Friday, December 23, 2005
kinda nippish
Stove tempering done, usual smoke-out. The tube is now warmed and there is a lot of heat available! Sheesh. Shoot at me. Mor'n likely you'll miss. Only one critter got a graze and that was 17 years ago. Head wounds bleed a lot but when one has nothing above the shoulders, why worry...
Pup-time will be tomorrow (today). I've had several (3) cases of terminal parvo here and the pups were not stuck yet. If you have any experience with death by parvo, you understand. Just for not-fun, parvo is distemper written by Stephen King. Young Mr. Wrinkled Ear Fuzz will become Mz. Rima's outlook as soon as the parvo reaction is done. Maybe today, certainly by Sunday. I've lots of newspaper! Donno. I just like critters!
Earlier today I replied to a letter Jan mailed. Those that have received letters from me know they come in parts. One poor sumbich got a 12-pager! Jan's was only up to page 2 and pretty-well done before I continued what was being done in the shop. 'puter blue-screened. Evaporated all not saved. Got to thinking maybe I ought to call Jerry Falwell and have him "save" this old tool!
Heresy. Shoot at me. Rima might eat yer nads first.
Yep. Gotta do it. Rima is being "socialized" for the entry of Doofus. She hates all people (her mother got a triple-tap by a local sociopath between a couple of last year's hurricanes, been wrote about before) except me. Other folk, good people, tend to get a bit nervous cause she tends to maintain the 120 degree position at 10 yards. Didn't much care about me for a while. 2 legs doesn't play well for her. 4 legs do. She's just about adult. She's just about tired of this old fart walking so poorly.
Lighting up the wayback machine, ol' Bear (photo a few posts ago) also quartered. His spot on a hike was at 200 degrees and 30 yards. Totally silent. Maintained distance and angle. ...unless there was a kid around and all rules were off! His favorite flavor was disposable diapers...
Just tried to go back to bed. Kitchen, OK. Lab bench, OK. Pass by door before the rack, NOT OK. She seems to think my vestigial brain has totally atrophied. The last American-made dial thermometer reads 21 degrees. Nope. I'm not gonna thump it. I am not even vaguely amused with night-hiking. Yeah, I've been spoiling her since her granny's death. You'd do the same.
Pup-time will be tomorrow (today). I've had several (3) cases of terminal parvo here and the pups were not stuck yet. If you have any experience with death by parvo, you understand. Just for not-fun, parvo is distemper written by Stephen King. Young Mr. Wrinkled Ear Fuzz will become Mz. Rima's outlook as soon as the parvo reaction is done. Maybe today, certainly by Sunday. I've lots of newspaper! Donno. I just like critters!
Earlier today I replied to a letter Jan mailed. Those that have received letters from me know they come in parts. One poor sumbich got a 12-pager! Jan's was only up to page 2 and pretty-well done before I continued what was being done in the shop. 'puter blue-screened. Evaporated all not saved. Got to thinking maybe I ought to call Jerry Falwell and have him "save" this old tool!
Heresy. Shoot at me. Rima might eat yer nads first.
Yep. Gotta do it. Rima is being "socialized" for the entry of Doofus. She hates all people (her mother got a triple-tap by a local sociopath between a couple of last year's hurricanes, been wrote about before) except me. Other folk, good people, tend to get a bit nervous cause she tends to maintain the 120 degree position at 10 yards. Didn't much care about me for a while. 2 legs doesn't play well for her. 4 legs do. She's just about adult. She's just about tired of this old fart walking so poorly.
Lighting up the wayback machine, ol' Bear (photo a few posts ago) also quartered. His spot on a hike was at 200 degrees and 30 yards. Totally silent. Maintained distance and angle. ...unless there was a kid around and all rules were off! His favorite flavor was disposable diapers...
Just tried to go back to bed. Kitchen, OK. Lab bench, OK. Pass by door before the rack, NOT OK. She seems to think my vestigial brain has totally atrophied. The last American-made dial thermometer reads 21 degrees. Nope. I'm not gonna thump it. I am not even vaguely amused with night-hiking. Yeah, I've been spoiling her since her granny's death. You'd do the same.
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