A bluebird day
This last week has been terrifically busy, with the Rhode Islanders in residence up the road.
My son wanted to be in a camp setting so that his children could bring a friend or two to experience August on one of the best lakes in the USA.
It has been a good week of weather so far and there are lots of day trips around here that they can take if a stinker of a rainy day pops up.
I’m usually awake at about 5 a.m. Sometimes I just roll over and snooze on until 7:30.
However, when I have a bunch of thoughts tripping through the varied levels of my noggin, sleep is gone for the day.
Wednesday morning, I was down aboard the Samuel Clyde, making sure it would start and run so that Curt could take his group for an extended lake tour. Everything was shipshape and they had several successful hours tooling around our lake.
It was “a bluebird day” as one of my friends used to say when we streaked up Rte. 81 to the “River” for a super day of surveying the islands, etc.
On Wednesday afternoons, I usually take my pen to a yellow pad to try to capture thoughts about life along the lakeshore.
However, this week I had to take a day trip to the city.
We went to the Syracuse University area and passed by the dorm where grandson Henry was dropped off seven years ago.
The congestion was quite heavy and the city traffic control forces were out, keeping traffic flowing up the hill to the SU District.
It doesn’t seem that it was so long ago that we were amongst the families installing the children there for the first real stay away from home.
The SU treatment seemed to suit Henry. He made it through in the standard time and has been successfully employed at a bank and now a management company in New York City.
My little dog Nathan continues to be a very successful companion.
His disposition is typical of a Beagle, but I think he has an ounce or two of a Terrier.
One of the good points is that he never bays like a hound or yelps like a Terrier. His vocalizations are quite restrained and appropriate when a new personage approaches the plantation.
He also sticks around, with the help of an electronic collar outlining his perimeter. He has his own door into the garage which allows shelter from the weather and safety if a big Meany should show up.
Unfortunately, he can’t sign for UPS packages or mail that needs a signature. We end up with a yellow slip that needs to be redeemed at the USPO.
He caught a cold and was coughing and wheezing around for a few days.
Dr. Bill gave him a shot and some pills and he now seems to be up to snuff, or maybe sniff is the right word.
I am a complete failure getting him to take a pill from my hands, but packing it in with a gob of canned dog food seems to work. Nate is my ninth dog and none has ever stepped up and said, “Give me the pill that is going to make me feel good.”
My previous Beagle, Mr. Lemon, needed a pill or two every day to head off seizures during his last year, but he stopped sifting his food to leave the pill behind after a work week or two of experiments to find out what work the best.
Veterinarian technicians must develop a foolproof procedure to get the pill down the chute. I had a dog that could convince you that he had swallowed the pill and you might find it in his bed or dropped under the couch or big chair a day or two later.
I find the company of a dog quite necessary to keep me feeling well and I find scooping and feeding and occasional medicating a small price to pay for those looks in the eye and the snuggles that warm me up in the dark of winter.
I am a dog guy through and through.
