Husky/Sheltie

Bleh. Zombie blobs. I spent most of the dream waiting for everybody to be dead at the end. I think most of us were still alive when I woke up, though. It was all kinda weird, anyway....

We went for a walk about nine this morning. It was much too hot. We met one person, a man, with a familiar husky-sheltie in tow. Oh, and a man on a bicycle. Otherwise all sightings were at a distance. I think I should've gotten a boonie hat while I was at the army surplus. The hat I'm borrowing from the Seamans is nice, a good, natural color that doesn't jump out, but I'm gonna have to give it back eventually. Also boonie hats are crushable, so when I'm not wearing it it can just go in my pocket like everything else. I'll just carry a red scarf or something in my pocket in case I need to be visible for, say, a medical helicopter. Spellcheck, by the way, acknowledges "boonies" but not "boonie." Pft.

After I got home and recharged, Grandma had me do the kitchen floor. That was okay. Then I had to do the greenhouse. Geh. It is impossible to get the dog hair out of there enough to even half ignore it while scrubbing. I want my vacuum! 

Sid came just as I was starting in the greenhouse to discuss me looking after Maddy while they're gone. I have to go give her a little canned catfood and make sure she's alive Friday night, Saturday morning and evening, and Sunday morning. Well, sure, I can do that. For ten bucks. Seems reasonable. A day.  .........!!!!  Sid said if I felt like it was too much, I could go over there and read or something to keep her company a little. ............I'm getting my revenge by sending her pictures of adorable Craigslist dogs. Or expressing my gratitude, I don't know. I'm sending her ads, anyway.

Incidentally, I have got to remember that the clothing biases are completely different here. B would wince at the brown army t-shirt with the hemmed BDU shorts. Sid and Grandma say I look cute. -_-; Well, thanks, but.....it's very disconcerting. Not least because that's definitely not how it's designed to look. Not that I expect to look intimidating, but.....how about utilitarian?

Started Mistress to an Age before lunch. Finished the first chapter, plus all the prefaces, by the time Grandma said it was lunchtime.

There are six ads for Rottweiler puppies in the newspaper, plus one for a brindle male Rottweiler/mastiff puppy (tail docked) for....wait for it....$500. Plus various puppies and mixes (there were rottie/bloodhounds posted today) on Craigslist. Dad should come out here for a month or so. I'm sure Rick knows somebody he could stay with.

Jinn came by with some shopping commissions from the Sunshine Market and a negative review of the place. "It's overrated," she said, giving us a bag of cherries, cartons of blueberries and blackberries, and some lobster tails. Lark was delighted to see her. On a related note, I need to start letting her out more during the day. Actually, she's tied out right now, but that's due to trouble on the other end: some kibble got caught in her throat, and by the time she coughed it up, her gag reflex was thoroughly engaged an she couldn't stop throwing up. It improved somewhat after I put her out, but she's still retching a little, occasionally. It's raining now, though, so I'd better go let her in.

Grandma's wandering around without her cane. I think I'm going to have a heart attack.

It's four-thirty and raining buckets. With wind. And big fat drops. The windows are all shut and I can still smell the rain.

Dinner was the lobster tails. They were delicious. Grandma boiled them and served them with melted butter, and they were great. Note to self: when interested in a guy, try the Lobster Test: does he mind paying an arm and a leg? (You can skip this one. Split the cost or buy them yourself for dinner at home.) Do either of you mind watching the sort of messy eating lobster entails? How resourceful is he in figuring out how to eat the stupid things? I look forward to such an excuse. Lobster has a purpose! Yay! (Besides the physical and intellectual workout, of course.)

We larked a little after seven. The rain had mostly stopped, confining itself to a sporadic misting drizzle. It was cool out, and I wore a hoodie and my boots--which, naturally, turned out to be useless against tall wet grass. What astonished me was that the creek was running. Not all the way to the crossing, but there were signs--dried foam--and runnels, from earlier. Higher up it was going strong. It was noisy up at the culvert, where crossing the rocks was like walking over a symphony of water, possibly by Stravinsky. It began to rain as we came back up the Heller road, leaving me unsurprised that we met no one until Eagle Rock. A woman from the big house on the Circle was coming down from getting the mail. Lark was suspicious, but she wriggled up once we got closer. We cleared off when she almost pawed the woman's skirt. I went over later, after putting out the trash, to ask her if she wanted her trash hauled out; she was weeding the marigolds, and explained, through a thick accent, that her husband took it out every day--I'm not sure where: the noun was too accented. The people living there are widely said to be the parents of the Pole on the hill; nobody talks to them much, but Maria is thought to do for them. Possibly. It feels like a victory, though: contact made! I've been eyeing her for a while, you see.....