Grieving Gardener

To say this vacation has been fabulous would be an understatement. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to visit this little part of the Pacific Coastline again, let alone have such a splendid time. I will surely be sad as we drive away from the house house on the beach, already planning to reserve it again, and soon.

I visited with a Coastal Goddess and her golden locks, (still a little tangled from her daily drive down the coast), a true garden artist, and, of course, my beloved Auntie TJ, God Mother and best friend. I met a true American-Italian wine maker. I tasted some of the worst wines ever made, but also some award winners that deserved their titles. I enjoyed every minute.

Today will be filled with packing, having a few last minute places to visit. A search for fresh avocados, and one last drive south to crane my neck while searching for the zebra herd, left over from the days of William Randolph Hearst. I’ll have a last dinner at a favorite restaurant that overlooks a tiny inlet where otters hold their pups on their tummies near a rock where rare Peregrine Falcons nest.

Tomorrow I head out at Dark:30.

Whatever your weekend holds, make it grand. Traveling back to my dusty little town in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada on a wide spot of road next to the interstate, I’ll be glad to return home. The mustangs will be shaggier, the air crisp, and the nights cold. Golden leaves will cover Winterpast and life will return to normal.

I’ll be back on Monday!!

Is life just one big script that we know nothing about? Sometimes, my life is so choreographed that I want to believe that to be true. A string of things that couldn’t have occurred if I’d been one minute earlier or later. And so, this story unfolds.

Two nights ago, while enjoying dinner when I experienced a cringeworthy feeling of the bad kind. My temporary crown loosened. It’s a helpless feeling knowing you need to keep something in place in the mouth, while needing to talk and breathe, let alone eat. The tooth was complaining by the nerve, quite alive and active. All dreadful.

I’d been warned I should bring along dental glue for this very reason. I listened. Prepared I brought the stuff, resembling a bad version of museum wax. It didn’t help that mine had traveled 30,000 miles in the RV. Never opened, it remained pliable, but not especially fresh. I wasn’t feeling this entire procedure. I’d have rather paid for a night visit to the dentist, but there wasn’t one to be found. Well, another of my favorite lines. “‘Ain’t nobody got time for that.” So the procedure began.

Of course, the bathroom sink was lined with a protective towel to catch the temporary every time it was dropped. The temp was carefully removed from the tiny little stump of a tooth which had been amputated to nothing over years and years of dental work. Cleaned and prepared, the temp remained undamaged during the process.

While holding the flashlight, all was ready. Quick as a cricket, the temporary was in place followed by a roll of paper towel on which to bite. I was at the finish line. Clamping down for twenty minutes drying time, I realized how much saliva is produced during those minutes. When the proper time had elapsed, I opened and removed the paper towel. Biting down, I realized a very sad thing.

The cap was on backwards.

Yes.

High and dangerous to the health of the stump.

Flying back into the bathroom, it was removed. Not to worry. The museum glue was nothing more than a feel good measure until you could get to a real dentist. Everything came apart, leaving me with a very naked and sensitive stump that would need to wait until morning for a real Dentist.

In a strange land, one never knows where to get medical care. I’d noted a local dentist in this two block town just the day before. I’d be there at 8 AM. Surely they’d find pity and glue me back together. This is when God went to work.

Arriving, the receptionist told me I would need a mask. A gentleman walked right past me without a mask. The mask-less one turned out to be the dentist. On his day off, he’d stopped by to retrieve something. Off for a day of fun away from the office, his wife was the receptionist.

Could they? Would they? Might they help me?

Well, they couldn’t let my beach trip be ruined, could they? Just like that, the dentist had on his lab coat and told me to get in the chair. He cleaned and checked and mixed and cemented, all while chatting. His first name was the same as VST’s. I’ll never forget his kindness.

In a matter of minutes, they’d saved the day, cementing the little cover in the correct position, eliminating the chance for undue stress on the stump. My heroes.

If I had been five minutes earlier or later, none of that would have happened. I’d have driven to another town and waited in a Covid filled waiting room for a chance to pay hundreds in emergency fees. It didn’t happen that way. I was home in under 30 minutes with a new vacation story.

Kindness. It’s never forgotten. We should always remember to share a great story about small town heroes we encounter every day. Dr. T is mine today. Have a good one.

Down a long dusty road, through miles of hills and oak trees, I made my way. The Garmin Chick told me to turn here and there, and I assure you, I wouldn’t have made it there or back without her. Thank goodness she knew where we were going. The California drought has left everything a burnt brown with rain needed in the worst way.

Dust. Gravel. Washboard roads. Rusted barbed wire fences. I drove up a drive, arriving at two barns in the middle of a vineyard. No fancy tasting room. Just roll up doors on two weathered buildings. Feeling familiar to me, we entered a door marked “Tasting Room”.

Inside were the workings of a real winery. Forklift. Spider webs. Grape crusher. Large stainless fermentation tanks. Cute plastic 1/2 ton grape bins, larger than the ones we saw the day before. No vat of dry ice or anything else so ridiculous. A real farm. On the other side of the dimly lit barn on a homemade bar, sat six bottles of wine. Behind the bar stood a 70-Something man, obviously invested in his business. Totally committed to everything about HIS business.

Dave Caparone. Owner and operator of Caparone Vineyard and Winery. Simply Caparone online. Another couple was just finishing a tasting. Visitors from Arizona, we exchanged small talk about desert life while they completed their purchase. Now, it was our turn.

No tasting fee. No fluff. No t-shirts or other trinkets for sale. Just six bottles of wine in a dusty barn. Either you like them or you don’t. It didn’t seem to matter much to him whether you did or didn’t. Proudly, he stood behind them. He liked them. That’s all that really mattered.

As stated yesterday, I’m not a wine drinker. Never was. Didn’t think I ever would be. But, in this little barn, with this very quiet farmer and winemaker, I repeatedly found myself wanting another taste. Six amazing wines that were unfined and unfiltered. Made from very old Italian varietals he grew on his ranch with his own two hands.

Mr. Caparone explained that in the late 70’s, he started playing around with wines. He planted vineyards. He and his son did all the work themselves, other than pruning and harvest. Slowly his wine started selling. An old broken down forklift was replaced with a better one. This was his ranch. His winery. In those bottles of wine, his life.

To say that these were the best wines I’ve ever tasted in my life would be a true statement. Remember, I don’t like the stuff, having little experience in the finer side of wine tasting. All six varietals were different, one to the next. Each one told their own little story. In just a sip, I could taste the hours that went into tractor driving, worry, physical work, and sweat. Just he and his son made them all. Year after year, it was their hard work. Not any sort of privilege involved with that. I assure you, few would do the jobs a farmer does. I know.

It was hard to learn much about this man behind the bar. No nonsense, for sure. A quiet gentleman. If you are ever lucky enough to meet him, you’ll understand. He could have told me any story he wanted and I would’ve believed him. But, he didn’t tell any tales.

“Ah, a farm girl. Do you drive tractor?” He had me at that. Yes. I drive tractor and forklift, too. I know how to sucker a vine, pick up pruned thick wood, and check degrees of brix (sugar content of an aqueous solution) in anticipation of harvest. Many parts of my farm experiences overlapped with his. Yes. A farm girl forever.

I left with some of his wine. I can’t wait to enjoy a bottle on a winter’s day. It will take me back to a most perfect autumn at the coast.

Autumn is a wonderful time to experience harvest. All year, crops are carefully grown and groomed while pests are managed. A farmer is betting everything on good weather and a high sales price. With nothing more than strong faith in what’s happened in the past, farmers hope and wait to see the outcome. Some years are wonderful. Some years, a farmer just turns away to start preparing for the next. That’s the world of real farming.

These days, the little central coastal towns that we’re visiting are in the swing of celebrating fall. There’s a custom that has grown as the years have gone by. The display of the scarecrows. Scarecrows that are seen doing everything from bee keeping to swashbuckling. Each shop owner has put their own spin on their scarecrow. The results are worth seeing.

