No, I don't really expect that to mean much, at least not by Utah standards, but I am just a little hopeful that maybe we'll see more than a skiff of snow. The foot they're talking about? Wouldn't that be amazing? Charlie would be in over his head!
I used to have a black lab named "Mac." He was actually, officially, named "Wasatch Big Mac." And he was the best dog ever--EVER. My defining dog. Charlie comes close, which surprises me because he's so little. But Mac was IT. Being a lab, he loved water. Surprisingly, he even loved it when it fell out of the sky, frozen. He would burrow under, then explode back out in a flurry of flying snow, then dive back in and burrow so all you could see was this moving hump of snow racing around the yard. Like a giant mole under the white.
No, that's not him, but that's how he was in the snow. Forgive the soundtrack.
I loved that dog. Wow, like "about to cry" loved that dog. He was THE dog, and, when push came to shove, I failed him.
I got married, you see. To an ass, let's be absolutely honest. I try to keep this PG-rated, so I won't say what I really think, but that should get the message across. I married, I was four days post-18th birthday. I married, and moved away, couldn't take Mac with me. So I left him with my MOM. My Mom, who had a history of ditching inconvenient dogs. Nietzsche, the German Shepherd who . . . pissed her off, I guess. Nietzsche was a good dog, she didn't bark, she wasn't mean, but she was hyper. You would be, too, if someone left you chained in the yard day in and day out. One day, while my Dad was TDY, Nietzsche just disappeared. Bye-bye. No word on what became of her. Later, it was our Brittany Spaniel (I don't think they call them "spaniels" anymore, but that's what they were back then), Crackers (that's Wasatch Cracker Jack). She waited until Frank and I had gone out to the pasture, then hauled Crackers to the pound. Gave me some gawdawful lie about how, if he wasn't adopted, they'd call and we'd take him back. Then she gave me some crappy story about how someone with a farm up in Huntsville had adopted him and oh, he was so happy now with room to run! Problem is, I fell for that story once, with Ralph back in Virginia. Ralph was not very good with people, and finally bit a kid who'd been teasing him, and I was told that he was "going to live on a farm." I was five then, I believed it. I was ten when Crackers poofed, and I wasn't nearly so gullible.
Anyway, so I left Mac with her, planning to take him just as soon as we got a place that would allow dogs. And every time I talked to her, she told me Mac was great, Mac was fine. And then we found a place that allowed dogs. I bought a dog house, a big bag of food, and was very excited--if you knew anything about my first husband, you'd know that he could really make a girl feel alone. I was looking forward to having Mac with me. We arrived at my Mom's house, and there it was, the sad, tragic story of how Mac had disappeared in the night. Poof!
Like magic.
I thought I saw Mac a couple of years later, in the back end of a pick-up truck. I got within about ten feet when the truck pulled away, but this dog had grey hairs in a ring at the throat, as Mac did due to an injury. I think it was him. I hope it was him. I hope they loved him.
Have I forgiven my Mom? I don't know. Let's just say I've moved on. Moved on, and learned a lot about how to treat my own child.
Spent the afternoon digging through the computer desk, trying to find my boy's AMA (that's Academy of Model Aeronautics) membership card. It's been months since it arrived, and my admonition to "get that in your wallet" didn't take hold. Can't find it anywhere, thought I did manage to clear out a whole bunch of space in the computer desk cabinet. That's certainly something, I suppose. I've dropped them an email, hoping they'll send a replacement so we can get him set up with the local flying club. In Utah, you just hit a park or school yard and fly. Out here? The one time we tried, we wound up with rangers on us within minutes. So our poor boy has only had that one, aborted flight since we moved here. He's only a beginner, and I think he's very sad over the lack of learning time.
Here are his planes--first is the one that crashed and needs repairs because it was a bit above his skill level (that was heartbreaking, lemme tell you):
And here's the trainer we got after, which was a rousing success back in Utah--such joy!
Both of these planes came from NitroPlanes.com, and we were very happy with our dealings with them. Should any other planes come our way, I'm sure we'll go through NitroPlanes again.
Sounds like Hubby's home. Time to go to the store. Having bacon, chicken, and cheese sandwiches tonight. I know that SOUNDS incredibly fattening, but the bread is only 45 calories a slice (and low carb), the cheese is the 75% reduced fat Cabot's cheddar, the chicken is broiled boneless, skinless (and cage-free, organic, etc.), and one sandwich only has one-and-a-half slices of peppered bacon. Combine that with roasted butternut, salad with light dressing, and some steamed broccoli, and it's a terrific, tasty meal without murdering me on the calories or carbs.
