Saturday encore ~ Some like it hot. We're not in that group.

This encore post is from June 6, 2010.

***

Deets is just as dismayed about this heat wave as the rest of us.

Saturday encore ~ Deets is ready for his closeup

Seems like we all enjoyed seeing Deets in last Saturday's encore post,
so here's another one featuring him, from June 2010.

***

I finally got Deets to sit for a formal portrait session.

He cooperated for a few minutes and I was able to get a nice profile shot...

and a few closeups.

Good boy, Deets.

Now let's try a few poses. Show me some leg.

Good...ears forward...let's go for pensive.

Now back this way...look right into the camera.

Purrfect.

Postcards from Cozumel #4

The hard part about being on vacation is not being in the company of my animals.

One must seek out suitable substitutes whenever an opportunity presents itself,

even if it means looking like a dork on a public street in front of an artisanal chocolate factory 

while waiting for the tour to begin.

The security guard checked us out.

I gave her the secret password and we were allowed in.

Such a friendly, funny feline, and it turns out we have something in common.

Her name is Leeen-da.

Snapper, Smooch and I ponder the heat

Snapper: Why aren't you outside? It's 6 o'clock. Aren't you supposed to be walking Smooch 

or scooping poop or doing something productive? What the hell's wrong with you?

Me: It's too stinkin' hot. I'd rather be a slug like you and lay on the couch doing nothing. So there.

Smooch: Air conditioning...what a concept. I could get used to this. 

Still, I feel like a slacker. Who's protecting the ranch if I'm in the house? 

Part of me wants to do my job, but the other part of me says screw that, I'm comfortable right here on the couch.

It's a moral dilemma, and frankly I'm torn.

Me: When is it too hot to blog? I don't think we've crossed that threshhold yet, but we're getting awfully close. 

How many days can we get away with indoor pictures before our readers realize we're a bunch of wusses who can't take the heat? 

When will the monsoons arrive to cool off the air and bring an end to our misery? So many unanswered questions. 

It's not the heat, it's the stupidity.

It's never easy

Yesterday, for the sixth time in my life, I had to make "the decision." You know, the one where you have to play God; the choice that rips your guts out but has to be made nonetheless. When the choice is obvious, making the decision isn't that hard. You know what's hard? Calling the vet to make the appointment. That's what's hard, because that's when you realize it's real and it's happening and you have to get in the truck and go through with it. God bless the receptionist who immediately understands what's going on when she hears the choking voice on the other end of the line.

Daffodil stopped eating last weekend. When I took her to the vet on Monday, her blood work pointed to kidney failure. Could be an infection, could be something worse. She rebounded and started eating after she'd been flushed out and on an IV overnight. But when I brought her home, she tanked again within 24 hours. I could have tried to keep her going with twice-weekly life support measures, but that would have been for my benefit, not hers.

I adopted her in 1998 so that Rosebud would have a feline friend. The age on her paperwork was listed as "unknown" and her name then was Eleanor. She didn't look like an Eleanor to me, so I called her Daffodil. She was a stealth cat who rarely made an appearance if another person was in the house, but she trusted me and faithfully jumped up on my bed every single night, insisting that I pet her for a minimum of five minutes before I went to sleep. Daffodil, I apologize for sometimes nodding off at the four-minute mark.

I hate writing posts like this, but you guys are too astute and too caring to let me get away with not telling you. But don't be mad that I've turned off the comment function for this post. Sympathy makes me sadder. I can't handle the sympathy.

Daffodil in springtime

The temperature outside and in has warmed up a tiny bit in the last few weeks.

Daffodil no longer spends every minute of the day under the woodstove. 

Now I can find her in the kitchen. Waiting.

Stalking me.

Watching my every move.

Preparing to pounce the second she hears me open the bag...

...of crack for cats.

Daffodil: Toss me another one or this is gonna get ugly.

Smooch: Mom? Everything ok in there?

Daffodil: @#!$% dog.

Problem-solving, alone and in the middle of nowhere

My problem originated last Sunday morning. The battery in the smoke detector near my office started chirping its "I'm-dead-change-me" alarm. No big deal. I hauled out my five-foot ladder and changed it. But then I got to thinking it was only a matter of time before the battery in the smoke detector in the living room would start chirping. That would be a big deal because it is 12 feet off the ground and I would have no way to change it.

So I pondered my dilemma all week, thinking there had to be a way to get up there without buying a taller ladder. I happened to be pondering while eating breakfast one morning and my solution stared right back at me - the sturdy dining room table. I could put the ladder on top of it to reach the ceiling! Whew. Now I could stop worrying. Whenever that alarm started chirping, I'd be ready.

But then I got to thinking it would be stupid to wait for it to start chirping to replace the battery, since that would probably happen in the middle of the night, and who wants to be executing this well-developed-yet-somewhat-dubious maneuver half asleep in her pajamas?

So Sunday afternoon, I took action. Step one: move the sturdy-but-insanely-heavy dining room table under the smoke detector.

I put a rug under one end, picked up the other end, and sort of lifted/pushed/slid it across the floor.

The table and the ladder were about the same width, so I put a wider piece of 1" particle board atop the table 

so the ladder wouldn't slip off the side. I was confident that my makeshift scaffolding would hold, 

but I put the telephone nearby just in case. Looking at this picture, I now realize that "nearby" 

should actually have been the floor. Oh, well. I can't think of everything.

The OSHA inspectors double-checked my worksite.

Smooch: Are you sure you know what you're doing?

