The Love, Blood, and Rhetoric School

Look at this dog:

This is Glencora. She's 11, has arthritis and a bad haircut, doesn't hear very well, and this morning fell over this hill.

You can only see about half of it in this picture. The vertical half. My Fitbit tells me the entire height of the ravine is equivalent to 15 storeys.

This is the ravine behind our house. All kinds of critters live down at the bottom, and they wander up the hill at night to see what's going on. So I can see why the dogs like to go check it out occasionally; I'm sure it smells wonderful. Cora wandered about 2 feet down from the top and couldn't figure out how to get back up. I figured I'd get a leash, walk down the game trail to her, and then help her get back up. Unfortunately, by the time I got back with the leash she had slid down about 8 feet further.

I managed to get the leash on her, but she either could not see the Gametrail I was walking on, or just couldn't get herself stabilized. And I may be dumb, but I'm not dumb enough to try to carry a 45 pound dog on the side of a ravine. So I basically had to wish her good luck and say I see her at the bottom. I figured that from that angle it would be much easier for me to climb up and then help her find a safe way down.

So I ran out of our neighborhood down the side of the hill and up the path that the Township uses for maintenance of the storm drains down there. By the time I did that she was already down there, looking around in circles trying to figure out where home was.

I have absolutely no idea how she managed to get down that 20 foot vertical drop in one piece. Absolutely no idea. I really thought that she was going to be either dead or have several broken limbs.

The little stinker even walked home with a decided prance and a very self-satisfied look on her face. I guess she's happy to have a story to tell.

So, thankfully, Cora came out of her adventure none the worse for wear. On the other hand, I don't think I will ever be the same.

The critters and I are having an at-home today.

We are, of course, receiving callers, but please only come if you do not require much entertainment. Pets are welcome as well.

A sort of collie lawn tennis, or possibly rugby, is taking place in the back garden, and many episodes of the Forsyte Saga (the first version, not the recent adaptation) are available for your viewing pleasure. Conversation is limited to how georgeous the weather is for November, how are the puppies doing at their new homes, and when am I going to start fixing up that dollhouse.

A low-stress day is indicated for all.

Hot or iced tea is available (I would recommend the Russian Caravan), or gin if one prefers (with tonic and lots of lime).  For lunch we have roast turkey breast, to be served in sandwich or platter form, or off the tiles if you are of the critter persuasion. The lawn is dry enough to sit in, though you probably will end up with a collie in your lap. The library is open, though not very well-organized, and some sort of commentary is available on most volumes.

And because it is a warm, sunny, fuzzy sort of day, here is a warm fuzzy baby collie picture:



That's Gracie with the puppies back in July.  She had nine, and they are all (finally) at their new homes.