I'm in the Boise Airport drinking a Bloody Mary.  On a scale of one to ten, I rate this airport bar version a 1.5.  One tiny splinter of celery and a mushy olive, plus some Mr. T Mary Mix.  The *2* Bloody M's I had last week at the Tucson Airport bar were magnificent.  That is unusual for an airport bar.  Parilla Grill in the Hyde Park, North End, Boise has the best. Or Linda's on Capital Hill in Seattle.  Damn good.

Why am I prattling on about a tomato-based alcoholic beverage? Why, indeed.  I'm in full on prattle mode, so I could attempt to answer but I'd veer off on something else just as I closed in a point, so….no. Let me just say that this Bloody Mary is my toast to Average. Later I hope to toast to Great, when I land in Seattle and have dinner somewhere of CIenna's choosing, sure to feature a fine esoteric drink made with something yummie such as rose petals and gin, and yet a pinch of something alarming….like cashmere sweater moth cacoon or endangered tree rat placenta.  Those crazy metrosexuals!

We're, Cienna and I,  driving to CdA, either tonight or tomorrow (the weather is a big fat emphatic question mark) to load up the Beloved Late Trix's house into assorted vehicles and drive it all off in seperate sibling directions forever.  

We're driving because Cienna didn't want to leave her dogs (Wyatt and Scout's sister Reo).  I am VERY HAPPY that we are bringing dogs.  Dogs cast a bright hue over anything you do.  I pity the Cat People.

I missed Dianne's clinic today.  I felt too scattered and sick with remnant flu to be anything approaching educatable.  I could just picture me standing in the middle of one of Janie's pastures with Scout barking at me and me flailing. Naked. Somehow having forgotten to put on clothes…rubber stock sticks flashing in both hands…oops, they are not sticks, but chickens!
The sheep would burst into flames and the crowd would scream in horror.  Fever dreams.

When I get back, the Greenleaf place will be furnished and I will try to devote more time to the stock dog training portion of this blog, and my life. I hope Jenn is still available for tutoring me.  Or…will I have to beat Patrick's score at Pop Pies?
I'm bound and determined to get my timing down. It will take all summer and maybe me agreeing to wear a shock collar, but one way or another I'll emerge a novice.  I mean, for real this time.