High Maintenance Woman

Being a high maintenance woman, I spend beaucoup on myself every day.  Not talking about clothes, outings, makeup or jewelry, I'm talking about drugs.

$27 dollar day

This junkie had to get a larger pill organizer this year, now my prescriptions outnumber my natural supplements.  
Between my prescription eye drops and pills, I had been donating $27 a day out of pocket to big pharma.  Now that they have me on 2 more heart drugs, I'm up to $32 a day. And this is after insurance pays a portion.
When you live over 1000 miles from family, the recurring questions are: "are you remembering to eat well, are you sleeping enough?"  With my Dad, it's been the same song for years: "how's your retirement portfolio?"  And there's no arguing with him when I tell him, that yet again, my medical bills have outstripped my ability to add to my IRAs.  
The American Dream I bought into when I immigrated here from Canada almost 30 years ago is unattainable to most of us.  It's like some glossy Hollywood production trying to get you to sell your soul.  Sure, I could've gone to work for Auburn University or a manufacturing plant 20 years ago and guaranteed myself a retirement pension and paid premium healthcare.  Our local sheriff even courted me to join the police force just for the health care 8 years ago.  But, working a lifetime in a job you don't like is not my bag.  I wanted freedom and the ability to be able to shout from the mountaintops "I love my job".  
It's a very expensive trade-off in America.  And I'm in a much better position than most self paying insurees. I have a great job, I have good doctors, I don't have to go scrape the bottom of the well with Medicaid-approved doctors, if I want a second opinion, I can drive my happy butt to Emory and pay out of pocket when my insurance pitches a fit that I went out of state for care.  But I can't do both: stay healthy and plan for retirement.  Sorry, Dad.
$6300 a year for insurance.
Average past two years deductible paid $8500.
Current drug habit $11680.
In 2019, I'll have supplemental insurance that should soften $4000 a year of the pain, But...
Calculate that for a minute, health care in America is broken.
As the country song goes: "high maintenance woman don't want no maintenance man" ----I'd settle for a pharmacist, thank you very much.

The Big Cheez Runs Away

Last week, the Cheez (aka Chester) decided to abscond from the farm.  

It happened late at night as he pretended to go out for one last pee.
Maybe he'd had enough of Dax,

maybe it was because I'm overprotective and he needed some alone time.

He's jumped the fence a handful of times before.  Our routine consists of my driving around the countryside for  half an hour, to find him at my door upon my return.
This time, I used up half a tank of gas in my truck wandering further afield looking for him.  I quit at midnight, spent 4 hours sniveling and resumed driving before dawn. 
I sent a mayday out to the neighbors and went to the post office to leave word with our letter carrier to call me if she sees him.  That's where I learned that two days prior, the poo on your shoe people who live like fleas on the next road had shot someone's dog for kicks.  The dog had managed to crawl home to die.  My stomach churned when I realized I had heard the shot and the cries. 

By the next night, I'd fretted my day away thinking he was shot and injured in the woods, about to die of exposure on the coldest night of the year, or he was enroute to a dog fighting camp.  I'd left the gates open for him, bed and food.  Thinking it was hopeless, I drove the roads again and went to bed. 
5 AM, there's a bark at the door!

The Cheez came home.... stinking of Febreeze and dirty old Redneck couch.  Someone had taken him in, never bothering to call the number on his collar, nor capable (thankfully) of containing him.

The solid fence has been reinforced with an underground dog fence, he's going to learn not to toy with my emotions...

A vagabond or part of this family, can't have it both ways,  I think he's made the right choice.

Giving Tuesday

You'll never catch me in a store on Black Friday.  I ignore Cyber Monday.  Granted I spend most of my blissfully ignorant time living under a rock, that's probably why I'd never heard of Giving Tuesday.  What a concept!
Now that's an idea I can get behind.

Gave this morning to a mentor's cause.  Moneys are needed to fund her documentary, Bernice Ende is a very inspirational woman who has been beacon for me over the years.

Since I was off today, I wondered what other mischief I could find.

Donate blood.

Pick up fruit for the gopher tortoise I sponsor.  She's probably semi hibernating now, but I can't risk the big girl being hungry.  8 months out of the year, I drop off herpetologist approved foods every three days into her burrow.  She is very capable of foraging for herself, but her burrow now sits in a denuded area right on the paved road.  What other humans have caused, I'd like to fix, at least in her world.

Trucked myself and the posse to the barn this evening to help Flynn blanket all the horses.  Frigid cold with wicked winds, everybody deserves a coat!

What a fine day it has been.  Shouldn't every day be Giving Tuesday?  

Ten thankful faces, what a way to end a good day.

Personal Space Issues

When you don't respect others personal space:

...you assume everywhere they go, you must follow.

Naturally, or au naturel.

Anyone else have this problem?

Daxo on Things

There's a great book called Maddie on Things.

The author trained his dog to stand on objects and hold her position.  Mine requires no training, he's self taught.

Not that I'm bragging, or anything.

But, he's quite good at it.

My car has the scratches to prove it.

Serious skills.

He tries to climb everything.

Get into everything.

Never know where you're going to catch him.

The look of guilt!

Ellicott Rock, Nantahalla National Forest, NC

On windows.

Up ladders.

Every time!

No shame.

Been like this since birth.

No personal space boundaries. (video):

He is Daxo on Things:

Big Brother

Peter is Dax's surrogate mother, he fusses over him, bathes him with his tongue every day, reprimands him...

Garrett is a distant cousin, who would prefer to only have to see him at Christmas and funerals.

But now...

He has a big brother.

Those long, dreamy, idolizing stares crack me up. We should all be thankful for something on Thanksgiving!

Deli Departs

On Tuesday, we lost a member of the farm.  No, not one of the horses, our Deli, that's who!

She rode off into the sunset with her new husband, off on a new life in New Jersey.
True to Deli's dependability and team spirit, barely married an hour, she dragged her partner to the farm for a day of trail cleaning.
We knew this day was coming since the first day she joined the farm back in the Spring, but it sucks just the same.
On Tuesday, we all went for a last ride together.

The view from my perch atop Angus.

I like my vantage point.

Deli and James:

Flynn:

We celebrated and gagged (Chester was having serious flatulency issues).

It's with a heavy heart that we say goodbye to Deli.

We'll leave the lights on.