Colorful and whimsical, these works of art are displayed through the month of October, adding to the number of tourists. Thousands trek to the coast just to see them. Truly adorable.

While visiting, wine tasting was suggested as a possible activity. Having owned my own vineyard raising grapes for Sunmaid raisins, I’ve seen a thing or two. Born into a family that produced grapes for wine and raisins for almost a century, Great-grandparents, Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, and even cousins, were all in the business. Over the year, we learned a thing or two.

This, I can assure you. Harvest is a exhausting race between sunlight, the weather, and the ability to find employees to help harvest the crop. Every single road block you can imagine happen while harvesting a crop that needs to be picked in the span of a few days. Nature doesn’t wait. Fruit continues to gain sugar until, at a single moment in time, it passes its peak. A great farmer hits the sweet spot year after year.

Weather is always fun. Rain and raisins don’t go together. At least five years of the seventeen that I farmed, VST and I were found at 3 AM at the local pancake house. As rain fell on our crop, we’d look out the window, helpless and shaken. All five years, we managed to fix the damage. Rain and raisins are just a bad combination.

Production costs for a raisin crop were around $50,000 for our 40 acre vineyard (1990-2007). Payments for the previous crop were carefully timed, paying for pruning, chemicals, paper trays, and the next harvest. Checks came in. Checks went out. Such is the world of farming.

Yesterday, I visited a toy vineyard and winery. I say this because I know the real thing. In a real harvest, people are so dirty their eyelashes hold a layer of dust. This “grape snipper” was in khaki’s and clean tennis shoes.

“They’re harvesting!!!!” said the woman serving us their version of a chardonnay.

Funny. I heard no shouting, tractors, or barking dogs. No signs of a typical working vineyard. Confused I looked around and what I saw made me laugh from the depths of my belly.

There sat one lone bin of red grapes. A very small plastic bin, maybe 3’x3’x3′. No set of doubles. No forklift dumping a trailer load of grapes. No leaves. Mice. Lizards. Coyote poop. Any of the real stuff that gets dumped with a load of grapes.

Just this little bin of shiny little grapes. Each berry so clean, surely they hired elves to dust them on a daily basis. The employee wasn’t covered with dust of any kind. Looking like he had just popped out from behind a desk, he worked a toy fork lift to move the one bin inside. After gently setting the bin down, he walked over to some dry ice and threw one small scoop on the top of the bin.

A wild fermentation process starts the minute grapes are cut. Wine makers have their own idea of controlled fermentation and don’t want the wild process to start. I assure you. One quart of dry ice on a bin of grapes would do nothing to stop that process. My brain laughed so hard I had to turn away.

Yesterday, I tasted a lot of very sad wines. Wines that were $50 a bottle, and not worth a space on the shelves at Discount Grocery. Very fancy store fronts with fussy people. Terms like bouquet made me laugh in my brain. The descriptors were provided by a fancy writer with a great imagination. Such is the world of wine tasting.

The last place I visited had the best idea of all. They had bottled pieces of grape vines pruned off at the end of a season. We would light bonfires to get rid of this debris at our ranch. Little did we know we were sitting on a gold mine. There on the shelf, they were selling this stuff, adorably bottled, priced at $28 a pint. Labeled as a BBQ additive for a hint of grape wood on your steaks, this was a brilliant marketing idea. Take trash and turn it into extra cash. They got the best score for squeezing the most profit out of their vineyard.

All in all, I still don’t like wine. I’ve seen too much. Having worked at Paul Masson Winery on the swing shift, I know about quality control. I worked in the lab, testing for all kinds of chemical standards found in good wines. It takes an army to make a reproducible product year after year. It takes truckloads of grapes, arriving in a steady stream. It takes hundreds of people who get very dirty. It’s dangerous and on a large scale.

I do like doll houses.

Pretend wineries?????

That remains to be seen.

Have a great day.

So far, vacationing at the coast has been magical. I mean, really. Who wouldn’t have a wonderful time in a little cottage with an ocean view??? Entering the house for the first time, I was home. The pictures on “Air BnB” showed it exactly as we found it. Adorable and perfectly stocked.

