We’ve had, like many of you, a series of storms pass through this week, which doesn’t bode well for me getting sleep. This isn’t a pity post, it’s just a “oh, that’s why she is making less sense than usual,” notification.
I happen to love storms and especially love listening to them. They remind me of camp, both as a camper on Lake Erie and as a counselor in the hills and forests surrounding the Allegheny River. Something so comforting about hearing the storms roll down the river, thunder kabooming over your adirondack, branches blowing in the wind, rain dripping off the leaves. I love it all.
However, our Great Pyrenees does not. Not even one little bit. She starts panting and drooling all over the floor as she paces, so it’s slippery inside and nobody wants to be barefoot to then step in a puddle of drool. She also won’t eat, which then calls for vigilance on our part to make sure that Bosley, who will eat anything, doesn’t mosey over to eat her food. That tends to not go over well. Think siblings with only one last candy bar.
“That’s mine and you know it! Give it back!”
“Then you should have eaten it, shouldn’t you?!”
“I said ‘give it back!’”
“Finders keepers, losers weepers!”
*fisticuffs ensues*
“Mooooommm!”
“I’m going to clobber you both!”
Anyway.
The rescue from which we got her claimed she was crate trained. She was for the first two weeks, before she started dismantling and sneaking out of it, sometimes becoming stuck to the point I thought she was going to cause internal damage to herself. Therefore, we gave up on the crate, call her Honey Houdini, and just try to barricade her out of the kitchen as best we can during storms. We’re getting good with arranging baby gates, chairs, and random pieces of furniture, which she is becoming adept at removing from her desired location through sheer brute force, dedication, and persistence. I also try to remember to close all the curtains before bed and leave a few lights on to minimize the scariness of the lightning, and leave Pandora on to help cover the thunder. Maybe it all helps a little, but I can hear her butting into the baby gate from upstairs along with other, sneakier sounds, so I usually end up downstairs on the couch to keep a closer ear on her. She's been known to get into drawers, boxes, bags, (haha, "packages, boxes and bags") and I'd rather head it all off at the pass than have to clean up after the fact.
This morning she got herself into Bosley’s crate.. he weighs around 45 pounds and she’s around 100. He was not pleased. Dada said to just shut the door, to which I reminded him that, while I was tempted, she would just destroy his kennel and then we’d be left with none and they’d both be loose. Neither of them can be trusted farther than you could throw them, so thanks but no thanks. Somehow she managed to turn herself around and got back out, but it was photo worthy anyway for your entertainment:
We've not had an opportunity to see the Perseid meteor shower yet because of the rain, but we've had some breaks in the weather with beautiful skies.
I had just told Dada yesterday that I'd planted some additional, different morning glory seeds this year because we have bajillions of purple ones annually and I wanted some new friends to smile at, and I was lamenting that none of them had come up. I have an almost solid wall of them in the garden behind the garage and they are lovely.
Then first thing this morning, I spotted this guy! YAY!!
I didn't get a good shot of it, but the clouds and rain were so cool the other day in different sections of the sky.
As most of you know, Dada and I have this ongoing argument over what is a flower versus what is a weed. To my consternation, these cheerful blue roadside flowers are called "Blue Weed." Figures. I love how they contrast with whatever the vibrant yellow flowers are and against the deep soybean green, which is one of my very favorite greens. This picture doesn't do the Blue Weed justice.
