I did it just a little while ago. I ate what in our house is dog food. I caught myself doing it.

Actually, it is not technically the dogs’ food; it is the dog’s food. Shane is four and Sydney is 14 and you can’t make Shane eat something different. Well, you could, but that might lead to interesting protests.

You see, here’s the scoop: Sydney has chronic pancreatitis and eats pot roast (Manager’s Special) cooked in a crock pot and rice with a wee bit of high end actual dog food added for vitamins.

Yes, Shane and Sydney eat better than we do. But today when I was cutting up the roast into little chewy pieces, I stuck a couple of bites in my mouth. Oh, it was sooooo good.

I thought, “AmeliaJake, you are eating dog food!” Then I looked around quickly to see if one of the dogs had seen me. I imagined Shane herding me over to the Purina Dog Food in the special package and telling me to have at it. Insisting that I chomp down some lamb and rice pellets as well. Not leaving until I had.

Fortunately, the incident passed without consequence.

Of course, you realize I don’t just put in a layer of dry dog food, a layer of rice and a layer of roast. No, I gently mix it with my hands so it is a nice blend and then I put it in the microwave for 20 seconds until it is just right.

I come by this naturally; my dad would buy Socrates and Miss Alice their own Dairy Queen cones.

That reminds me – I need to purchase a single small geranium to put on the place where Miss Alice’s ashes rest. That would be right above my dad’s casket. There will also be a big urn-like pot with with a big geranium, fern and a spike. Shoot, that tugs at my heartstrings.

And now I’ve got myself thinking about him putting out flags on graves on Memorial and Veteran’s Day for the American Legion.  Auggghhh, now my throat is tight.

Okay, I’m adding a quick post because I want to move Summer’s Weeble Dance down where it will not overlap the right sidebar. How about  a couple more pictures from the original and will be again PBC&R.
Now, to truly experience the atmosphere, imagine woodsmoke-infused 8 by 8
150-year-old beams.

Summer and I have some projects planned – painted the winter-worn deck and fixing the grass where Shane has been digging. We went out and looked and decided we would have a little fun first.

I give you:

Summer’s Weeble Dance

Uh, on the other side of the room you can find the cell phone.

A Gnomist, the Grand Weed of the Dandelion Federation, is shown in this secret photo. Note: The Grand Weed often wears sunglasses on his face as well as his shirt.

Although scouts  pull reconnaissance duty – going  through neighborhoods, looking for lush green lawns to invade –  the GW*  has been known to make forays of his own as he relives his days in the ranks. You know, out in the field – so to speak – sizing up potential locations.

That is what he was doing when this – did we mention secret – photo was taken.

We also have a photo of The Grand Weed making Dandelion Angels in a lawn that was carpeted by the little yellow insurgents. Because to publish it would give away the identity of our agent, we will wait until we have safely brought him in from the yellow.

*Any resemblance to Santa Claus is purely coincidental.

Yes,  my little buddies at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse are pleased that I returned from  a long errand over to Middlebury in much better mood. I did miss the dogleg on Ind 13,  though, and wound up going down Amish roads full of potholes. I’d say I saw more old-fashioned Monday laundry hanging out than I have in a long time.

Then when I saw a Taco Bell sign and felt myself craving it, it turned out to be a combination Taco Bell/KFC. Dang. I drove right on through the parking lot. I was obviously out of Amish territory at this point.

So I got home and Summer had done an excellent job at the cleaning tasks for which she was hired. Even a candle and an oil lamp lit. We fed the dogs and I sat down and thought about The African Queen and Katherine Hepburn drinking bottled water and the Humphey Bogart/John Huston duo drinking alcohol in the jungle; Hepburn was the one who wound up with the water-borne parasite.

I start thinking about the transport of safe water and a thought popped into my head: We could dehydrate it. I know, but it sounds doable on  paper. This would be a good argument for simple, straight-forward words, but I think I have a few hours fun left in the dehydrated usage.

Would an irrigation ditch be a dehydrated river? You just ship the river bed and then add  . . . well, you know.

Soon I have to tell you about the Patron Saint of Gnomes* who came out from Iowa. But gnomes are dandelion allies!!!! I guess we need to sit down for a pow-wow.

*No, it is not LZP; it is a figurine that sat on the knick-knack shelf at Der Bingle’s and LZP’s maternal grandmothers.