THE CLEANUP...AND BOB

The last few days flew by with so much activity that I wondered if I would be able to keep up. Grump’s wounds required hot compresses 4 times a day, and there is the morning and evening walks, each dog his turn, on leash. Gone is the luxury of just opening the door and letting them go outside to sniff their domain to their hearts’ content. They are having difficulty coping with the restraint, and it is taking huge chunks of my time.

I had previous clients call me looking for urgent help, which meant digging out papers that were buried under those mountains stored in the garage. Visitors showed up in the evenings and stayed late. My truck was making funny noises that needed to be checked out. Added was the preparation for cleaning the garage on the weekend; contacts made for proper disposal of what was there; more boxes and bags being packed and readied for said disposal.

In the end, the truck and trailer and strong arms showed up early Saturday morning. By Sunday evening the job was done. Shelves were even constructed for the documents which I needed to keep until I can have them returned to various companies. The BBQ worked overtime. The work was done by volunteers so the least I could do was feed them.

During all this my neighbor (we’ll call him Bob), the one with the vicious dogs, must have decided to go off his meds. Bob spent his time walking his animals back and forth just outside the limits of my property, sending my two doggies into frenzy. He even stops on the gravel road directly in front of the gallery, the only place where Grump and Smooch can see them clearly through the trees, and lingers there; talking aloud to his own dogs, repeating over and over that nobody will stop them from going where they please. My male friends who were helping clean the garage went out to talk to him, but he ran off and hid in the bush.

It started on Saturday, and since then he has been doing this three or four times a day. It seems he also went by the house of another neighbour and, when told to buzz off, threatened that he would turn his beasts loose on this man’s new dog. This is the same man who was babysitting a Pomeranian for his niece while she was on vacation last year, and the poor little thing was torn apart by Bob’s five huge brutes. At that time the police were called. It wasn’t the first dog they had killed, so Bob was obliged to get rid of the two most aggressive, and to make a pen to keep the others from running around which, as anyone reading my blog knows, has not functioned too well. On more than one occasion they have been back here, and each time there is a wicked fight. This is the reason why, although I have 4 acres where Smooch and Grump used to run freely, I am obliged to keep my boys on a leash. Mine don’t go out of my yard unless the others come here looking, and then they will give chase, a reaction from any normal dog.

I’ve tried personally negotiating with the fellow, in more ways than one, but nothing has worked. I fear the only solution now is to go to the police and lodge a complaint. Other neighbours around here want to start a petition to send to our Municipal council. It was done last year but, other than a letter of warning which Bob totally disregarded, there has been no reaction from that quarter. It’s another sad case where dogs are eventually going to pay for an irresponsible owner.

Other than that, the weather has been fine, Grump is healing well, and my goddaughter just gave birth – it’s her first, an 8 pound, sweet, baby girl. My grandson’s purchase of his first house has been approved, my daughter is on vacation and will be by later to help organize the boxes for those new shelves and...oh yeh...I can finally see my garage floor!!

Life is good and this lady is SMILING!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

THE RETURN OF THE RUG RATS

Last night my son came for the things he had left behind here, and with him were his lady and my 3 Rug rats. The boys tumbled up the stairs, ran noisily down the long hallway and Bali jumped into my open, welcoming arms. Could my heart have sung louder or sweeter, I wonder? Feeling those chubby little arms around my neck again felt so right! When the hugging was over, the lads spread out, looking for their familiar and favorite places, except....

“No, Nalou. Upstairs is not allowed; Helen lives there now.” My oldest Rug rat stared at me, his eyes wide with concern. The other two, suddenly silent, turned to look at me. Even their parents stood waiting, saying nothing. Nalou asked the question they were all pondering, without a doubt.

"But where are we going to sleep when we come?”

Ummm – okay Mémere. Some fast thinking is needed here.

In the midst of the disagreement, and even after the ‘mending bridge’ discussion with my DIL, I had made the decision that there would be no more babysitting on my part. It was over. Done. Whenever I would see the boys it would be with their parents. I would no longer be used.

Seeing the worried expressions on these three little faces chased that notion right out the window.

“In the living room!” I capitulated. “We’ll put up some blankets and make a huge tent. There’s lots of couches and we can use the sleeping bags and pillows!” The sighs of relief were not audible, but I heard them anyway. My Rug rats grinned with delight.

“And you’re going to sleep with us!’ exclaimed Bali, his big, blue eyes dancing.

“Yep! But I warn you – Mémère snores. Really loud!! You might kick me outta there before the night’s over.”

"Really loud?” he asked.

“The loudest in the world,” I nodded. He considered it for a moment.