On the table sat a card addressed to me with a gift of Snicker Doodle cookies from the Brown Butter Cookie Company. Look them up. They send orders throughout the United States. Order some. You won’t be disappointed. My favorite are the Brown Butter Cookies, their signature cookie. Nothing says you are at the coast better than a fresh baked cookie.

The card read,

“Joy,

Welcome back to Bella Vista By the Sea. Please enjoy this gift and the duration of your stay.”

My eyes leaked a little at their message.

Yes.

Welcome back.

The Pacific has been waiting. Just as I left it two years before, on the doorstep of cancer’s evil clutches, the same beautiful ocean welcomed me, again. There’s nothing better than waves crashing on a beautiful beach. From my life as that little blonde girl until now, as a graying woman of 65, the waves have comforted me.

Santa Cruz was the go-to place we enjoyed as children. Playing in the waves as a little girl, we’d stay in the water until our lips were blue. Bundled up in towels, we’d scurry back to my grandparent’s tiny house to enjoy naps in her creaky murphy bed, which hid under a wonderfully heavy blanket when not in use. Magical in the eyes of any child, everyone wanted to sleep in the bed that popped out of the wall.

So far, I’ve enjoyed a wonderful evening with my best friend, CC, and her new beau at her home in the California foothills. Then, off to the coast for a visit from T and K. After lunching at our favorite restaurant, we played Gilligan and friends. Our tour wasn’t three hours, but one. The weather did start getting rough, and we skillfully took the boat back to the harbor before we ran aground on the sand bar. During our little voyage, we came very close to many sea otters, animals God created to look at when he needed a smile.

The next day, I had a wonderful visit with my God Mother, TJ, and THE CONVERTIBLE GODDESS OF THE CENTRAL COAST. Coastal Royalty, both, you could only hope to be so lucky to sit with them on a sunny day discussing the problems of the world over cake and coffee. Like a day hadn’t passed, I was home with two women I love the most.

Throughout all these activities, there have been quiet little breakfasts and dinners in quaint restaurants. Plants and flowers thrive here. God’s way of laughing. Whales spouting. Dolphins leaping. Surfers riding the waves. People enjoying evening fires on the beach. It doesn’t get better than this.

Forgive me for being late in posting. Sleeping in, I’m finding I’m able write later in the day. After wiping the morning dew from the truck, I have yet to decide what the day will bring. Stay tuned. There’ll be more to report tomorrow.

Vacations are a wonderful time to regroup. I’ll be back tomorrow or the next day! Having a wonderful time. Enjoy your day!!!!!!

Emotional uncertainty rests heavy on my shoulders as I get ready to travel back in time. Driving down familiar roads, I’ll be scurrying backwards in time, finding my ultimate vacation spot on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. For many years, the direction of choice was East, traveling to so many exquisite spots in our country. Mount Rushmore. Washington, D.C. Northern Minnesota. Wyoming. This trip will be different. I’ll be returning to places I used to live. A town I used to know. A home that used to be mine.

Oliver will be enjoying his friends at Puppy Camp. He works while he’s there, helping the newbies with their night frights. He plays with the little ones, wearing them out. Making the staff smile with his antics, he’ll have another fabulous vacation while I’m off making memories of my own.

This is the third time I’ve reserved a little house on the beach. Tiny and adorable, I plan to walk along the shore and think about the past and also the future. I don’t find real comfort in venturing too far from the present. Things in the past can’t be changed. Things in the future haven’t yet been written. The present is the place in which we can all find things we can count on, like good food and great friends.

Returning to California, there are memories that will sting and burn my heart. No doubt about that. It’s time to face them. A little cabin in the woods. A dinner at a beautiful restaurant overlooking the lake. A best friend waiting with a new beau and the best hugs in the world. My new friend, WP, to share with everyone.

