Let the thunder roll

Had the first thunderstorm of the season last night. It wasn’t severe or even strong, just a good old garden variety t-storm that confirms spring IS coming even though there’s still snow on the ground. It was almost pleasant to have precip falling as liquid, not snow flakes or ice. I was driving home from teaching my Wednesday night class as the storm broke over the area. Lots of lightning which was pretty spectacular at night.

Jamie was not impressed. He does not approve of thunderstorms and it’s only getting worse as the years progress. Poor guy. I know his hearing is decreasing and hoped storms would not be as traumatic this year if he couldn’t hear them but apparently that’s not the case.

This was only a level 1 or 2 storm, as gauged on the Belgian Storm Meter: minor panting and sticking to me like Velcro but no panicked leaping onto the bed and burrowing between me and the Farmer, trembling so hard the bed rattles.

Phoenix could give a rip. He is totally oblivious to thunder and lightning. When things really start to rock and roll with the bigger summer storms, Nix thinks it’s GREAT that Jamie gets to sleep on the bed and sees no reason why he shouldn’t join him. After all, life’s a party!

I’m debating taking the National Weather Service’s storm spotter training again this spring. I took it last year and the spring and summer severe weather season was practically non-existent in this area.

Refrigerator update

I am very happy to report our new refrigerator has been delivered and set up without crisis. I really should have a picture of it to go with this post but that would require thinking ahead and quite frankly, I don’t see that happening this week.

The appliance store guys hauled the old one away first. Holy buckets, you should have seen the furballs flying around when they pulled it away from the wall. There was a whole pack of pomeranians living back there. They didn’t say anything. The guys, not the furballs. I suppose they’ve seen worse. Which scares me. They laughed at the big metal nut we were using to level the old fridge on one side.

I grabbed the Dyson and vac’d up the furballs quick. Then they brought in the new fridge. They took the doors off it first. This allowed them to bring the cabinet in with a whopping 1/2 inch of space to spare on either side. If we ever need to replace appliances in the future, I think we’re going to have to build a new house first. Everything keeps getting bigger.

I asked them if they’ve ever delivered an appliance and it wouldn’t fit. Got the big eye roll. Guess it happens more often than you’d think. Sure glad it didn’t happen at our house! Tim said if it’s a really tight fit and if it’s okay with the homeowner, they grease things up with Vaseline and shove it into place. Yikes! He said sometimes people measure for width but not height and buy refrigerators that won’t fit under the kitchen cabinets. Boy, we were sounding smarter every minute.

Then they tried to level the fridge. Good luck with that. Our kitchen floor is not level. Actually it’s about three different levels. Which explains the floor jacks in the basement. Oh, isn’t it fun to live in a 100-year-old house? They quit laughing at the nut. I think they might have wanted it back.

When they left, I took everything out of the big coolers and put it in the new fridge. Wow. I need to buy groceries. This thing has a lot of room. The coolest thing is that everything is clear. You can see into all the compartments - no more food hiding for weeks and weeks, only to be green and furry once it’s rediscovered.

Of course, this also means I can’t hide my secret chocolate stash in there any more.

Today, I am thankful for no longer waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of grinding rocks, then realizing it’s just the old fridge.

Naperville video

Naperville results

Yippee!! Nix got his first 2 MX legs this weekend! I had been starting to wonder if we were ever going to Q in Standard again! After finishing his AX what seemed like years ago (okay, it was 1 year and 4 months but who's counting), we seemed to hit the wall.

He has been running great but there was always one thing - usually what the Farmer calls OE (operator error). One silly thing. A bonus jump. A bonus tunnel. Okay, a lot of bonus tunnels. Using the table as a trampoline. A lot of growing pains while we slipped and slid along the learning curve.

But the stars aligned for us on Saturday and Sunday and not only was Phoenix brilliant, I was there for him, giving him actual useful cues in a timely fashion so we could fly around the course together. The learning curve is still very much there for us but it feels so darned good to cross the finish line, hug my dog and say, "YES! WE DID IT!" Not that there weren't a couple minor freak-out moments today when both of us ended up in places I had not planned. You'll have that.

Will post video soon. Not only did we Q, I actually got it recorded!

Tonight, I am thankful to be home in my own quiet house and out of what might have been the noisiest Red Roof Inn in the entire United States.

A dog diary

I’ve been on furlough this week and Jamie and Phoenix have been keeping a diary.