“No,” he answered. “Hulk snores the loudest in the world. He snores louder than you.”

“Hmmmm – I don’t think so.” I said. “Anyway, we’ll know when it happens. Then we’ll see who the loudest-snorer-winner is, me or the Hulk.”

“Okay!” He grinned. “But we won’t kick you out.”

“You sure?” I asked.

“Sure!” he yelled it, as lads do when they’re excited, then raced off to re-explore the house which had been his home for a short time.

We adults sat to have coffee, and within minutes Tao, my 3 year old baby, sidled over to me, then manoeuvred his way onto my lap. The rest of the visit was spent with his face nestled into my shoulder and me rocking him back and forth as we chatted over his head. Was Mémère happy, do you think?

The visit was short; it was close to bedtime. Kisses and hugs and high fives were distributed as my Rug rats said goodbye, then they took the stairs going down as fast as they had coming up. Just as noisily too!

I came out onto the gallery to wave, and there they were – the 3 of them, standing at the corner of the house peeing, with Bali taking aim for his brothers’ shoes. When my son gave up and joined them, I thought how some things never change.

My family is whole again. My SMILE was one of amusement, and oh so grateful!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

THE LADY

On Friday, March 22nd, I posted ‘Prologue to a Story’ in Blogit. It was a short piece, with words that kept coming into my head while I was relaxing in my Jacuzzi. At the time it was imperative that I get it ‘onto paper’ before retiring for the night. I admit that I wondered if it had anything to do with the date being my deceased sister’s birthday – she would have been 66 this year.

Since then, the lady of that story has been fading in and out of my thoughts; nothing concrete, more like a ghostly essence nudging my shoulder now and then, giving me glimpses of her complicated character, the life she lived, the lessons she learned...or didn’t. I realised that she is not at all like my sister. She’s a stranger, but one who seems intent on keeping me company more often lately.

I woke at 3 AM this morning and knew I had dreamed about her. My eyes were not yet open and I was remembering her reactions to certain events. Although blurred, I could visualize part of her face, the way she wore her hair, the lift of her shoulders when things didn’t go her way. She is really not like anyone I have ever met before, and I feel some unease in her determination to invade my life. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep, without success. I think I was muttering something about ‘damned ghost stories’ when I gave up and got out of bed.

Has it finally happened then? I’ve read more than once about authors (our own Pat_B. among them) whose characters develop a mind of their own as the writing progresses. I’ve never had the pleasure, and I’m sure it is a pleasure, of experiencing such a thing. I’ve been busy taking notes for Helen’s story, and have another scribbler with jottings for my brother’s autobiography; this new lady is most persistent and there is no doubt that she has decided she has priority over the others.

A couple of published articles do not an author make. I certainly have no claim to that vocation, but if this lady thinks I am the one to tell her story, I’ll do so.

So weird – now that I have agreed, it’s like she’s standing beside me. I can almost see her SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

PS. I hadn't posted the Prologue to a Story here in March - thought maybe you would like to know what I'm talking about. :)

PROLOGUE TO A STORY

She opened her eyes to the hum of the machines that surrounded her bed. It took her a second to determine where she was, what she was doing there. A slight movement caused her to look over, and she found him sitting by her side, the warmth of his gaze touching her.

“Hey.’ He said softly. She grimaced.

“I’m still alive.” Even if it was a whisper, he could discern the flat tone. He nodded.

“Yes,” he agreed. She looked away.

“What in hell for?” Frustration evident now.

After a moment’s hesitation, he answered her. “Maybe because too many people will miss you when you go.”

“Wrong answer!” she grunted. He smiled again. Nothing could change that feisty temperament.

“Well, then...,” He spoke slowly, the smile still in his voice. “Maybe they’re not ready for you wherever you’re going. They’re worried. They need more time to prepare.” As he said it, he believed it.

No reaction to his words, but he suspected she was pleased.

“Right answer” she thought as she closed her eyes and slipped back into the drug-induced sleep. He sat watching her, then reached to take her limp hand in his own.

“And if you come back, be the same,” he pleaded. “Don’t change.”

Through the layers of fog, she heard his request, and sent her answer back.
”God forbid.”

THE ABSENCE OF.....

The other day, someone mentioned seeing a monarch, and I suddenly realized that I have yet to see one butterfly this summer. There have been moths, the little brown ones who come and flicker around the porch lights, and even they are not as numerous as usual, but those pretty, colourful butterflies are not here. In past years, part of my summer pleasure was to sit on the gallery and admire them as they flitted to and fro. Granted, I’ve been spending less time out there this season, but I still find it odd that I have seen none at all.