Traveling through Yosemite National Park, so many trips and experiences are bound to go through my mind. Stags, Bears, Rangers, and a run-away horse. The most serene meadow of Tuolumne. A place many Californian’s have never seen because it is towards the Eastern side of the Sierra’s. I’ll remember a little boy fishing that, to our surprise, caught a squirrel. Another little boy that celebrated a 10th birthday. A troubled couple that ran to the Sierra’s every chance possible to escape the troubling professions in which we worked. Two people that went through life loving nature and soaking in the breathtaking scenery of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Planning to drive by my old ranch, I’ll remember myself as the little blonde girl that used to get Hydrox cookies from Grammie’s cookie jar. The girl that refused to take naps and had to be threatened with the fly swatter once in awhile. I’ll think of the cellar, always cool, even on the hottest Central Valley days. The rows of canned goods, lined up and waiting for winter. Applesauce, white and orange peaches, bread and butter pickles, and jellies galore. A grandpa that made the best popcorn, delighting three little girls when kernels escaped the pot.

I’ll think of being the young mother that became a farmer, learning about the cycles of the vineyard tended by her Great-Grandparents and Grandparents, Aunts and Uncles, and parents. Vines that were decades old, producing grapes that the average person has never tasted in their life. A barn, big and red and mysterious. Barn doors so big they took VST and his strong arms to move them. Owls that came out on spring nights to teach their babies to fly. Family and friends that came out to the ranch to marvel at the peacefulness of the vineyard. Work. Work. Work. And more work.

A high school where I lost my first love to death my Senior year. A high school where I met VST in choir. A high school reunion where we would shock everyone with a proposal and a Yes. A highschool where my own boys would grow up and graduate. A ranch that would see them to manhood and GoodBye. All these visions will come flooding back as I show these places to someone that grew up in a city far away. California being so vast, as if city and farm were in different galaxies.

Once at the coast, T and K will join us for a day of fun. A lunch at a favorite restaurant that I see in my mind the same as my own kitchen. An afternoon on the water. A chance to visit and smile. A chance to remember someone so dear and special as the man VST was to us all.

Sleeping next to the waves, my dreams will no doubt sneak back to days in the RV. After driving for so many hours, the nights next to the shore were always the most special. Leaving the window cracked a bit, the sound of the waves crashing through a storm were the best kind of lullaby. They will be again.

Finding the arms of my God Mother wrapped around me, I’ll be home. Back to the comfort she has always provided. Back to a woman who has known me longer than anyone else I know. She who knows my heart without every having to ask a question. She, the reason I long to return.

Quite a lot to go through in a week. Wondering what my responses will be to all the visual stimuli, I’ve been getting sleep, good food, and vitamins. Crying when I need to, I’ve been pre-visualizing the scenes that are sure to tear at my heart. I’m so blessed to be going with a friend that will help me get through the hard parts, while helping me make memories with the new ones.

My past was a magical place that held all the emotions and memories experienced by everyone. Traveling through, I’ll give a shout out to the ghosts of the past. Say a sweet Thank You that I was lucky enough to get the life I was given by God.

Stay tuned. I’ll share along the way I while I enjoy a wonderful vacation.

Many people in this crazy world are unable to find a balance of work and play through discipline. Sometimes, I wonder why it is that organization is important to me. In the last few weeks, my daily routine has been turned upside down. Personal discoveries have shown me that being organized allows me to squeeze as much out of life as possible, down to the last drop. That’s the way I roll now, and will continue to roll.

The life of waking whenever to do whatever as the winds blow doesn’t work for me. Certainly not when I had major responsibilities as a young woman, and definitely not now. I find that sleeping too long creates stiffness in my old bones. Wasting the dark autumn mornings only leaves chores that need doing while the sun is shining outside. Missing an early morning soak in the hot tub, I find I’m missing my soaking time all together. Never a good thing. A definite schedule allows me to fit all the jigsaw pieces of my life in a pretty picture that I enjoy. There is time for each and every little piece.

Some people can just roll through a day, putting off chores until the next. Procrastination Central. Being an old woman of 65, I can’t do a long list of physical chores over an entire day. I need to do a little here and a little there, or I’ll pay for it in aches and pains. It’s just the way things are as I travel through my days in the Northwestern Nevada High Desert.