Day 1: MOM’S HOME TODAY! This is so cool! This is totally awesome! We can go to the training building and play ball outside in the snow and play games indoors, too. We’ll help you with all your non-dog projects. COOL, COOL, COOL! Anything you want to do, we’re right here for ya. We love it when you’re home all day!

Day 2: Mom’s home again! Excellent! How great is this! We can spend all day doing fun stuff together! We know how important it is for humans to have canine supervision. What’s on today’s list?

Day 3: Mom’s still home. Great. What are we going to do today? We need a nap first. If you want to do some things without us, go ahead, you won’t hurt our feelings. Yawn. If you need us, we’ll be on the couch.

Day 4: You’re still home? For the love of doG, woman, don’t you have a job to go to? We’re not used to being up and running 14 hours a day. How’s a guy supposed to get his beauty sleep? You go do whatever it is you need to do. Leave us out of it. We’re crashed. You humans make us very tired. How do you function on only 8 hours of sleep? That’s not normal. No wonder you eat so much.

What? We’re going to an agility trial? We’re leaving now? COOL! That is totally awesome! LET’S GO!

Have a great weekend, everyone. I’ll report back from the trials in Naperville when possible.

Today I am thankful for sunshine, dry roads and Dan Brown’s “The Lost Symbol” on CD for the drive to Naperville.

Measure twice, cut once

We bought a new refrigerator Monday amidst the chaos that was the short-lived and basically dysfunctional Iowa appliance rebate program. As it turned out, the model we bought was not included in the rebate program so it didn’t matter that the local appliance dealership was over-worked, under-staffed and basically a three ring circus that day or that the rebate money ran out about 20 minutes after the program began at 8 a.m.

The Farmer wisely sent me off on this mission by myself. I think his exact words were, “You have time today, I don’t.” What he meant was, “No way am I getting involved and you’ll end up making the final decision anyway so why bother.”

The man is not dumb. This preference for hauling manure over going refrigerator shopping relieved him of any responsibility, should things go wrong at any point along the way.

We had already pre-shopped. Pre-shopping is an invaluable skill I learned from my friend Michele, the queen of shopping, pre- and otherwise. So I marched into the local appliance store on Monday afternoon knowing pretty much what I wanted. We’d measured the available space in the kitchen to assure ourselves a slightly bigger model would fit. Now I was good to go.

My first clue that this was not going to be a quick errand was when I discovered the parking lot was full. This is in Amana, Iowa. The only time the parking lots are full are during Maifest and Oktoberfest, never on the 1^st of March. Clearly, every person within a 25-mile radius had decided it was time to buy a new washer, dryer, microwave, stove, refrigerator, dishwasher or deep freeze.

It took about 30 minutes before a salesperson was free to help me so I had plenty of time to wander around and pick out the refrigerator I wanted. The model I chose was part of the store’s scratch and dent sale. The scratch and dent discount was actually higher than the rebate would have been so I was feeling smug. It had a microscopic cosmetic blemish on one side of the cabinet. Once in place in the kitchen, it wouldn’t show anyway but was worth knocking nearly $450 off the list price. What a deal I was getting.

We did the paperwork, set up a delivery time (next week, ugh, I’m just as bad as my dogs for wanting instant gratification) and I was out the door.

That night, I heard the Farmer rattling around in the kitchen. Then he rattled around on the back porch, then he came in, holding a tape measure, and asked “What are the measurements of the new fridge?” I dutifully recited them back, “70 inches tall, 36 inches wide, 32 inches deep.”

“This doorway is only 30 inches wide,” he said. “Even if they bring it in sideways, it’s not going to fit.”

Oh, bad word, I said.

After a few moments of total panic, thinking I had paid a four-figure price for a refrigerator that would end up sitting on the patio, running off an extension cord strung into the house, reason prevailed.

“I think they took the doors off the old one when they brought it in,” the Farmer said. “If they take the doors off the new one, it should come in all right.”

“Should” wasn’t good enough.

I was going to be the one at home when it was delivered. I had visions of dealing with angry, sweating deliverymen trying to wedge a 32-inch-deep fridge through a 30-inch doorway. Not a good scene.

I spent a restless night, dreaming of a gigantic home remodeling project in which we tore off the entire south side of the kitchen to accommodate the new fridge. In the morning, I called the appliance store, wondering how many people were dumb enough to buy something without seeing if they could actually get it in their house first. (Don’t laugh, a co-worker once bought a new 4x4 SUV that wouldn’t fit in his garage.)

