday Morning. You get what you pay for. It's missing 1-9 and had a duplicate of 0-9. I'm figuring one of the Girls has a nail polish of the appropriate shade and I can turn the extra 0-9 into a 1-9.

Why Are There No Dogs on The Enterprise?

Today I had some ironing to do-- the dining room table tablecloth and such. So, inspired by yesterday's adventures, I popped in a movie.

Missy enjoyed it immensely,

as did I for the umpteenth time.

Good Lord! I hope her little brain wasn't affected by the various magnetic fields in the vicinity! I'd just hate for Missy to be lost in a singularity.

A Spark!

There is not a scintilla of evidence supporting [Miss M's] "so-called" correct pronunciation of "wool."

--A. Leland

Whatever.

She didn't even have a scintilla of remorse for scarfing down the last scraps of the leftover ribs.

--Miss M

Oh. I get it. Miss M read her sentence and I was like, "What? Missy didn't get any ribs last night." Now I get it.

It wasn't the ribs she was scarfing down. It was the rib juice/marinade at the bottom of the foil-lined pan in which last night's ribs baked. 

By way of explanation, Missy has a bad habit of waiting in the kitchen's shadows for the kitchen to become vacant. That's when she puts her paws up on the counters. Usually, when I approach the kitchen, she scurries like a little rat and through habit gets in her box. Today, I walked in on her licking the foil. It wasn't until I was right next to her that she realized she'd been caught red-tongued with her nose in the pan. 

That's the story to which Miss M's sentence refers. 

You'd think she'd learn-- Missy, that is. Maybe she has. She must be doing some doggy utility cost-benefit analysis. "Get in my box? That's the punishment? I love my box! Here's my calculation: I snag a few morsels, 'get in my box' and relish the taste. I especially like it when you draw the blinds over my box... it's so warm and dark and... . You have no idea how good my box smells to me! "

Dang. Maybe I should get a stick.

"Flue" and "flume" differ only by a scintilla.

--Mr. Big Food

Inside, family joke. 

Despite years of personal, political, and religious oppression, a scintilla of human dignity remained in the Pilgrims-- a spark that could only be kindled in the New World.

--Marica

Last Goes First

A. Leland was last to read his sentence. After hearing ours, he said he wished he'd written a better one. So let's get his out of the way first.

I know of no other better descriptive term for Rachel Maddow than "harpy."

Referring to Kat's 3rd Grade Teacher-- before we raised a ruckus and had Kat put in another class-- I said,

Mrs. Garrison was a harpy dressed up as an Angle of the Lord.

In an obviously false self-referential sentence, Daughter C said,

"Put your cigarette out while she's still eating!" shrieked the harpy.

Showing off his long-term memory of especially song lyrics, Mr. Big Food said,

Paraphrasing the Kinkster: "Mean-minded harpy, breakin' all the laws, tearing up her girdle and burnin' up her bra."

And Miss M reported a conversation.

Missy said that she heard Rocky say that Sweetheart is a harpy bitch.

 ~~

"Ruff!"

"Oh. No worries, Rocky. It's not a swear word in this context. It's perfectly acceptable to refer to a female dog as a 'bitch'."

"Rufff."

"Well! Let me make my position perfectly clear. I am a female dog, but I will never be a 'bitch' nor will I ever accept being called one. I am ... ."

"Calm down, Missy. We all understand that you are incapable of being a 'bitch,' what with your being incapable of having pups and all."

"Ruff."

"I'm so sorry to have over-reacted. I guess I, too, despite my lack of free-flowing estrogen, get a bit bitchy at times"

"Ruff ruff!!"

"Now, Rocky. Be sympathetic. Unlike that bitch Sweetheart, Missy will never experience the joys of motherhood."

"ruff."

"It's okay, y'all. Don't feel sorry for me. I take pleasure in being a member of the family. And looking at the situation logically, I'm not sure I'd want to spawn Rocky's pups even if I could."

"RUFF RUFF!??!!"

"No offense intended, my dear friend."

"Oh for crying out loud. Will you both just shut up!"

"Ruff."

"Gruuruff."
  

That's Scary!

'Scarecrow' by Daughter C with assistance from Miss M

Missy has been having some... issues lately. Her behavior regarding the American Crow, Corvus brachyrhynchos, is funny during the day. But at dawn, when she wakes not only Mr. Big Food and I but also poor little vicious pit bull Rocky from his slumber with her ferocious barking, well, something had to give. And so we have a Scarecrow made from various elements in the shop. Zoom in and you'll she that the scarecrow's head is an owl wearing a hard hat. If that's not enough to scare the crows, I don't know what is.

There's just one problem. It scares Missy, too.

