Today is Oonagh’s one year adoptiversary and we are all still hanging in together so I guess it’s safe to say it’s a good match. I figure she can start the day with scrambled eggs and Clonakilty pudding, and maybe finish it with her very own dish of ice cream. I try to be careful you know because I don’t like to spoil her. How do you celebrate your pet’s special day?
Truth of the matter is: some days you just need to get a good buzz on, for whatever the reason. Sometimes escape just doesn’t come soon enough or easily enough, so finding it in a good bottle of Westport Rivers Pinot Gris made with North Fork, Long Island grapes’ll have to do. Eau du terroir in a glass. And yesterday it was a delicious way to celebrate the birthday of @falkenflug and @lindylouloulou while anticipating tonight’s museum opening exhibit and next week’s escape to Utica. Because, you know? Canals, railroads, history, and old rust belt cities shared with kin — might not float everyone’s boat, but baby…it is my kinda jam.
Well, it took the Lecter mask and a double dose of meds to completely sedate Oonagh. She was a limp biscuit on her way into the house, carried from the car, tongue hanging out. She’s healthy and all is well, but I have to admit it is hard seeing her with her lights out, and I am thankful it’s only temporary. She has a splendid marrow bone waiting for her as a treat when she’s fully recovered from the anesthesia, but in the meantime, I suppose I should enjoy the quiet time until then.
Oonagh’s off to the vet this afternoon for her annual checkup…er, wait a minute…wasn’t that last week? Why, yes it was. Appointments during the pandemic-era are handled differently than they used to be. Call vet when you arrive on-site with pet. Tell them color and make of car and pet’s name. When exam room is available, tech will come out and escort you and pet directly into room after weigh-in. Weigh-in is perfect. Oonagh’s so smart as she steps on and sits on scale. Proceed to room. Tech leaves to gather more info while you wait. Overheard while waiting: “It’s Luna! No, it’s Oonagh! No, it’s Luna! No, Oonagh! Luna! Oonagh! Luna! What kind of car? Black Subaru.” Tech returns to room, “Is your dog’s name Luna or Oonagh? No, it’s Oonagh.” Tech leaves and returns to proceed with visit. Oh yes, she’s just so cute, big smiles, wiggly butt, gonna be your best friend. (Oonagh, not Vet Tech.)Yes, at the time the appointment was made it was mentioned she can go a bit ballistic and may need pre-medication/sedation. Tech leaves again, returns with second tech in tow. Oonagh is muzzled with a laughable muzzle that does nothing to prevent major jaw action, while techs struggle to manage procedure with an off-the-charts agile, acrobatic, Olympic-worthy Border Collie. Techs say they need to leave and “regroup.” They leave. Several minutes go by. They never return. However, the office manager does, with profuse apologies. There are new staff members, Oonagh’s appointment should have been scheduled as a new patient, meet-and-greet visit; two dogs, one named Oonagh, the other Luna, should not have been scheduled at the same time, and Oonagh’s excellence in agility trials should also have been noted. Hence, her appointment rescheduled for this afternoon when she will be properly sedated, and we will use the Hannibal Lecter mask she came with. It’s up to the vet staff whether or not they have their HazMat gear.
Today I’m remembering labor activists, loyal union members and the many who fought and continue to fight for living wages, social justice and humane working conditions for all. One of my favorite photos is of Marty’s dad and his fellow members of Steamfitters Local 818 all decked out in suits attending their executive board meeting. I’d like to honor them this Labor Day.
I’m wearing a sheer red caftan with nothing on underneath in photos featured previously here and on Instagram. There are hints of what lies beneath. But per social media guidelines, the photos are cropped, shot from a discreet angle, or fabric is gathered just so. Now imagine none of that. I’ve always responded best to suggestion rather than graphic depiction, hence my fascination with and love of pre-Code Hollywood, Hitchcock’s films and so on. Don’t spell out the gore for me, and only hint at the romantic encounter. Like they say, the brain is the best sex organ. Some folks, like me, prefer something left to the imagination for their own imaginative conjuring. I respect that, but for those who are perhaps too tired after a long day’s work to be bothered with imagining, there’s the alternative — Series III features me wearing the sheer red caftan but will leave little to the imagination. So what’s it gonna be?
As with previous series, each run is ten patrons or two weeks, whichever comes first. Series I lasted the two weeks, Series II lasted six days. Before I sell to anyone, they must be fully vetted and approved. There’s a link in my profile that explains this. Go to my blog, select French Postcards from the menu, and read. Then email me at the email listed. You can get vetted at any time. I recommend doing so before a series posts, as by the time I can get to confirmation it may be too late.
Oonagh’s off to the vet this morning for her first wellness checkup since we’ve had her — her last being a year ago right before we adopted her. We understand she freaks out when there — sounds like major motor city meltdown shakedown — so I am staying home and trusting the houseboy to get the job done right. To be honest, she and I have a rather symbiotic bond and if she’s feeding off any anxiety I may be feeling, and vice versa, it’s a blessing that I don’t go. We’ve been told that the kindest thing to do is have the vet put her under, otherwise muzzle her with a jar of Skippy peanut butter and hope for the best. We’ll see.
Last day of August and we are counting down the days until we can be back on the beach with Oonagh. The “no dogs on the beach” season used to be Memorial Day to Labor Day but many beaches have extended it from May 15 to September 15, our town included. Bet you can gue$$ why.
Photo: Vintage late 60’s/early 70’s Catalina Swimsuit
We only have one more episode left of “Brokenwood,” Season 7 and unless it gets renewed for another season, that’s it. I’ll miss that offbeat town with its memorable cast of characters — and the soundtrack, sort of folksy-country, and while I am not a fan of country music, I do enjoy the soundtrack to this series, as the country-music loving detective and his crew cruise wide open roads amidst the rolling green fields of New Zealand wine country. The music of one song is stuck in my head lately, but the lyrics set to that music are of my own making — because if I can’t remember the lyrics, I can at least remember the tune. And I rather like my own lyrics. They speak to the daydream always stuck on repeat in my head. So to kick off the week, hope you have your own good daydream to get you through to the weekend.
This is a rolling tune for wandering the dusty back roads of towns urban renewal thankfully overlooked. “I wanna live in a little country town, where the sky is big and the trees are tall, and no-body gets me down.” Haven’t figured out the rest of the story yet but sometimes I like not knowing where it’s going. How about you? Got your own ear worm?
Photo: Harvesting grapes yesterday.