The lady at the appliance store was clearly used to dealing with people like me.

“Don’t worry, we can take the doors off and the cabinet will measure 28 inches deep,” she reassured me. "We do it all the time."

Well. Okay. If you say so.

I’ll let you know how it goes on Monday. Now I am in the midst of a massive refrigerator cleaning. How can we have so much stuff in there and never have anything to eat?

You might be a redneck if . . .

Your husband shoots raccoons out the living room window.

Yep, the Farmer is at it again. This is same self-proclaimed non-hunter who I found sitting in a lawn chair in the back yard one summer afternoon, holding a pitchfork in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. He was hunting moles.

Well, somebody had to. The dogs showed interest and made some exploratory digs but were a complete washout when it came to following through and actually catching moles. Probably a good thing. If the Belgians went after the moles with intent to deliver, the yard would look even worse than it does now. Which is saying quite a bit. Probably a good thing it’s still covered with snow.

In any event, we are overrun with raccoons, which isn’t unusual for farms in these parts. Raccoons are incredibly adaptable when it comes to making themselves at home in man-made structures. They live in the hayloft of the cattle barn and amidst the big round bales in the hoop building. They lived in the old granary before it came down and the Farmer has even encountered them hanging out in his silage wagon. Adorable Disney images aside, raccoons are dirty, destructive creatures that carry disease. And they poop everywhere. Seriously. Everywhere. Raccoons must have invented the high fiber diet.

The Farmer and his dad spend a lot of time working to eradicate the raccoon population. They often use a live trap although the success rate there is somewhat questionable, since they catch as many barn cats as they do raccoons. The cats, they turn loose. The cats do not seem to learn anything from this, as they continue to get caught over and over. The raccoons, they dispatch humanely with a gun.

Our raccoons are fairly predictable. Or stupid (as evidenced by last summer’s catching of three raccoons in one live trap at the same time. Really, did the other two think it was a good idea to follow the first one in?). Every evening, one or two of them come ambling down the lane in front of our house. I suspect they are going over to the neighbor’s place to check out cat food leftovers.

Anyway, this is a pretty regular occurrence and since dark colored raccoons show up well against our snow pack, thus the idea to shoot them from the warmth and comfort of the house was born. It was a simple concept: see a raccoon, grab the varmint rifle, open the window and blast away.

Phoenix and I were not at home for the first couple hunting expeditions. Jamie was. The Farmer said Jamie did not approve of the rifle shots, much in the way he does not approve of thunderstorms.

Phoenix experienced his first raccoon hunting via the living room window one evening last week. It went something like this.

Me: Reading.

Farmer: Watching TV.

Jamie: Sleeping on couch.

Phoenix: Patrolling. Looking out the windows for cats.

Me: Look, here comes a raccoon!

Farmer, grabbing the gun: Get hold of the dogs!

Phoenix: INCOMING CRITTER! RED ALERT! BATTLE STATIONS!

Jamie (bolting from the room): Oh $#@! Here we go again.

Me, grabbing Phoenix by the collar: Hold still and stay out of the way.

Phoenix, bouncing up and down: LEMME GO! I WANNA GET HIM!

Me: You will absolutely NOT go raccoon chasing.

Loud rifle crack!

Farmer: D*mn. Missed.

Phoenix, dragging me across the room to where the Farmer is lining up his second shot: TURN ME LOOSE! I CAN CLEAR THAT WINDOW IN A SINGLE BOUND!

Me, through gritted teeth: That’s what I’m afraid of. What would you do with a raccoon if you caught one?

Phoenix: Does it matter? LEMME GO!

Jamie (under the kitchen table): Is it safe to come out yet?

Loud rifle crack!

Jamie: Apparently not. Maybe I should go to the basement. This is not safe.

Farmer: Got him! (Pause) What is wrong with your dog? (Strangely enough, he didn’t have to specify WHICH dog.)

Phoenix, vibrating, leaping up and down, yodeling, trying to drag me through the window, totally unfazed by rifle fire over his head: DO IT AGAIN! THIS IS SO COOL!!! I’M A HUNTIN’ DAWG!

Jamie: You are a freaking nut case.

Me: Are you done? Can I turn him loose?

Farmer: Yeah, but I’d better shut the window first.

Me: Ya think?

Phoenix: What? We’re quitting? Nooooooooo . . .

Jamie: You are all mental. If you need me I’ll be under the table for awhile.