Yesterday LCF got a text message update from older brother Mitch that his dog had shat some fur. That's good but insufficiently good news. He was hoping for some bone. You see, a couple days ago his dog Corbu (Romanian for "raven" -- it's a long story) ate a deer hoof and ankle. Now I know what you're thinking -- that maybe Mitch ought to keep a closer watch on his dog. But I think I know how it happened. Mitch blinked.
Mitch didn't take Corbu to his regular vet, because that vet can't perform surgeries, and he was pretty sure that might be required. So he took him to a specialist vet. Apparently vets share stories, because this vet had heard of the legendary Corbu from the dog's previous freakish feats. Anyway, the vet recommended monitoring the situation for now.
LCF and I didn't get to meet Mitch and Corbu on the trip up north. There was supposed to be a big gettogether In Washington, with Mitch driving up from Idaho. But Mitch miscalculated a charging station stop in upper Idaho, and his new EC started warning him he wouldn't make it unless he turned off all accessories -- including heat -- and he was cold and miserable getting to it. On top of that, it was bad weather, raining, poor visibility, and then some idiot driver hydroplaned next to him and nearly took him out.
So he bailed in upper Idaho to retreat home.
Up in Washington, we spent about a week with LCF's older sister, Terri, and her hubby John, and their dog Frankie. I get the feeling Frankie couldn't quite figure us out, because we treated him like a cat. Not intentionally, but I get the feeling that he wasn't accustomed to that type of petting. Not that he objected, or avoided us. He spent a lot of time with us. But I had the feeling he was always a bit bewildered.
There was one point halfway through our stay when Frankie barked on sight of me and kept up a ruckus for some minutes. This surprised Terri, who kept telling Frankie, "It's Cranefly. What are you barking at?" I had just come upstairs carrying a rifle in a gun case. The sight of Cranefly with a gun is an entirely incomprehensible sight, I admit. In the field of mathematics, it's equivalent to a divide by zero.
Needless to say, Frankie has acute hearing. I was worried about leaving the Prius out front for fear of its catalytic converter being stolen again. We've had protective cladding put on, but the mechanic warned us that it's not an absolute deterrent; it just slows them down. But it soon became apparent that Frankie hears everything in the whole neighborhood and quickly sounds the alarm. It's often harder to turn off that alarm than a smoke detector.
John and Terri have to be careful with Frankie in their jeep. They mustn't accidentally bump the rear wiper lever, because he will go bezerk.
I traveled up to Wenatchee with one hearing aid. The other one had died. Up there, when taking a shower, I laid it on top of my clean clothes. But I forgot about it and it must have fallen to the floor when I got dressed. I found it the next morning in two pieces. Frankie must have found it and chewed it in two. The battery was still intact, so I'm glad Frankie didn't swallow it. Anyway, my mistake.
Frankie wears a collar with a red light in it. In the dark he looks like a lightning bug floating low about the house. If you remove the collar, he gets upset. It's personal property. You can ruffle his neck a bit, but then you better put the collar back on. It reminds me of my cousin Brian who, as a kid, came back from the eye doctor all disappointed, because his eyes checked 20-20. He wanted to get eyeglasses, because that would be a possession. You know, like a toy.
Terri and John used to have a cat named Felix. But it disappeared mysteriously one day. Likely fell victim to a car, or maybe a predator. They live in a residential area, but we watched a mighty-healthy-looking coyote traipse through their yard one afternoon. It surprised me a lot, because I didn't know coyotes could traipse.
Mitch didn't take Corbu to his regular vet, because that vet can't perform surgeries, and he was pretty sure that might be required. So he took him to a specialist vet. Apparently vets share stories, because this vet had heard of the legendary Corbu from the dog's previous freakish feats. Anyway, the vet recommended monitoring the situation for now.
LCF and I didn't get to meet Mitch and Corbu on the trip up north. There was supposed to be a big gettogether In Washington, with Mitch driving up from Idaho. But Mitch miscalculated a charging station stop in upper Idaho, and his new EC started warning him he wouldn't make it unless he turned off all accessories -- including heat -- and he was cold and miserable getting to it. On top of that, it was bad weather, raining, poor visibility, and then some idiot driver hydroplaned next to him and nearly took him out.
So he bailed in upper Idaho to retreat home.
Up in Washington, we spent about a week with LCF's older sister, Terri, and her hubby John, and their dog Frankie. I get the feeling Frankie couldn't quite figure us out, because we treated him like a cat. Not intentionally, but I get the feeling that he wasn't accustomed to that type of petting. Not that he objected, or avoided us. He spent a lot of time with us. But I had the feeling he was always a bit bewildered.
There was one point halfway through our stay when Frankie barked on sight of me and kept up a ruckus for some minutes. This surprised Terri, who kept telling Frankie, "It's Cranefly. What are you barking at?" I had just come upstairs carrying a rifle in a gun case. The sight of Cranefly with a gun is an entirely incomprehensible sight, I admit. In the field of mathematics, it's equivalent to a divide by zero.
Needless to say, Frankie has acute hearing. I was worried about leaving the Prius out front for fear of its catalytic converter being stolen again. We've had protective cladding put on, but the mechanic warned us that it's not an absolute deterrent; it just slows them down. But it soon became apparent that Frankie hears everything in the whole neighborhood and quickly sounds the alarm. It's often harder to turn off that alarm than a smoke detector.
John and Terri have to be careful with Frankie in their jeep. They mustn't accidentally bump the rear wiper lever, because he will go bezerk.
I traveled up to Wenatchee with one hearing aid. The other one had died. Up there, when taking a shower, I laid it on top of my clean clothes. But I forgot about it and it must have fallen to the floor when I got dressed. I found it the next morning in two pieces. Frankie must have found it and chewed it in two. The battery was still intact, so I'm glad Frankie didn't swallow it. Anyway, my mistake.
Frankie wears a collar with a red light in it. In the dark he looks like a lightning bug floating low about the house. If you remove the collar, he gets upset. It's personal property. You can ruffle his neck a bit, but then you better put the collar back on. It reminds me of my cousin Brian who, as a kid, came back from the eye doctor all disappointed, because his eyes checked 20-20. He wanted to get eyeglasses, because that would be a possession. You know, like a toy.
Terri and John used to have a cat named Felix. But it disappeared mysteriously one day. Likely fell victim to a car, or maybe a predator. They live in a residential area, but we watched a mighty-healthy-looking coyote traipse through their yard one afternoon. It surprised me a lot, because I didn't know coyotes could traipse.
I'm nobody's pony.