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.