I'm sitting in the relatively empty Spokane airport enjoying SILENCE for the first time in 7 days…. I'm looking forward to going home and seeing my dogs.  Tonight I'll go out to Jodi's with Scout and tomorrow maybe I can actually blog about STOCK DOG things.

Until then and this will be badly edited and crudely constructed as I only have 20 minutes on my wifi:

Things that I didn't like about the trip:
1) First night in Vegas, all the gas was siphoned out of our rental car.  I discovered this in the middle of the desert while we were driving …(to Searchlight, specifically.  When I was a kid we did a lot of camping in the middle of No Where, Calif/Nev/Az deserts. I love the desert, especially the little almost ghost towns.  Senator Harry Reid is from Searchlight, for your trivial enjoyment.  They celebrate him whereever they can in that little dumpy outpost.  Even the women's restroom at the museum.  Truly)

I noticed the Need Gas Bad light was on, strange since I hadn't yet driven 20 miles from the rental car station.  I bitched mightily.  We drove back to Boulder, Nevada (I shouldn't have to add that, but I did keep having to reassure the aging Trix….
"BOULDER?! Why would we go to Colorado, Judy?")

2) A man I was engaged to (there are a few. For awhile I preferred getting engaged/married to dating. It seemed like less hassle, and who can't always use a toaster or crockpot?) was at the wedding.  With his wife.   She was very nice, though she looked like a tragically aged 4th grader.  She's my age and has braces on her teeth. Pink metal.  I say if you've made it to the age of 40 with your snaggle teeth or slight overbite, move on, Toots. But that's just me.   I felt scrutinized the entire time they were around.  It didn't help that my brother kept pulling me aside and telling me how D'Art has regularly for the last 20 years cursed my name. 
"He really hates you for what you did to him."
"What did I do to him?"
"I don't know….he's sort of vague…you dumped him."
"I had Dad dump him, actually."

Anyway, both D'art and his wife hit it off with my daughter and the 3 danced and danced while Carlos and I made fun of them from the sidelines.  No wonder I only get along with 5 people in this world, and 2 of them I gave birth to.

3) Our cab driver in Seattle seriously almost killed us. Twice.  Never again.  I much prefer the city bus. If you are going to careen thru traffic and run red lights, do it in something large enough to handle the impact.

Things I loved about the trip:

1) The wedding.  My family is great.  Chabela's (my sister in law) family is AMAZING.  My family is fun and hilarious.  Chabela's family is all that, in Spanish, and can cook and throw an unbelievable party.  20 miles from anywhere, with rattlesnakes.  AND HAVE EVERYONE show up.

2) The Judys.  Since I spent the entire time being called her name, Cienna and Carlos and I purchased dice in Vegas that said 'Judy's Casino' on them.  Anytime we had to make a decision or sought advice…we rolled "The Judys".
"Consult the Judys." became our standby solution.  Shall we stop for lunch? Should I leave CIenna at the rest stop for nagging me about my driving?  Will Carlos prefer being an only child. 

3) Our country western song writing prowess.   Turns out CIenna and I are extremely gifted CW lyricists.
Across the Calif/NV desert we wrote the following,
"He's a Steak Dinner and She's a Side order of Nag"
"I'm Leavin' You Again" and
"Darlin' I'm Infected"

My time is up.  I promise my next post will include actual Stock Dog subject matter..

We’re in the LV, staying at the El Cortez on Fremont, Old Vegas.  I chose this location because I like Old and so does the Trix.  Also, the price was right and, according to Cheapovegas.com, has "very good" video poker machines; nickel options with decent payoff rates.  That is good news for Trixie.   She LOVES video her poker. Nay, she loves her NICKEL video poker.

Cienna cannot stand to watch loved ones gamble.  (I think its why she hates weddings.)  She won’t play herself, so she hovers.  Above and behind our chairs.  Every time Trix or I are up some pittance, say $1.30…Cienna’s index finger will twitch slowly forward, over our shoulder, toward the CASH OUT button,
"Let’s just cash out!" she trills.  "Let’s quit now…"

Cienna has no problem spending $300 on shoes that match some weird accessory and can only be worn on a day when the relative humidity is below 15% and the temp is above 70, but throw $20 in a machine on a random chance that you’ll pull a straight flush or 4 of a kind…. and you’d think I put grandma’s kidneys on ebay for drinking money. Or talked about voting republican…

"No! Mom! STOP! OHMYGOD! I can’t WATCH…Please. Let’s just…go look at the Elvis museum or something…"

Anyway….
Cienna and the Trix are asleep now.

I’m reading Donald McCaig’s Eminent Dogs, Dangerous Men. about the author’s trip to Scotland to find a good trial dog (Border Collie).  I knew I’d find the subject matter interesting, but I was surprised to find that he’s a decent writer. 

I am really enjoying the book.  I know at some point someone will tell me why this is naive or even stupid…but for now I’m in Vegas, missing my dogs, and this is a good book. Tomorrow Trix and I will see what we can get for one of CIenna’s kidneys and play more GAME KING DOUBLE BONUS POKER while across town Cienna recovers in shoes that match her incission.

…."Judy, we are ALL getting pedicures.  It’s my birthday!"
Thus it came to pass that Happy Hour was delayed an hour while we sat in massage chairs and had our feet done… Two things I hate.  Three, if you count answering to my sister’s name.

