What a Difference a Week Makes

Good Sunday morning to you. It's my Sunday to work at the farm, which means Bart is outside right now covering for me as I come to you via the Blackberry on the sofa once again. I'll be glad when I'm tromping around in my boots again!

So, now you know a week hasn't made so much of a difference for me, rather Pip. Yes, last Sunday Pip was having a hypoglycemic seizure and about to die. Today, he's being a butthead. One week and he's back to his old self.

Bart has been confining Pip to the laundry room at home since the whizzing seizure episode on my parents' very fine rug that is currently on loan to me. So last night, he decided he'd confine Pip to the big bathroom here at the farm that's on the business side of the people barn. Pip had other plans.

I was very happy about confining Pip far from where I would be sleeping, so I could actually sleep. Remember Pip wanders all night making noise and hurling himself at the bed to go outside...like six times a night. Pip was not happy to be confined. Gee, Pip, that bathroom is like four times the size of the laundry room. He had a rude come back for me.

Pip's ability to recover from near death is amazing. That dog has more than nine lives. His weight goes up and down weekly it seems. He'll go from emaciated to butterball without Bart making a single change to his diet. It's gotta be that pituitary tumor bouncing his blood sugar around. This week, Pip is a butterball again and full of himself.

About six this morning, Bart came back in from taking Spot out for his necessities. He said,"Guess where I found Pip?"

"You mean he wasn't in the bathroom?"

"No, he was in the hallway."

"Oh, did he knock over the gate?"

"No the gate was still standing, but he was curled up on the rug in the hall, asleep. He must have climbed over the gate."

Remember, folks, Pip is a small Boston Terrier, 20 lbs when he's fat. Climbing over the babygate is like a rocking climing wall at the gym to him. And, last week he was about to die.

"Did he pee in the hall?" I asked.

"Yes. In the corner."

"Did you clean it up? Urine soaks into concrete. It'll smell." I have lovely acid washed concrete floors in the people barn. The wash gives the floors an aged leather look. It is intended to be durable, not scented with dog pee.

"I cleaned it up."

These are our morning conversations when Pip is around, which is always unless we are on vacation. No sweet nothings. No cuddling and "I love you"s. Rather, what has Pip tried to destroy with his might whizzer.

"Well, he's back," I said.

"Oh, yeah."

"That's one crafty son-of-a-bitch (which is technically correct) you've got there."

"Yes he is."

"Where is he now?"

"I closed him in the bathroom by closing the door."

"You know if he scratches up the back of the door he's going in a stall, right?"

"Just tell me which stall."

Ah! A moment of reason with Bart.

Later I checked in on Pip. So far, no scratched-up door. But, he was ready to make his escape past me.

Oh no you don't. I scruffed him and put him back on one of his towels. I said,"What kind of dog are you?" He refused to respond.

I also told Bart this morning,"You know, when we were first dating and you wouldn't let me meet your dogs because you said they were a pain in the butt, I thought you were exaggerating."

Bart laughed.

"I also thought you were exaggerating about Robby, too."

Bart laughed again.

"You attract some kinda people and animals to you."

Another laugh.

"But, then of course there's me. Aren't you glad I'm not annoying?"

"Yes," he said, and kissed me on the head. Awww, I love this guy; even if I don't like his dog.

He's outside working on the push mower now. We use it for the places we can't mow with the five foot mower deck attachment on the tractor. Dod stored it all winter without gas. Then, Ruthie didn't know why she couldn't start it. Man, these are college educated people I'm dealing with.

Bart gassed it up, but said," Your lawn mower is suffering from sitting through the winter."

Huh?

"Well, it happens. I just need to clean out..."

And then he started speaking engineer to me; which sounds a lot like the adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons,"Waaa waaa waaa wa wa." I have no idea what he's saying then. So, at times like these, I just say," Thanks, Babe."

I hear him out there working on the mower now. I also hear Pip. Bart tethered him to the corral panels used to make the "switch back" obstacle on one of my obstacle courses. Pip is barking, of course. What a difference a week makes.

Why'd I force that pancake syrup down him last week? Damn involuntary reflexes of mine. Bart said he didn't want to force the pre-comatos beast to open his mouth. Why couldn't I let nature take its course? Damn compulsive drive to do the right thing. Gee, is there a 12-step program for that?

Have a nice Sunday folks. Thanks for reading. Life on the farm is never dull. Nope, not one moment of it.