My girl Scout, coming up on her 15th birthday, isn’t nearly as mobile as she used to be. Her back legs are little more than curb feelers, thanks to two blown-out knees. She’s been hobbled for almost three years.
And yet she gets around surprisingly well. Hell, she can outrun me.
Many of you have been reading Ubi Libertas Blog long enough to remember the trials of dear Dipstick. He overcame Cushing syndrome, a near-fatal (and self-inflicted) intestinal blockage, and a shitty personality to become one of the sweetest, bravest dogs I’ve ever known.
Dippy succumbed suddenly to acute pancreatitis 11 months ago. He left this world on his shield, the ultimate warrior.
Miss Smudge’s resilience has been tested only once so far — a laceration that required surgery and cost her the carpal pad on her right forepaw. She never so much as slowed down.
Scout and Smudge now live in a world that’s missing a constant. They were robbed of vital familiarity. A member of their tribe suddenly vanished. Understandably, they were confused.
And so you might be wondering — how are they doing now?
It took about two weeks, maybe a little less, but they adjusted. They figured it out — I’m all they have.
By mid-February, they’d stopped looking for Deb.
I’m quite sure that both Scout and Smudge would recognize her immediately if she came back. If it’s only to say goodbye and then leave again for good, they’d be forced to adjust all over again.
But they would. It’s what dogs do.
We can learn a lot from dogs.
Presence is the path to joy. Good dogs are joyful because they live fully in each moment — a ball, a meal, a lap, a biscuit, a squirrel. They’re wise and often wary, but they don’t dwell and they don’t carry baggage for long.
Dipstick wasn’t self-conscious about his baldness or his scar. Scout isn’t depressed because she’s down to two good legs.
See?
My furry companions are my guides and my heroes. If they can move on from loss and occupy themselves with present joy, then so can I.
I made the call to postpone cabin work again today. I’m fine, but something came up.
That “something” was the stench filling my nostrils when I woke up this morning. I ran the camper’s HVAC fan overnight, first time since last fall, and the blower apparently pulled some of its intake air from a damned putrid place.
I walked around, sniffing for the source. It didn’t take me long to narrow it down to the cabinet under the galley sink. When I opened the doors, the smell nearly knocked me down.
I have a mouse problem.
(There will be no pictures.)
I gathered what I needed to deal with the mess — shop vac, trash bags, disinfectant, and nitrile gloves. To avoid what felled Gene Hackman’s wife (hantavirus, that is), I donned a respirator.
First, I removed everything from the cabinet, primarily cleaning supplies. Most of it went right into a trash bag. What I didn’t throw away, I wiped down with disinfectant and set aside.
The deeper I dug, the worse it got. I counted four different kinds of mouse traps and two types of poison, tossed into the cabinet on top of each other. Dozens of mildewed and piss-soaked cloth rags. Empty bottles of one sort or another. Random trash. A couple of mummified mice.
(For the record, I had nothing to do with any of that.)
Then, using my double-filtered shop vac, I sucked up a mountain of mouse turds. I removed the bag from the canister and threw it out.
After disinfecting everything I could reach, I wiped down the surviving cleaning supplies (again) and reloaded the cabinet. I lit candles. I sprayed air freshener.
Hours later now, it smells a little better inside the camper. Maybe. It’ll be a while, though, before I’m ready for visitors.
The exercise was disgusting, but it’s done. I don’t live like that. I take a certain pride in my surroundings. Even though I didn’t create this problem (or ignore it), it’s my problem now.
I’ll stay on top of it.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable