Thank goodness for good Samaritans.
Ma’dog Shayna’s electronic tether allows her to go about 90 feet from our house. She has been so controlled over two years.
The ‘collar? shocks her, or me, when I forget to take it off in the car. And, I take it off at night. So, sometimes, when I know the two of us are going for a ride I let her outside sans collar.
I did that at about 10:30 the morning of December 19.
At 11, when my call, ‘Wanna go for a ride?? went unaswered, I knew something was up. That call always trips her excitement nerves and brings her running to our van.
Continuous calling and whistling had the same results. There’d been a fresh snow, so I circled the yard for tracks. Nothing. I looked up and down the road hoping not to see anything but joggers. Didn’t even see them.
So, I did the car search thing. Then I asked my dog-conscious son if dogs usually came home. He said they did, and I went about my accomplishing-nothing routine.
At our newspaper office at 2:20 p.m. my neighbor lady called to say she had Shayna. Neighbor Chris is a good Samaritan, but not this story’s hero.
Seems she got a call from Paisley (isn’t that a great name?) a dog walker who found Shayna in a subdivision several hundred feet east of our home.
She had gotten our name and address from the county animal control on Brown Road. Seems they have a data-base to link license number and owner, which she learned at Lakeville Animal Clinic, just outside of Oxford.
So, where was Shayna between 10:30 and 2:20?
Paisley said, ‘I was in the subdivision to see two of my dogs, and there stood Shayna. I opened the car door and she jumped in. I could see she was friendly and unabused, and I took her with me on my errands.
‘We went to Rochester and environs, to Lakeville and to the clinic. Shayna just looked out the window or laid down.?
Thing is, she didn’t seem particularly happy to be home. Post Script . . . Paisley calls Shayna one of ‘her dogs,? and brought her Christmas presents.
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I don’t know how long we should keep eggs in our refrigerators, but two weeks seem enough to me. Whatever are there then get hard-boiled.
I love hard-boiled eggs, cut in half, laid in a tablespoon and soaked with vinegar. Gone in one gulp.
The idea was to put the eggs in a pan of water, let it boil just over 10 minutes, pour out the water and cover the eggs with ice cubes to aid peeling.
Well, my memory is about as long as a clock tick, and I went off to the Oxford Rotary Club luncheon.
Two hours later an awful smell hit me as I opened the door. It wasn’t the fireplace, there was no smoke and the smell was unfamiliar.
On to the kitchen.
Wow! Five of the six eggs had exploded. Pieces of yolk were everywhere . . . the stove hood, floor, across the countertops, and a week later daughter Luan asked, ‘What’s that on your ceiling??
I hadn’t looked up.
The result is I now have egg on my ceiling and face. But that lesson did nothing for my memory.
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One of the more unbelievable commercials recently had a woman extolling the benefits of her new bath fixtures.
It opens with the woman readying her daughter for school, and ends with her saying, ‘I look forward to coming home and having a bubble bath.?
C’mon! There isn’t a mother in the world with a school-age child who can experience a bubble bath before midnight.