"Judy," Trixie whispered top volume at me, "There’s something going up my butt!"

"It’s the message thing, Grandma," Cienna said, looking at me and my clawed hands nervously, "You can change it…"

"No…I like it."

The name of the salon is Spa Hop.  We were the only customers, plus a yellow lab who lay in a corner looking at us sadly. Occasional wag, as if it were his last happy thought squeezing to the surface. He cheered me up.  I felt we understood eachother.

"Where in Vietnam do you come from?" Trixie screamed at the girl sanding her bunion. "Do you miss it? I’ll bet you do, I hear its a beautiful country…."

People love The Trix.   They do. Always have.  She is the most optimistic, people-loving, open-minded old addlehead you will ever meet.  I’m such a social freak, I have always been fascinated by her ability to connect, easily, with anyone anywhere.  Where ever we go she engages wait-staff and counter clerks, homeless men on the street…bus drivers.  Age is only slightly hurting her repertoire.  She can’t hear shit and sort of randomly interprets answers.

"Yes, this is a beautiful country, too.  What? Me? No, honey, I’m Scotch-Irish…"

The girl looks puzzled for a minute and looks at me.

"She wants the pink polish. And a tartan."

Tilth was, as advertised, amazing. I did eat food I would normally have run from. Mini-duck burgers, goat cheese and fennel somethingerother… Sweet Corn Sorbet on a bacon biscuit…. white wine.  Yipe.

My toenails are bright blue and my eyebrows are no longer an indicator of a long cold winter.   

In a few hours we fly to Vegas to try the Old Lady Luck on video poker. 

I miss my dogs. 

I’m flying to Spokane to pick up Trixie, not her real name, but we’ve both outgrown ‘Mommy’… Once I have the old lady, or she has me, we’ll drive to Seattle.   Cienna has plans.  Cienna always has plans.  She and mom..er, The Trix, are getting pedicures whilst I have someone mow my eyebrows. It’s my one nod toward personal improvement.  Then we’re having dinner at some place called "Tilth" which Cienna claims is her favorite restaurant.  If she tries to make me eat anything made out of liver, no matter how cute the name, how attractive the display, I will attempt to order Pigs in a Blanket until the waiter cries real tears. That’s how fed up I am with Food I Don’t Recognize as Such Sitting On My Plate instead of in an organ donor cooler.  (Do geese have organ donors? They should. I’ll ask about it at Tilth)

I know this is suppose to be about STOCKDOG blogging, but since you, Jodi, are my only reader ….and you’d be quite surprised if I outted with a stockdog story….in my current state of between states and all…

Still I do have one. Or two.

I took Scout to the animal emergency last night to have her eye checked by a little tiny vet young enough to date my son.   It took 2 hours. They squirted fluid, checked with scopes, rubbed in ointment…tried to give me Rimadyl (for my dog. I asked for something stronger for humans…no.  No joking in Animal ER)…suggested she wear an E-Collar….and we were on our way in 2 hours, 132 bucks lighter, with the same diagnosis Jodi and Ann pronounced earlier in the evening …FOR FREE! Plus I got 2 Coronas! You guys are my vet from now on.  Scout looked much better today. I just don’t like leaving her in the care of a man who only MIGHT notice a limb missing. 

Second, after I went thru security, while I was sitting on the little bench putting on my shoes, I noticed the enormous security cop, and his chocolate lab, grinning at me… both of them. Standing there waiting for a bomb to detect and just grinning and grinning.  I grinned back.

"Hi!" he says.  "You still at NIFC?"

Ahhhh yes.  It’s the guy who cruises thru our compound occasionally with his dog, whom I should have recognized because a) he wears a huge medallion (sheriff’s star?) and b) one time a few months ago he wandered into my cubicle and sniffed his way thru my trashy office mess until going into an absolute sniffing frenzy at my coat pocket, sniffsniffsniff..sniffsniffsniff…while I talked baby talk to him and tried to remember what I might have in the pocket and how many years it could get me in Idaho prison.  Turned out it was snausage.  We were both happy to discover this.  I continued the baby talk until the enormous cop came around the corner and with a look of serious disgust called his partner, his k9 unit as it were, off.   Reluctantly the k9 unit finished his snausage, and I wrapped up the buttscratch.  He was still wagging and chewing as he walked away behind Officer McGrumpy.

The dog seems to recognize me.  I’m more surprised the guy does and that he’s happy about it.

"How’s it going?" I ask to be polite.   The guy(s) are clearly bored. Talk talk talk talk.  "Where you going?" "Do you like your job?" "Why do my feet smell like cheese?"  He doesn’t really ask the last question.  Out loud.

So, I sat and answered his questions, thought of a few of my own…scooted closer to his dog.  I swear I even said, "How ya doin’ you big ole goofy boy?" in my baby talk to big dogs voice and the Officer Human only grinned this time.  I suggested if they needed some excitement that they wander over to NIFC and walk around the smokejumper lockers.   "Hum some Bob Marley…" I suggest, "It will be hilarious."

So, there it is. I’m an hour away from landing in Spokane and beginning my week as ‘Judy’… (my mother always calls me by my sister’s name. When I correct her, she often snaps, "I know who you are!" as if I’m being unreasonable).   I miss my dogs.  I’m going back to the K9 unit and his big ole goofy boy to answer some more questions.   

More later…