I know the insect likes milkweed, and while walking the doggies, I have been looking for the plant. There seems to be plenty around, but without their usual visitors. Wild flowers abound on my property too, as well as in the immediate area surrounding us. The municipality confirmed that it does not spray for mosquitoes, and one only has to take a short walk at dusk to believe that. Those pesky creatures attack in droves, as do the huge deer flies. But no butterflies.

Sometimes things are right under our noses and routine will dictate that they go unnoticed. In this case though, especially since that conversation, I’ve been actively searching each time I am outside, and still have no positive sighting. I am beginning to worry. The monarch mentioned was seen about 80 miles from here.

I think I’ll put the question on Facebook . I’m curious to know if the absence is only in this bush, or elsewhere close by too. If there is a reason, and there is any way I can help correct it, I want to do so. It may be time for an Internet probe too, to discover if the problem is more widespread.

How about my readers? How is the butterfly population faring in your neck of the woods?

I’ll be watching for you answers, and hoping they are the right ones. In the meantime, I’m wishing you all a good Monday, with lots and lots of SMILES!!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

'ROUND HERE

Helen needed to be present until her changes of address had been completed, but since then she has been spending her weekdays with her son who lives a good 90 minutes drive away. They both come and stay the weekends with me. He does any heavy or outside work and Helen and I have been sorting through stuff that needs to be discarded and/or moved; a task that is long overdue.

Taking advantage of her absence, a friend came in Monday and Tuesday and painted her room upstairs, and today her son lifted most of the old carpeting in preparation for the wood flooring she wants put down. My own son has not yet picked up the things his family left behind, so we’re still stepping over and around things. I have a promise that it will be removed on Monday, but I’m not holding my breath. It is summer vacation after all, and everyone seems to be busy going somewhere or doing something else.

My garage is plugged full of the office equipment and old desks, and various pieces of furniture. A truck was to come by this morning and clear that area, but the driver called at the last minute to put it off until next Saturday. Bummer! We have the impression that for every two steps ahead, we are taking one back. I’m used to this kind of procrastination, especially when there is no cost involved – it is all being done as a favor. Helen, however, being true to her German heritage, is very pro-active, and it was apparent that she was getting cross because of the delays. It was time for a ‘round here’ chat.

“Will it really matter if it isn’t done TODAY?” I interrupted her tirade with the question.

“But I like to have it done and get it over with!” she responded. “So if we just move this over here...”

“We’ll just have to move it again when the time comes,” I reminded her. “Isn’t that creating extra work for no reason?”

"Well, yes, but...” She bristled, her frustration quite evident. “I have to do something. I can’t just sit around and wait!”

I handed her the broom. “Here, use this. That would be a useful busy.” I said. Her expression told me that she was sorely tempted to hit me over the head with it. I began to laugh.

“Are you not the same woman who was telling me that she does things too quickly? Without thinking things through? And causing herself more stress because of it?”

She laughed too as she agreed with me. It’s an ingrained habit of hers, this leaping before she looks, and one she is resolved to correct. The best way to change an attitude is little by little, day by day, starting with unimportant things. Today was a fine example. There was no emergency because our plans had fallen through, and getting upset would accomplish nothing more than spoil her day.

I gestured to the coffee machine. “Let’s sit for a minute and I’ll explain again how things happen ‘round here,” I teased. We sat down for a cuppa, her son and the doggies joined us, and it wasn’t long before she began to relax. When we stood to continue our toil, she grabbed the offending broom and headed towards the hall, then stopped to look back at me.

“I WILL learn to calm down,’ she determined. “I need to do this, and I will.”

“I know,” I answered her. And we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

WHEN IT"S YOUR TIME....

It was early AM, and after doctoring Grump’s wounds with hot compresses and disinfectant, I put on the long leash and we went out for his toilet needs. Smooch was secured on the gallery – I take them one at a time because they tend to play; the leashes get tangled (the untangling is usually accompanied by some naughty words from Mistress), and Grump’s condition requires that he stay quiet, and that his walks be very short. Besides, choker collars or not, I’m no match for 200+ pounds of dog flesh that may decide to take the stairs too fast in their eagerness to exercise!

