Rain and Radio

asters

Wild asters from the ditch

My niece was here, trimmed up the dog’s ears, snuggled up with Duckie (who originally was her dog), and shared a pot of tea with me. And I completely forgot to take a picture of her. Pardon me while I kick myself.

Shortly after she left, I went out for a walk. I hadn’t gone far when a powerful wind came up and an ominous cloud darkened the sky directly overhead. I called the dogs, slightly ahead on the gravel road, and reversed direction just as drops of water began to sprinkle down. Duckie dashed back to the yard, and Sadie too, but even as the downpour became heavy I lagged behind (walking, not running, because running gets you more soaked than walking — this has been studied) and she waited at the end of the driveway for me. As I rounded the corner a frightful wind hit hard and I pulled the hood of my bunnyhug across my face so as to keep breathing. Sadie had reached the lawn by then but didn’t vamoose to her shelter; instead she crouched, watching to be sure I’d made it to safety, too, before retreating to a dry location herself.

It was a relief to step into the calm of the porch. My jeans and socks were already wet. For the rest of the day I watched the sky to see when it might be safe to venture a mile or more down the road. By the time it was clear enough, it was nearly 8 o’clock and I decided pyjamas were a better option. I climbed into bed and read a chapter or two from each of the three books on my nightstand: Indigenous Writes, A Guide to First Nations, Métis & Inuit Issues in Canada; VIJ, A Chef’s One-Way Ticket to Canada with Indian Spices in His Suitcase; and Look Me In the Eye, My Life with Asperger’s.

Then the lamp went off and I touched the screen on my iPhone to listen to CBC Radio. Anna Maria Tremonti’s morning show, “The Current,” was offered on the CBC app. It was an interview with a clinician studying women’s sexuality. According to her research, the majority of women are not satisfied (don’t have an orgasm) when they have sex with their male partners. Whereas women having sex with female partners are satisfied pretty much every time. (Sorry fellas, and your gal pals; they didn’t discuss a solution to this condition, except to state that for women, penises-in-vaginas isn’t the be-all and end-all.)

I often listen to the radio into the wee hours, as there is some pretty interesting stuff sometimes. The night before there’d been an interview with a guy who was looking at the results of Google searches worldwide. Among the resulting eye-openers was that men withhold sex from their female spouses far more often than women withhold sex from their male partners. A surprise, as it seems to be a running gag that married men want sex far more frequently than their wives.

Half the time I’m dozing, off and on, and miss parts of what is said. But there is some fascinating stuff there, and in the morning I only wish I could remember it all.

The rain can stop any time now. My flowers are drooping.

banner spring perennials

Okie Dokie, Dokie Hokie

swampyBetween the flooding of the past 10 years, and this spring the carnage of the tent caterpillars, some spots along my walk are looking pretty dismal. The willows in this photograph have been drowned, and behind them many of the poplars are leafless.

When you take a drive, for miles and miles there are so many bare trees that it looks like Armageddon has taken place.

This morning a visit from my youngest niece is written into the calendar. She’s recently finished her training as a dog groomer and has set up a business called Okie Dokie Dogs.  (If you are in the Kuroki area, where she lives, and have a hound that needs spiffing up, you’ll find Okie Dokie Dogs on Facebook.) Like her mother and sister, Danielle is crazy about dogs (and cats), so this is the perfect vocation for her.

SadieSue Doodle has clumps of hair behind her ears; I’ve tried to brush them out, but to no effect. They need to be clipped out, and getting the canine coiled spring into a vehicle or even a travel crate could be nearly impossible. So we get a home visit. It pays to have family “in high places,” right?

At 10 o’clock I will text her. Right now I imagine my girl is still asleep; she probably was on her feet till one or two this morning, serving at a local bar/restaurant. As far as I can tell, all that girl does is work. Unlike her auntie. Maybe I’ll hold off on that text till 11.

 

Sadie Finds a Treasure

Last summer, or was it the year before, a deer was struck and killed down the road. For two full days its body remained untouched in the ditch. On the third night we heard a pack of coyotes gleefully celebrating as they feasted. A day later, nothing was left but some bones and fur.

When we walk past, the dogs still take a great interest in the spot where the body lay, and yesterday Sadie trotted out with what appeared to be a rib.

“What have you got?” I asked. “Show me!”

She did, but made sure to keep enough distance so that I couldn’t take it away from her. Not that I would, but she was taking no chances.

Dirty girl.
She gets herself clean every night though.
You may note that she appears to be moulting. She’s lost most of her beautiful winter coat, and now looks like a much smaller animal. She needs a good brushing. The woodticks are still plaguing her, as if the medication doesn’t help at all, and many are picked off her each day.

The mousetraps seem to have done the trick when it comes to keeping her out of my plant pots. The traps don’t even have to be set anymore, and they’re not because I worry about a bird or Duckie getting hurt. All I have to do is lay the sprung traps on top of the soil.

But yesterday I had to give her shit again because she chewed up the folding double lawn chair I’d left outside after a bonfire, thinking maybe she wouldn’t bother it, having seen us sitting in it enough times. Ha. Will this never end?

Of course it will. Deep breath. Patience.

I’ve put rocks in the pots on the steps so that they’re heavy and can’t be knocked over in passing. Rambunctious dog.