As a Teacher-Farmer-Mom decades ago, people would ask me how I remained organized to accomplish daily tasks. You start out that way. Make a decision to start organizing and stick to it. For me, it’s now a way of life.

Where I’m struggling with discipline is in the area of my diet, as so many people do. Why is it so darn hard to eliminate carbohydrates? Poisonous to me, they cause a immediate and dangerous swelling of the Gluteus Maximus, better known as the butt. No carbs? Life is beautiful. Wonderful. Happy. Skinny. These days, the diet train has derailed. Trying my best to get back on track, I find myself floundering.

VST and I employed teamwork in this area. Embracing the Keto Diet for over two years, we found a healthy way to eat what we liked and remain slim. With an abundance of recipes online, any food type can be transformed into a Keto version. Even Pizza. Great crust can be created with canned chicken. Who knew? It just takes planning. Direction. Vision. 20 carbs a day. And a healthy grocery bill. Keto is expensive.

With autumn upon me, now is the time to rearrange my schedule and get things back in order. The front yard is lovely and finished. The gardener will be coming soon to trim and winterize Winterpast. The gardens are ablaze as the trees say their dreamy goodnight prayers, going to sleep for the winter. Slowly, the yard art is finding its way into the RV barn and the days march on towards winter. Soon, hot tub soaking in the snow will be upon me. Such a fun and relaxing time of year.

Just a note. If you are planning to decorate for Halloween and Christmas, be sure to get to the store now. The shelves are quickly becoming bare, as products are slow to get to market. How crazy! Things we took for granted, like holidays seasons enjoyed in the right months, are now distant memories. Buy Christmas in September. Oh well, such is life these days.

Have a beautiful autumn day. If nothing else, organize the junk drawer. You’ll feel victorious.

My sweet son is an American Hero. Serving in the US Air Force and US Air National Guard for over twenty years, he is brave and sweet. At 42, he is a man’s-man with three young children and a lovely wife of his own. God fearing and country loving, I’m so proud of him. In the next few days, he is making another huge sacrifice, being deployed for six months.

Few of us give consideration to the sacrifices that our military families make on a regular basis. As a father and husband, he’ll be missing milestones in his children’s lives. His wife will be left to make decisions alone regarding school and home issues that face all families. His children will be left to miss their dad during those long days and nights. The holiday table will be missing our hero. Unless friends and family have experienced that, it would be hard to know what that’s like.

My son is a successful business owner. During the six months that he’ll be gone, he will be entrusting his company to employees. Unless you are a business owner, trusting your business to others is a huge leap of faith. No one could possible make decisions with the same amount of dedication and determination as the person that started the business with a dream.

He will be missing all the holidays we love, and not for the first time in his life. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years will all be celebrated with fellow Air Men and Women. These people will be his new family for six months. All celebrated on foreign soil and away from those he loves the best. His family. All while preparing for the “Just In Case” we all hope never comes.

In this day and age, deployment is a wee bit kinder. The internet will allow for video chats and phone conversations from half way around the world. Great mail service will allow for timely delivery of care packages full of love. But, there is nothing like a warm hug at the end of a very long work day. In this day and age, deployment is a wee bit kinder. The internet will allow for video chats and phone conversations from half way around the world. Great mail service will allow for timely delivery of care packages full of love. But, there is nothing like a warm hug at the end of a very long work day. Nothing like helping your kids with troublesome homework. Nothing like building a business and landing a new client. Nothing like HOME.

Please keep him in your prays. He is the kindest and most loving son a mom could every hope to have. Intelligent and successful, he makes me proud every single day of my life. His base needs the love of our country. Our military personnel sacrifice on a daily basis. They are unsung heroes that need our prayers and support. Their families need our help.

Hug a soldier. Pray for God to keep them safe. They are our best and brightest.

Everyone should meet an Oliver at least once in their lives. He’s a nearly human, funny, witty, observant, and expressive standard wire-haired dachshund. Weighing 25 pounds, he’s as strong as a black lab with very, very short legs. Rather like an earth mover, his center of gravity is low. Being a very strong and stubborn little guy, he likes getting his way. He keeps me on my toes.

