Due to years of advance planning and exceptional timing, The Bartender and I were able to enjoy a well-deserved vacation to Kauai. I arrived home to a comatose computer and a Seattle gridlocked by an invisible demon.
I am still working through the computer issues, and to make a boring story tolerable, my decrepit computer now has a spanking new operating system. That means I am struggling with a data choked computer with a crotchety new taskmaster. It took three days to migrate my photos (and now they are lost again.) One day the automatic backup stops working. The next day I discover a balky printer with outdated drivers. I’ve worked with technicians from Louisiana to the Philippines. That’s why this story barrels along, and depending upon the photos available to me when I run out of words, they will independently illustrate my trip to Kauai*, or they might be old Dobby photos, or possibly a snapshot of a quiche I baked in 2013.
The Bartender and I are just fine, thank you. As bona-fide old farts I suppose we are considered vulnerable to The Virus. Because I am slave to 45 tyrannical animals, I don’t leave the house. I’m busy all day long, I order the cat food online at night, and my life hasn’t changed much. The Bartender ventures out weekly on senior discount day to fetch the guinea pig vegetables. His new social life consists of breakfast with Charlie & Hamish. So he’s stuck at home, too, and we do our post-surgery physical therapy together, just like we did while we were on vacation.
My heart goes out to single moms expected to work online with the kids home from school. That’s an impossible situation. I don’t feel sorry for the people who are bored. I think I was bored once, back in 1982, for about five minutes. My days are borderline frantic and I go to sleep at 2am whether or not my work is done. I envy those bored people, I suppose, with their television shows and instant dinners, eight hours of sleep. Naw, maybe not.
I lost another dove from my little flock. I thought it was a goner, but moved it to the infirmary after it looked up at me from the ground. It perked up under a heat lamp and we played tug-of-war with death for a couple days before the grim reaper won. To make up for the loss, I took in two lovely araucana hens, presumably laying pale blue eggs. We’ll see about that. They are very sweet, readily accepted into the flock. I think mine are used to the random incoming poultry. I swear I saw Norman rolling his eyes this time. He’s in charge of everyone and takes newcomers in stride. Anyway, Brown Chicken and Judy (name selected in haste at the veterinary office to save face) are prancing around like fairy chickens, talking about bugs and keeping an eye on the cats.
My invalids, Kitty Hawk and Princess Blur survived my absence. Kitty Hawk had another glucose curve test and they upped his insulin again. He’s still eating 5-6 expensive cans of cat food every day, so they put him on enzymes to see if his digestive system will start being more efficient. We suspect this has nothing to do with the diabetes, but the diagnostics are expensive, not guaranteed to be conclusive, and the suspect problem is not easily treatable. Meanwhile, the food goes right through him, passing go, but not stopping to collect $200.
Princess Blur, on the other hand, is bright and perky. She had a couple days of indoor recess when it was cold and rainy, but she usually enjoys chasing bugs like the big hens. Not with the big hens. They don’t like her and she doesn’t like them. Yesterday, when I plopped her back inside, she made her way through the rabbit pen, the kitchen, into the hall, up the stairs and into the bathroom, all by herself! Today, she sulked in the kitchen and made a couple poops. I had to walk her up the stairs like I have for the last ten months. Once she is in the bathroom for the night, we move her down from the sink to the edge of the bathtub a dozen times until she stays put. I’m a pushover, and I’m fine with having her in the house, but I will not brush my teeth with a hen perched under my elbow.
I repaired the pump for my turtle tank today. Dr. Pepper should be coming out of hibernation any day now, and the pump quit working last fall. “Repair” in this case meant taking the grubby pump into the house and plugging it in. It works. I took it back out, plugged it in, nothing. I tried different outlets, nada. I tried a different extension cord because I have heard rumors that they can go kaput, but no. The pump still wasn’t working. I set it back up with the original extension cord and outlet and decided to opt for Thoughts and Prayers. There is a god, folks, because when I went back out three hours later, the pump was running!
In other news, there is another tree down in the front yard, a small one this time. Larry caught a rat during my absence, but apparently the pet sitter was not impressed because he didn’t remove it. Maybe because it was well hidden under some shavings, but my nose knew where to look.
In Kauai I managed to write some almost-at-the-ending parts of my book, Prince Dobalob Builds a Zeppelin. It’s posted, one shamelessly brief part at a time, on Dobby’s website. I’m up to Part Six (of about 30) so you had better catch up! It needs more pictures, so please pass it along to your young artist friends. If they send in drawings, I’ll add them to the book.
*Clever me: I took my camera to Kauai. These the old fashioned kind of photos. So those stupid photos on my iPhone can stay stuck there forever.