Happy Birthday!

Today is Missy's 2nd birthday.

That's Missy on her first birthday. We have no special plans for today. :-(

Farm Photo of the Day: That Missy!

Turns out I was wrong.

The other day when Missy came a runnin' with the catfish head, I assumed some other critter had chomped on the tail. No such luck. 

I love taking the dogs to the pasture, but seeing her munch on catfish tail right after breakfast sort of spoils it.

Please note that I waited until after lunch to post this!

I Waited Until After Breakfast to Post This

Yesterday, Missy found a dead catfish on the far bank of the pond. All that remained of it was the intact skeleton and semi-fleshy head. She brought it to me. It must have been at least 12" long. Of course, after she brought it to me, she ran away with it and dropped it somewhere in the middle of the pasture.

The first thing she did when we arrived at the pasture this morning was to retrieve it, bring it to me,

and run off with it again.

The vertebrae were gone this morning.

Just the bony head remained.

I'm off to work in the herb garden.

I Spy...

a Rocky!

a Missy!

a posy!

a birdie!

a four-leaf clover!

Morning in Mid-May

They're in there somewhere!

Rocky!

Look out!

What Have You Got There?

Pretty girl!

Given Missy's propensity for uncovering small critters-- most recently (until today) a dead rat that she promptly dropped into the pond so she could watch it float-- when she plops down in the tall grass, I know it's time to investigate.

A small box turtle which she tipped over and I tipped upright

It took a few minutes, but with Rocky's help I finally distracted her and we headed toward the gate. Naturally, she ran off again but returned in no time.

She's getting pretty good at "DROP IT!"

I don't think I'll be letting Missy kiss me any time soon.

This Morning's Tidbit

Don't mind me!

Early morning adventures are such fun! 

In the over-grown pasture, there is a gap between the fence and the ground that is large enough for a large rabbit-- or a mischievous 90 pound mutt-- to crawl under. My plan was to walk with Rocky along the fenceline and around to the gate. Her plan was to jump up, keep us in sight, and shimmy back under the fence. Her plan worked quite well. :-)

And now... . Doggy nap time!

370 Days Later

I brought Missy to the Farm January 19, 2012. 

Here's the homecoming post.

Look how BIG Rocky was a year ago!

And for Nostalgia's sake, here're a few words from January 20:

I'm not entirely sure who is going to win the war on play fighting. But there is no question in my mind that they are bonding. There's something sort of tragic about Rocky independently sitting outside her box, which is far superior to his, while she's in a circumstance that is not at all different that what she was in a day or two ago. Right. She's in a new & improved box with Rocky circling nearby and me blogging about her. Poor Dear.

My hope is that if I can teach Missy some manners, they can be independent together!

Through the cage, they are nose to nose.

No one won the war because it's all in play! But they have learned how to be independent together. You should see them exploring the Over-grown Pasture side by side!

And talk about learning manners. Whoa boy! 

Missy now asks politely, "May I please reach across the table to sniff that beautiful pencil? May I? May I?" But then, somewhat impolitely, she says, "Hey! You're not paying any attention to me. I asked nicely and you ignored me so you know what? That pencil is mine. Thank you very much."

One thing is certain about Life this past year on the Farm. We have all come to realize that each of us is smarter than a dog. Most of the time. 

Biscuit, anydog?

Rocky reading-- just to be sure he was given the right one

Missy waiting-- because that's what I make her do. She is a dog, afterall.

"Finally! Thank you, Marica!"

Photos of Miss M making people and doggie biscuits here.

Now That's More Like It!

Top to bottom: Rocky, Missy

You should have seen Missy last evening when Rocky walked into the house! And you should have seen Rocky this morning when Missy surprised him in the Pasture!

Rocky is a good influence on Missy. She was a mess in his absence. All told, I'm down one pair of glasses, one pair of slippers, and many pencils. And I had no idea one dog could eat that many pine cones. 

Miss M. and I tried our best to keep her in line but you know, we aren't dogs! Rocky is a dog. A good-dog influence.

Missy is in a Sad State

"A Cowgirl and Her Dog"

I just checked and both Missy and Miss M. are now in their respective boxes. Mr. Big Food has put away all but one of his computers. I am still working on my part of our little project. (We need chickens of our own.) I have no idea where Daughter C. is or when Rocky is coming home and oh crap. It's my mother's birthday.

Wish me luck 'cause last time I had a protracted conversation with Mom I learned that the whole entire WWII thing could have been adverted if only guns were illegal. Lord.

Three years ago

I wouldn't have believed this even if I'd seen it with my own eyes.

Daughter C. driving the truck.

She built this fire, too! From scratch!!

Self-reliance. Ain't it great?