We made a quick trip to the Little Place in the hill country this past weekend. It was a day shorter than we usually spend. Normally when we go, we leave about noon on Friday and return on Monday. On this trip we went on Saturday morning and included a side trip to see G’s parents in San Antonio.
His parents lost their seventeen-year-old poodle in November. They never recognized the poor little thing had been sick for years, and should have been put down about five years previously. They acted surprised that he finally died. He had kidney dialysis about three years ago and suffered at least one stroke. I understand he had convulsions when he woke. Anyway, they tracked down his blood line to get a new puppy. The pup is cute, but I am wondering about his intelligence. I haven’t had a puppy in about ten years, and I don’t remember how long it took to housebreak it, but this one is four months old. He is still not housebroken. G's father said he is really thinking about giving the puppy up. I think that would be wise. I would have gotten a rescue poodle for them if they had just said something. They don't need a puppy.
Of course we had our rescue boxer with us. The puppy would not get out of her space. She continued to growl. I was hoping she wouldn’t react the way our American Eskimo had. He hated poodles. As he grew older and his vision dimmed due to cataracts he really would growl at their other dog. I ended up taking Simone outside to wait for the visit to end. Of course there was another reason. I was afraid she would decide that the house was a great place to relieve herself also. After all, it smelled like it!
It took me a day to understand why we went on Saturday instead of not going at all. The great white hunter I am married to wanted to go turkey hunting, and the season opened on the first. Usually G has an aversion to spring turkey hunting, and it is wise. Spring equals heat in Texas; heat in Texas can equal rattlesnakes. He went out Sunday afternoon leaving me to my own devices. This time it meant spring cleaning.
We have leased the land out to cattle again. The difference is we have more control over the numbers this time. We have ten cows and their calves. Since G took Rusty (the old ‘67 farm truck) hunting, I got to watching two young bulls try to eat the other truck. They licked the tailgate, the bumper, and then tried to eat the F-150 off the back. When their owner came by later to check on them (love him - the other guy never checked on his heard) I told him he needed to name them Ford and Pickup. That truck was covered with tongue marks! Calves are really funny, but they can be pains also.
So that was my weekend. Hope yours was great. I am off to the dentist in a few to prepare for the six crowns that I get after Easter.
No comments:
Post a Comment