Three years of his life have passed by. I keep waiting for him to grow into Dog-Hood. He’s firmly parked at Puppy-Hood and enjoying every single little bit of it. He does zoomies with an expression challenging me to race him to the finish. There is no catching him except with his form of kryptonite. Treats. He’s a sucker for dog bones or cheese. Truly, he’ll do anything asked if there’s a payoff. Slowly, he’s learned he can wait me out and get his treat first. I’m a sucker for his dreamy green eyes.

When working as a team, as long as he knows I’ve something yummy in my hand, I have his full attention. Once I give him the “All Gone” hand signal, he’s off to another adventure, not having one second more for me. Oliver and I have been to hell and back. To say I love him is an understatement. I respect him for all that he puts up with on a daily basis. He gives me grief until he sees enough is enough.

Last week, I was in the middle of spa maintenance. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the best about reading instructions on bottles of lethal chemicals. My thinking follows this route. If said chemicals are sold over the counter, they are meant for people like me that really hate rubber gloves or eye protection. After working for so many years on the farm, there are very few things that scare me about home chemicals. Obviously, never mix Clorox and Ammonia, unless you have a death wish. Try not to breathe noxious fumes. But, for most things, just go with it and get the job done. Gloves and eye protection are such a bother.

VST would have had quite the opposite view, always on the look out for unsafe working conditions. With every chemical, one must read instructions while looking for all possible hazardous outcomes. It was nice to have him around to remind me that some chemicals are not cleaning supplies, but potentially dangerous liquids.

After losing VST, I’m left to my own devises. With the sun getting lower in the sky, the filters had soaked for three hours. Taking them out of the vats of acid solution with gloved hands, I carefully rinsed them off and set them out to dry.

No problem, yet.

Until.

Going back into the house, Oliver was complaining. Whining. Wanting to go outside to check for toads. Opening the door, there was no stopping him. Like a bullet. Without one zoomie he went straight to the vat of acid. Nose touched acid quicker than I could gasp in horror. Luckily, the smell caused him to back up, but not before a bit of the diluted solution had touched his sweet and delicate little nose. He looked confused and bewildered, coming to me right away for a hug.

Why, Oliver???

Why? Why? Why?

Immediately retrieving the empty bottle, I read all instructions again, this time looking for signs of possible poisoning. Whisking him off his little legs, I wiped his nose and checked his mouth. Everything in good order, we went to the couch and cuddled for awhile. His eyes told me he loved this part the most. For 30 minutes I watched for excessive salivation, vomiting, blisters, measles, Covid, anthrax poisoning. Any sign that he was ill.

Nothing.

I went to the vat of caustic chemicals. Carefully I put a fingertip in the solution.

Nothing.

It felt like water, so I rubbed some on the top of my arm for closer observation.

Nothing.

Hmmmmmmm.

I didn’t put my nose to the bucket or take a lick, deciding it was more sensible to remained unharmed in case Oliver needed my assistance. Chemical burns can be nasty.

As with small children, when they do something out of the ordinary, you need to wait things out, watching for the normal to continue happening. Oliver enjoyed a piece of cheese. No problem. He had a bowl of water. No vomiting. I prepared his dinner. Gulping that down, he pooped normally. His after dinner nap took him to puppy dream land without a care in the world.

After two hours of observation, I’m happy to report that Oliver remained his sweet little self, none the worse for wear. He survived a possible poisoning event. I’m a little ragged around the edges after that one. It was a reminder that our furry friends use about as much judgement as a blind and deaf salmon when there are new things to taste and smell. They need us to be prepared at all times. Remember that some house and garden plants are toxic to dogs. If spraying for insects, be sure that you choose products that are pet friendly.

Oliver is happily at my feet. Throughout the day and night, I checked for any signs of damage. I’m happy to report that there were no side affects. Through it all, he remained happy as a clam and enjoyed the extra attention.

As the days go by, there are more times when I get brief glimpses of a wonderful grown-up dog. I’m relieved, having passed my Puppy-Hood many moons ago. Hug your pets, keep them safe, and have a great day.