We were only out the door a few moments when I heard a terrible shrieking. Obviously a bird was in trouble. Suspecting it was a nest robbery in progress, I hurried towards the sound only to discover that the culprit was not another bird, but Dora, my grandson’s cat. She had a Northern Flicker between her paws and teeth, and the poor thing was desperately trying to escape. I yelled, and Grump raced towards them. Seeing him bear down on her, Dora dragged her catch under my grandson’s parked truck; Grump couldn’t get at her there, although he was doing his best. I picked up a branch and poked at her hard, yelling at her to let go. She avoided the poke, but it did make her run out towards the bush, and my trusty doggie stopped her in her tracks. It was long enough for me to grab Dora by the scruff of the neck and shake her, and she dropped the Flicker. The bird slithered/flew down into the cover of the brush. Still holding Miss Dora high, I opened the door to my grandson’s apartment, and deposited the feline none too gently on the floor.

“She was killing one of my birds!” I growled at the very pregnant little GF who looked up at the intrusion. Her expression was one of shock, either at the antics of her cat or at my tone of voice; I didn’t stick around to find out.

I returned to where I had last seen the bird, but it was not in sight. After searching for a few minutes, I concluded that it mustn’t have been badly hurt. Relieved that things had ended well, I praised my Grump for his part in the drama, and we continued our walk. Little did I know that the drama was NOT ended.

Smooch gets a much longer time outside, and he was full of energy this morning. I decided to forego any training, and to let him sniff wherever his nose led him. A ‘free-leash’ excursion, which means I just follow behind him, letting him do his thing. Up and down the gravel lane we went, then into the grass on the large expanse of the lower lawn, my doggie happily prancing, stopping now and then to roll then waiting patiently while I unwind the leash from around him; here, there, everywhere. He wasn’t at the full length of the leash when the bird, probably frightened at our approach, scurried along the ground.

Smooch is fast. Before I could react, he had pounced and the bird was in his mouth. My cries of ‘Drop it!!’ were being ignored (he hasn’t got that command down pat yet), so the only thing I could do was to reach him as quickly as I could and pull the choker collar. I had to literally hang him, still yelling, before he listened and let go of the poor thing. I was pulling him away when I saw Louka, our husky/wolf neighbour, coming toward us. Oh no!!!

I began to run, calling to both of them. It’s a game all the dogs enjoy, and it worked. Well, the running was the first distraction. Louka’s being in heat is what really took their minds off the bird. Suddenly nothing else mattered to the hounds except each other. A blessing in disguise.

Having no choice, Smooch followed me up to the house, with Louka in loving attendance. The walk was cut short. I put him inside, grabbed a towel and gloves, then went back looking for the Flicker. I found him, but it was too late. A cat plays with its prey, which is what saved the bird the first time. Smooch hadn’t been playing, and his jaws are far stronger than Dora’s could be. I wrapped the little creature in the towel and put him in a box. It took only a moment to bury him.

I’m a county girl. I know all about the law of Nature, and that these things happen, but I couldn’t help giving Smooch attitude when I came back inside. I didn’t scold him; one doesn’t have to use words. Smooch knew that something was wrong, but had no idea why I was upset with him. He waited a bit, his doleful eyes watching me whenever I moved. Finally he could take it no longer. Very gently he came to me and put his head on my knee, asking me to forgive whatever it was he had done.

Of course I relented. “When it’s your time, it’s your time,” I told him, as I fondled his ears. “I guess it was just that Flicker’s time.”

Happy that all was right in our world again, Smooch wagged his tail, and we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

BUILDING BRIDGES

Finally!

After 7 months of nasty emotions and hurt feelings, my DIL and I have made a tentative peace. She stopped in at the house last night, at my request...and prodding from my youngest son, no doubt... so that we could talk it out.

It can never be the same. The bridge was blown, and it will take some time to rebuild, but at least the plans are laid. Hopefully a stronger structure will come out of the turmoil.

The Rug rats have been clamouring to visit Mémère, and they are 3 very determined young fellows. God bless little children!!

I know my daughter and older son are waiting to see how things turned out; they both contacted me earlier last night (as did my oldest Rug rat), delighted that the meet was to take place.

The disruption of our close-knit group was more than just unpleasant. My children realize what is to be gained from the strength of a loving family; it’s a rock to build on and is precious and priceless. We were worried that the Rug rats were missing out on an important part of growing up – the teasing and playing with aunts and uncles and cousins. Things memories are made of, moments that surely also influence one’s decisions when it’s your turn to confront this big, crazy world as an adult. We are each backup for the other, the calm port when seas get too rough.

My DIL left here with a bag of scones and a basket of fresh strawberries – the boys love them and would demolish one in no time while living here with me. It was my way of telling them that Mémère was back, and that our search for fairies is on again!!

As I prepared for bed, I imagined the expressions on their sleepy, round faces when opening the fridge in the morning to find the fruit, and as any grandmother would do with such a picture in mind, I SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.