(I’ll get to the Heeler in a few. Today I’ll start in the kitchen.)
It’s been several months since I’ve bought anything on eBay. My wallet can’t do “retail therapy” these days. I’m in no position to give in to temptation or impulse, either.
Recently I decided that I should have a smaller saucepan for hot cereal, single servings, and so on. I knew exactly what I wanted and how much I was willing to spend. I wouldn’t overpay, nor would I settle for anything else.
My patience was rewarded — I snagged this yesterday on eBay:
That’s a Revere Ware one-quart pan, made in 1988 at the plant in Clinton, Illinois, a few years before production was moved offshore. It appears to be in excellent condition, and it comes with the correct lid.
The price was $12.88 — no more than I would’ve paid for brand-new Chinese junk.
In the cabin kitchen, it’ll join the two- and three-quart Revere Ware saucepans bought last May at an Ozarkansas antiques shop (also for 12 bucks each, coincidentally). Those are vintage 1989 and 1982, respectively, and I enjoy using them.
I grew up with Revere Ware. Coming back to it at this stage of my life feels just right.
Yes, you’ve read more here about kitchen kit than woodcraft lately. It’s summer in Ozarkansas — between oppressive heat and the seasonal onslaught of ticks and chiggers, I have little interest in traipsing through (or working in) the woods until fall.
I’ve found my cozy kitchen to be a comfortable and rewarding alternative, so I’m given more to talking about beeswaxing wooden spoons and seasoning cast-iron skillets and comparing paring knives. In the relative cool of the cabin, that’s what’s in front of me.
Three o’clock in the morning is too damned early to be awake and out of bed, even for an avowed early riser like me. But that’s when Miss Smudge came to me, and that’s when my Thursday began.
I didn’t complain. I don’t mind. I love this dog, this affectionate hellion, and whatever she needs from me, she gets — even if she needs it at 3am.
I’m all-in for my Smudge.
Bonus: The happy Heeler and I got to watch together as “heat lightning” put on a show somewhere beyond Hall Mountain. (That “somewhere” turned out to be the Russellville-Clarksville area, between 50 and 70 miles to our southwest.)
I was asked yesterday to compare Smudge’s behavior the last couple of days to how she responded to being abandoned in February. That’s a fair request, and considering the apparent similarity — losing a member of her very small pack — you’d expect her reaction at this point to be pretty much the same.
It’s not.
The absence Smudge feels this time is very different and (dare I say) more profound, and it shows. For over two years, the elderly Scout mentored this puppy, nurtured her, played with and (sweetly) challenged her. There’s no replacing that presence in this Heeler’s world.
All I can do is all I can do. And what I do — in fact, what I’ve always done for Smudge — is allow her to be the dog she was born to be.
She gets to chew on me. She’s permitted to bark for no reason. She can roughhouse and run and bounce off the walls and trees and me all she wants.
Now, I have an adjustment of my own to make — I have to be more of a dog.
(Either you get that or you don’t.)
Yesterday’s (very early) breakfast was a big bowl of oatmeal (topped with raisins and local honey), a mason jar of cranberry-grape juice, and a mug of coffee. I had one chore I wanted to knock out — gather trash for a trip to the county transfer station.
Though I easily could’ve let that go ’til next week, it just made sense to do it sooner. The recyclables bag in the cabin was full, and I had a near-full bag of camper garbage.
Besides, I wanted to make a run that’d let me bring Smudge along for the ride. In this case, that’d be the transfer station and the smoke shop.
When I opened the passenger-side door and gave the command, “Load up!” she eagerly hopped up onto the seat. From that point on, however, she was one unhappy Heeler.
Ill-at-ease. Nervous. Uncomfortable. I don’t know if she was disturbed by Scout’s scent, or if it was the unfamiliarity of the exercise (it had been a couple of months), but this clearly wasn’t the same dog that loves going for rides in the truck.
We got in and out of the transfer station without issue. At the smoke shop, I left her behind in the (locked) truck for about three minutes. When I returned, I found her on the floor of the driver’s side, tucked up by the pedals — hiding.
That’s not Smudge. We have work to do.
I found it interesting that on the drive back to The Mountain, her mood improved. The closer we got, the happier she appeared to be. By the time we were on our road, she was her normal self again.
So I guess it might’ve been just a passing bout of insecurity. We’ll attack it as if it wasn’t, though — with repetition, reinforcement, and affirmation.
We’ll get it licked. I’ll make sure of that — because I’m all-in for my Smudge.
This (pictured, below) is a bit of “Smudge-proofing.”
The happy Heeler has a habit of stretching out on the back cushions of the love seat, especially when I have the northwest window open. It puts a lot of stress on the seams and crushes the ends of the cushions.
I want my dog to be a dog, but I also want to protect the furniture if I can.
The solution I came up with is a cheap fleece throw. (Brown seemed like the right choice.) Folded in half lengthwise and laid over the tops of the cushions, it spreads out the stress and acts as a barrier to digging for lost toys.
The answer to crushed cushions is punching them every couple of days.
No big deal. If you have dogs, you get it.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable