Since Flynn banished me from the barn Friday... as I was supposed to be recovering from the wrist injury, I came up with various ways to remain productive, without irking Mother Goose!
Taking Chester to run errands.
Dragging Peter out for his cardio.
That's where I met Trouble. In my defense, it had been raining when we left for our walk, so I elected to ditch the arm splint to keep it from getting soaked. The plan was to walk and only walk, how can that get me into a predicament??? Seriously, it takes skill and years of practice.
I fell, in the most inelegant fashion. Smacked my wrist.
And was then trampled to death by the two dogs tethered to me: Dax and Chester. Preventing me from getting up off the ant mound that had absorbed my fall. These were not your regular fire ants, I think these were Allegheny Mound Ants, big and furious.
Batting 1000 here. Painful and itchy pustules.
I love the great outdoors.
Cleaning all the mud out of my weapon will require work too.
Maybe I ought to take up macrame.
For half the Summer, the RV repair shop held my Scotty frame hostage. Every week, I'd call or stop by to see if they were making progress on installing brakes on the frame.
Because that's what I have it stripped down to: a frame. Finally the work was done, but now with diminishing evening light, my best shot at getting it put back together before a Fall trip had vanished. Dreams of taking off for my vacation were dashed. How to get my crippled old Peter and the rest of the crew away from the farm this Fall-- in relative comfort!
Desperation plus a hefty dollop of folly equals this:
1954 Kropf Cruiser. It had been sitting at the back of the RV lot beckoning to me all Summer. I tip toed it off the lot for chump change.
WE HAVE AN ESCAPE POD! I brought it home this week before the DR Brush Cutter incident. I'm in love with every inch of it. I can't wait to clean it up so I can run an extension cord to it, flop some sleeping bag on the ground and camp out.
Not one missing window frame. All original inside and out.
Period lighting.
Original oak paneling and all cupboard doors and latches function.
Completely Dax approved. He especially likes his own emergency exit hatch, the hole in the bedroom floor is just the right size.
There are a couple other holes that need to be temporarily stopped up to prevent interlopers from establishing reign.
The first eviction:
I found a knife buried in the wall and handed it to Flynn as he opened a cupboard. The man has deadly fast instincts.
Dax is just ticked he didn't find it first. Until I can get it purged of the squatters, he's not allowed to play in it anymore!
Soooo dismayed.
One way or another, we're getting outta here!
Hang on kids, momma's got a brand new plan.
Objects in rear view mirror are larger than they appear!
Meet the DR Brush Cutter, a mini version of a bush hog. Great for getting in places a tractor can't. The powerful blades can mow down a pesky sweet gum tree up to 3" in diameter.
I used to be in love with it. But, the brute flung me around for hours on Tuesday afternoon, slammed me into trees, attempted to remove my shoulders from their sockets and tangled me in thorny vines. Yet, I persisted, finishing at dusk.
For supper, I was making lasagna one handed, as the swelling in my left wrist had gotten so painful that my arm couldn't raise itself, nor did my fingers open.
With a full belly of lasagna, I went to bed, hoped to sleep and figured it would be better in the morning. Well, I was wrong and when Flynn (Mother Goose) arrived, he read me the Riot Act, detoured me from the barn and sent me on my way to the Urgent Care Clinic.
The Doctor at the clinic refused to treat me further when he saw how red and swollen it was, raising the concern that I had an aggressive bone infection brewing.
To the hospital then! What I want to be doing on a Wednesday morning. Argh.
No firm diagnosis, but three in the works: possible hairline fracture, torn ligaments and deep infection. Infection possibly caused by working in the lake with cuts all over my arms on Saturday. Can't win sometimes.
After a shot of something in the butt and some of the finest pain meds they can administer, I was cut loose with enough drugs to fill my vitamin dispensing pack for a week. I just love pumping my body full of chemicals.
I laughed until I almost cried when I saw the Doctor's note to stay out of work for a week. Sure, whatever, like I listen to good advice. As soon as I'd gotten home and I was sure Mother Goose wasn't looking, I fired the DR Cutter up and drove it around the lawn one handed, just to let it know I was still in charge. I blame the pain meds for that decision.
The rest of the afternoon was spend cooking up a stock pot full of Peter's vegetable and chicken mix for his, as of yet unsuccessful, weight loss regiment.
With lightning popping outside, my crew stuck close together.
Especially telling of how bad the storms were is that Peter allowed his nemesis to bury his nose under his back.
Later on, Chester escorted me on my evening residence patrols.
Usually he's much more on alert!!! Storms tuckered him out.
Had you guessed on Chester's breed mix?
We had. Secret ballots of course.
The moment of truth.
Mine and Flynn's assumption had been that he was part coonhound. Wrong.
37% Staffordshire Terrier (pit bull)
12% Chow Chow
12% Rottweiler
12% Springer Spaniel
12% Golden Retriever
12% Standard Poodle.
We've sat Chester down and told him the truth, except the part about the poodle, that would've broken his spirit. The poodle alone is unmanly, but a designer breed grandparent Goldendoodle, that's too much for him to bear.
