Another Day
Last night's blog whine about my inability to sleep actually helped me settle into six hours of slumber. While it wasn't the best night's sleep I'd ever enjoyed, it seemed a more substantial chunk of rest than I'd expected. Everything's relative.
Murphy and Telly have been playing in the dirt for the past two mornings, appearing at the back door covered with thick dark mud. A few weeks ago I found a five foot wading pool for Murphy at the politically incorrect Wal-Mart. I relaxed my boycott long enough to purchase the pool, squeeze it into the back of the van, and rush home to fill it for my big guy. Murphy loves his pool, but I'm learning that it needs to be emptied nightly. Otherwise, he splashes in the water early in the morning, rolls in the dirt, and then wrestles with Telly. The result? Two dogs caked with dry, hard mud. Murphy is easy to hose off, but Telly thinks water comes from the ninth circle of Hell. Removing mud from Telly--a wiggler and perpetual motion machine--is a job for only the fearless.
The back yard resembles a mine field these days. Telly is a digger. Yesterday Murphy chewed a hole in the water line running from the backyard spigot to the rooftop swamp cooler. Caught up in other distractions, I didn't realize water was spraying all over the backyard. Telly made an effort to remedy the situation by digging up the yard so the water could collect in a large hole rather than flood the back yard. By the time I went outside to check on them, Her Majesty was proudly lying in a deep muddy hole, covered from head to paw, panting and smiling. It took half an hour to clean the dogs and dry them off.
This morning was a repeat of yesterday. Life is too short to spend all this time hosing off the dogs. Did I mention the pointy seed pods that embed themselves in the dogs' fur? We've so much wild growth in the back, it will take a chain saw to weed the yard. Rototilling may be our only remaining option. My fantasy of desert living didn't include weeds that grow two inches a day.
Last August, Mayor Chavez declared a "War On Weeds." The City of Albuquerque's weed gestapo regularly hands out citations for weeds exceeding four inches in height. Worse yet, the city's website provides a form encouraging citizens to file complaints and turn in recalcitrant neighbors who refuse to weed. Evidently "weeds" and "litter" are synonymous in Duke City. Personally, I find them noxious, especially goatheads. Last week, Joseph Crumb, a regular columnist for the Albuquerque Tribune, penned the following lines:
There are three things friends and relatives never mention when they talk about what a wonderful place New Mexico is to live: the wind, the ants and the goatheads. Consider the goathead: Few weeds can rival its perniciousness. Some goathead seeds, aka "stickies," have spines measuring a half centimeter or more, powerful enough to puncture bicycle tires. (link added)
Murphy and Telly present their paws daily for goathead removal. I know what it feels like. I've removed the barbed thorns from my own feet as well.
It's time to face another night. Everyone else in the house is sleeping soundly while I sit alone on the sofa--wakeful, restless, pensive.
Another day. Just breathe...
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1 comment:
Telly: QUEEN OF THE MUD HOLE
I know it is not funny to you, but it is funny from a distance!
My dog bathing experience included a wonderful time washing the long hair of Alfie, my dumber-than-a-door-nail Afghan hound. Of course, I knew he needed human shampoo and conditioner! I also, in my real lack of wisdom, assumed that a bath in my tub was in order. After thirty minutes of wrestling in soapy water, I found myself inside the tub and Alfie outside dripping on the floor looking at me as though I were really weird!
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