Snapper: On the surface, this looks like it will work...

...but who will feed me if it doesn't?

Me: Thanks for your vote of confidence and concern for my welfare, Snapper.

After triple-checking that a fresh battery was in my pocket, up the ladder I went. 

Yes, I took my camera. How often do I get to see my house from this angle?
And if my plan did go south, I could document it.
(Admit it – that would be an interesting series of pictures.)

Me: Hey, Snapper! Smooch! Look up! 

They ignored me. 

Me: Daffodil, it's toasty warm up here. Why don't you join me?

She ignored me, too.

There are several lessons learned from this problem-solving adventure:

1. Measure twice, climb once.

2. Don't wait for the alarm to sound before planning an escape.

3. Dining room tables – they're not just for eating.

4. Don't build a house with an unreachable ceiling.

5. Don't expect your pets to call 911 if you're in trouble.

6. Living alone in the middle of nowhere is always an adventure. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Snapper does his impression of me

There are some weeks when I have to work too damned hard. This is one of them.

Countdown to retirement:
12 years, 1 month, 25 days or
4437 days or
106,488 hours or
633 weeks.

(This site did the calculating. I love the internet.) 

I've heard that the older you get, the faster time flies. I've also heard that time flies when you're having fun. For a fun-loving old-ish person like myself, I guess this means that my retirement date is just around the corner. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Numbers and deep thoughts have a way of making my head explode.

Move over, Snapper. I need a nap.

If you can't stand the heat, get out from under the woodstove

I keep telling myself Daffodil will emerge from her favorite spot before she overcooks. 

I hope I'm right. Some just like it hot.

These two prefer the cooler climate of the couch. Rarely are they so in sync.

My bag is packed and I'm ready to go...nowhere

Back in the days when I had a real job, there was no internet or e-mail, cell phones didn't exist,

and – most significantly – a carry-on suitcase with built-in wheels was but a pipe dream.

I lived out of a handsome, sturdy boat anchor, which I bought to hold up to the rigors of the DC-NYC shuttle. 

It sure looked smart as I carried it down the jetway, but to this day, 

I think my right arm is a little bit longer than my left from lugging it hither and yon.

Anyway, it retired back in '93 when I did and has not seen one overhead compartment since.

The post-traumatic stress of a corporate career has finally abated (it only took 19 years),
and I don't break out in a sweat and twitch at the sight of this suitcase,

so I brought it down from the attic to replace the ugly cardboard box 

that Snapper recently claimed as his favorite napping spot.

I had been saving it for "Antiques Roadshow."  

I can only hope that the value of its storied provenance will compensate for the cat hair.

And on Friday, she served leftovers and got all philosophical

I take too darned many pictures. Seriously. My new year's resolution is to take fewer – but better – pictures.

In the olden days when I shot on film, each click meant money out of my pocket – for the film, for the processing, 

for the prints. I never pressed the shutter until I was reasonably sure the image was artfully composed and perfectly exposed.

With digital cameras, each click is free, and it's so stinkin' easy to overshoot.

The law of large numbers says if you press the shutter enough times, eventually you'll get something good. 

I don't want to work that way. I want every picture I take to be the best picture I've ever taken.

But I am so, so far from reaching that goal – which is a good thing because 

if I ever get there, I might stop taking pictures, and that wouldn't be any fun at all.

I love taking pictures. Always have, always will.

And blogging gives me this crazy, unexpected opportunity to share my passion with strangers, 

who become friends, who stop by to look at my pictures. 

So thank you – yes, I mean you – for making me want to be a better photographer.

Saturday encore ~ Honk your horn if you love wild animals

Enough about the porcupines. Let's switch the programming to something more pleasant – 

like the pronghorns who occasionally populate my pasture, which I pictured in this post from November 2010.

***

Me: So, Snapper, what do you think of our new sculpture?

Snapper: I suppose it's ok if you're into that sort of thing.

And I'm definitely into that sort of thing, where thing equals found object. Our new sculpture is actually a Pronghorn horn. 

I found it right in the middle of the path as Smooch and I walked around the fenceline.

Buck photo courtesy of Arizona Game and Fish

Here are some fun facts about the Pronghorn that roam the range around the 7MSN:
•  The Pronghorn is the only animal in the world with branched horns (not antlers) and the only animal to shed its horns, as if they were antlers. The horn is a hollow sheath over a bony core that rises from the skull just above the eye. A buck's horns are up to 15 inches long. Each has a distinctive prong on the front, which gives the species its name.
• Pronghorn are found only on the plains and grasslands of North America.
• The Pronghorn is the fastest land mammal in the world.  It can sprint as fast as 60 mph and can sustain a speed of 30 mph for miles.
• A Pronghorn herd travels as one, not leaving a single animal open to attack. The herd runs in perfect unison in a very tight, oval-shaped formation, much like a flock of birds.
• Pronghorn cannot leap fences, as deer can, so they crawl under fences instead.

Can I just say that my heart skips a beat every time I see a Pronghorn? I'll stop whatever it is I'm doing and just watch (and take pictures, if I'm lucky enough to be wearing my camera). It's a privilege to see something so wild and beautiful, and I will never tire of it.

Smooch: No way, no how am I posing with that thing on my head.

Clearly, Smooch and I do not have the same taste when it comes to art. We found this horn several weeks ago, and I've been meaning to show it to you. I had forgotten all about it until yesterday afternoon, when I looked out the living room window and noticed George and Alan chasing something across the pasture.