I'm torn. Bad Paneling or Wombat?
I think paneling. Here you go!
Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ
I used to have a black lab named "Mac." He was actually, officially, named "Wasatch Big Mac." And he was the best dog ever--EVER. My defining dog. Charlie comes close, which surprises me because he's so little. But Mac was IT. Being a lab, he loved water. Surprisingly, he even loved it when it fell out of the sky, frozen. He would burrow under, then explode back out in a flurry of flying snow, then dive back in and burrow so all you could see was this moving hump of snow racing around the yard. Like a giant mole under the white.
No, that's not him, but that's how he was in the snow. Forgive the soundtrack.
I loved that dog. Wow, like "about to cry" loved that dog. He was THE dog, and, when push came to shove, I failed him.
I got married, you see. To an ass, let's be absolutely honest. I try to keep this PG-rated, so I won't say what I really think, but that should get the message across. I married, I was four days post-18th birthday. I married, and moved away, couldn't take Mac with me. So I left him with my MOM. My Mom, who had a history of ditching inconvenient dogs. Nietzsche, the German Shepherd who . . . pissed her off, I guess. Nietzsche was a good dog, she didn't bark, she wasn't mean, but she was hyper. You would be, too, if someone left you chained in the yard day in and day out. One day, while my Dad was TDY, Nietzsche just disappeared. Bye-bye. No word on what became of her. Later, it was our Brittany Spaniel (I don't think they call them "spaniels" anymore, but that's what they were back then), Crackers (that's Wasatch Cracker Jack). She waited until Frank and I had gone out to the pasture, then hauled Crackers to the pound. Gave me some gawdawful lie about how, if he wasn't adopted, they'd call and we'd take him back. Then she gave me some crappy story about how someone with a farm up in Huntsville had adopted him and oh, he was so happy now with room to run! Problem is, I fell for that story once, with Ralph back in Virginia. Ralph was not very good with people, and finally bit a kid who'd been teasing him, and I was told that he was "going to live on a farm." I was five then, I believed it. I was ten when Crackers poofed, and I wasn't nearly so gullible.
Anyway, so I left Mac with her, planning to take him just as soon as we got a place that would allow dogs. And every time I talked to her, she told me Mac was great, Mac was fine. And then we found a place that allowed dogs. I bought a dog house, a big bag of food, and was very excited--if you knew anything about my first husband, you'd know that he could really make a girl feel alone. I was looking forward to having Mac with me. We arrived at my Mom's house, and there it was, the sad, tragic story of how Mac had disappeared in the night. Poof!
Like magic.
I thought I saw Mac a couple of years later, in the back end of a pick-up truck. I got within about ten feet when the truck pulled away, but this dog had grey hairs in a ring at the throat, as Mac did due to an injury. I think it was him. I hope it was him. I hope they loved him.
 |
| Not Mac, but exactly his build. And this is about how dirty and brown he looked after a day at the pasture, but otherwise he was pitch-black. |
Spent the afternoon digging through the computer desk, trying to find my boy's AMA (that's Academy of Model Aeronautics) membership card. It's been months since it arrived, and my admonition to "get that in your wallet" didn't take hold. Can't find it anywhere, thought I did manage to clear out a whole bunch of space in the computer desk cabinet. That's certainly something, I suppose. I've dropped them an email, hoping they'll send a replacement so we can get him set up with the local flying club. In Utah, you just hit a park or school yard and fly. Out here? The one time we tried, we wound up with rangers on us within minutes. So our poor boy has only had that one, aborted flight since we moved here. He's only a beginner, and I think he's very sad over the lack of learning time.
Here are his planes--first is the one that crashed and needs repairs because it was a bit above his skill level (that was heartbreaking, lemme tell you):
Sounds like Hubby's home. Time to go to the store. Having bacon, chicken, and cheese sandwiches tonight. I know that SOUNDS incredibly fattening, but the bread is only 45 calories a slice (and low carb), the cheese is the 75% reduced fat Cabot's cheddar, the chicken is broiled boneless, skinless (and cage-free, organic, etc.), and one sandwich only has one-and-a-half slices of peppered bacon. Combine that with roasted butternut, salad with light dressing, and some steamed broccoli, and it's a terrific, tasty meal without murdering me on the calories or carbs.
I'm torn. Bad Paneling or Wombat?
I think paneling. Here you go!
 |
| Wow, two for two, paneling AND carpet! |
Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ
No comments:
Post a Comment