Rain and company and dogs

 

Kegan (left) and Colin in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
Kegan is visiting the University of Arkansas.
I love the angle of this picture--and the view.

Rain gauges all over the city probably varied, but I heard we got anywhere from three to five inches of rain yesterday. It was, to my delight, an all-day, rolling thunder kind of rain—sometimes fairly heavy, sometimes slower so that it would soak in. The sun never peeked at us, and sometimes it was as dark as evening. I wouldn’t want a steady diet, don’t think I could live in the Pacific Northwest, but occasionally, such a day is a welcome break. The wonderful Zenaida cleaned my cottage, I did some cooking, and had a great nap—rainy days inspire naps! Yesterday, I outdid myself—my afternoon nap was followed by a long evening nap, from nine to eleven. I then spent over an hour looking at dog pictures and went to bed at twelve-thirty. Had the best, soundest sleep in forever.

About five-thirty yesterday my friend Katie made her way up the soggy driveway, reporting that traffic was a mess, she was wearing her old clothes and no make-up, and she was wet. It’s lovely to have friends who know they can come to your home without fussing over their appearance. I didn’t invite Katie to look at her and how she was dressed, but to talk to her and pick her mind. And pick I did the minute she walked in. She’s knowledgeable about plants so I thought she could tell me what my great yellow wildflowers are. She said she thought—wait a minute? Thought? She wasn’t certain? —they were cosmos. We looked at cosmos online, and it comes in many forms, so it’s easy to say that’s what I have. That’s my story from now on. I had already identified the coreopsis tucked in next to the taller cosmos.

Our talk was not limited to gardening, though we did touch on composting—which her grandson is doing. I said I don’t care if we ever use my compost as fertilizer—I’m just glad not to be throwing all those scraps into the trash and eventually the landfill. It’s remarkable to me how much composting is lessening my footprint on the earth. Speaking of fertilizer, though, I did read a neat hint today: when potting a new plant, put a raw egg on a small bed of dirt in the bottom of the pot. It will disintegrate and is wonderful fertilizer. Also save the water when you boil eggs—it’s rich in calcium and good for your plants.

As usual, Katie and I caught up on grandchildren and talked a lot about dogs and some about the Episcopalian church in Fort Worth—she is the assistant to the bishop. Katie is also an activist, so we did discuss politics, especially local—there’s one onerous Republican official whose ears should have been burning. Somehow, we missed the news of the day which seems historic to me now: the bipartisan passage in the House of the three separate foreign aid bills. It’s almost like Speaker Mike Johnson, who had been castigated by many for refusing to bring such a bill to the floor, pulled a rabbit out of a hat and became a magician. However he did it, my hat’s off to him, although I know we have vast political differences. Like most of us, I was anxious to get supplies and help to Ukraine, though I have my doubts about how much we should continue to support Israel, and I know little of the Taiwanese situation, less about TikTok. I do know however that the bipartisan effort was significant and a resounding defeat for trump and his MAGA supporters of Putin.

It being the weekend, I did cook: last night we had a combination of chopped chicken, mushrooms, green onion, and cream cheese baked in crescent roll dough and served with a tossed salad, with a store-bought blueberry pie for dessert—the latter was a sudden impulse buy and now I’m left wondering what to do with all that pie. Tonight I made a baked goat cheese dip—so rich and so good—when dear friend Betty and her daughter, Dana, came for an early happy hour. Another joyous visit, this with a lot of cooking talk, with Dana paying tribute to her mom for all she taught her. Later in the evening, Christian grilled his terrific hamburgers for us. Are we spoiled?

Much of my weekend has been devoted to the study of dogs. Colin and Lisa went to meet the dog I thought sounded just right and reported that he was calm, sweet, easy with new people—all good, but they sensed health problems. I texted the owners that if they met certain conditions—a health certificate, long overdue neutering—I would take the dog. I have not heard from them, so I guess that’s a no, and I am back to looking at endless pictures of available dogs. Picked out a couple to call about tomorrow. This dog business is a huge problem for me, and I want to settle with a new companion. Patience is not my strong suit, and I do not like being without a dog. For one thing, I’ve taken to setting my alarm system at night.

Another week, and I have much I want to get done. I bet you do too. Sweet dreams.

The search continues

Some time ago a good friend brought me this plant holder with a poinsettia in it.
I named her Serenity because I hope that was what she would bring me.
Nor she's abloom with spring flowers, and I think she's serene, a model for me.

I spent too much of today on my ongoing search for the perfect dog to fill the hole left in my heart and my life by Sophie. Don’t get me wrong—the perfect dog is the offbeat rescue, the slightly different one, the one that maybe no one else will want. I leafed through pages of Petfinder (they have 226 pages of adoptable dogs), and tonight Jordan and I looked at many. We laughed over a dog named Juju, since that is my grandmotherly name. “It would get confusing,” Jordan said, “which Juju would we be calling?” Another dog was named Panic, and Jordan said she could hear what happened if at three o’clock in the morning I opened my door to call, “Panic! Panic!” She thinks the emergency squad would be here immediately.

I had found one dog that really interested me. His name is Oreo, an Aussie mix, four or five years old, house- and crate-trained, and billed as a perfect gentleman. But another dog, with the unlikely name of Merle Haggard, stuck in my mind. He’s about two years old, a black dog, the same weight as Sophie (which is perfect for us), house- and crate-trained. So many of the dogs that interest me need canine companions or lots of exercise because they are high energy breeds. Merle Haggard’s description says he will adapt to my energy level, and he likes to chase squirrels, which was Sophie’s main occupation. Jordan and Christian are enthusiastic about Merle Haggard, so I put him first on my list and Oreo second. We would love either one.

This whole business is frustrating because you apply and … nothing. I did get a response from Saving Hope that I was conditionally approved, but once I specified a dog, I heard nothing. Poor Merle Haggard has been in their care for almost two years, and I think that’s partly because it’s hard to place black dogs. After Sophie I have a soft spot in my heart for black dogs (okay she was sort of mottled with silver—he is almost totally black). Anyway, you’d think the agency would act quickly on an expression of interest in a dog that had been there a long time, but not so. I’m told by those who know that the problem is volunteer help. I find that’s cold comfort.

Otherwise it was a lazy Saturday—Zenaida came to clean the cottage, and we had several teary moments remembering how much Sophie loved Zenaida and how she used to follow her around. I got some desk work done, read a lot of political updates, made the dough for a snack for Monday morning company, and had a long nap.

We would have had dinner at a decent hour tonight, except Jordan joined me in looking at dog profiles. Then Christian came along. He had spent the day enjoying the Fort Worth Food and Wine Festival (you can interpret that as you will) and he wanted to talk more about Merle Haggard. So it was after seven when I finally started cooking and near eight when we had dinner: chicken thighs in a garlic/anchovy/caper sauce. Delicious, but so greasy. One of those recipes that has you start it on the stove, then whisk the skillet into the oven. I can’t do that, so I winged it in a bit, but it turned out to be delicious.

While Jordan and Christian waited for supper, they sat on the patio.
and she took this of my honeysuckle in bloom. 
A pesty plant but so pretty when it blooms.

I finished out the evening with a long conversation with an old friend who lost her husband this week. I know that it’s the age I am—I lose friends, my friends lose loved ones, and it’s what life is. The best I can do is listen, and I’ve been trying hard to do that. But every time I am called on for comfort, it reminds me of my own mortality. But more than that, it reminds me how lucky I am to be as active and healthy and engaged as I am.

So it’s certainly been a mixed bag of a day. But as always, I am grateful. Sweet dreams, everyone.