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I’m definitely going to keep him.
Oddly, I have two posts in a row about my husband … I’ve been too busy with the roof and the other outside stuff to slow down, but this is just too, too, well, see for yourself:
I had to race home early from work yesterday with a malady of GI tract proportions.
John and Cooper met me happily at the door exclaiming their excitement that I’d come home early, but I rushed past them to through my purse, keys and papers on the floor, saying “I’m sick, bring a garbage bag to the bathroom!”
And he showed up to empty garbage from the pale, and put a clean liner in it and set it within reach in front of me, and asked if I needed anything more and left me to my misery, all with the efficiency of a nurse.
Later, as I flumped into bed and burrowed under the covers, I put in a request for Gatorade and ginger ale, both requiring a trip to the store.
I fell asleep.
He went hell-on-wheels shopping for mega-groceries.
When I woke up later he brought me a Gatorade and listed off a few more things he’d purchased — comfort foods to help comfort me in my hour(s) of intestinal distress/dead-asleepness.
I wandered out to the kitchen later to see heaped on the counter: the largest container of Gatorade mix available outside of the commercial wholesale marketplace, a 2-liter diet ginger ale, a 12-pack of regular ginger ale, a bag of triple-chocolate cookies, a bag of mint Oreos (“sorry, they didn’t have them in double-stuff”), bananas, two boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios (we tried to buy them on sale at Walmart Saturday, but somehow they didn’t make it home with us, I was terribly disappointed, but not anymore), string cheese (“and look,” he said, “it’s Cheesehead cheese.”), four Ramen noodle packs, five apples (because that’s his rule), tropical fruit trail mix and Cheddar Jalapeno Cheetos.
At the time, I just smiled, which was more than I thought I had in me.
But this morning, as I was telling the story to a co-worker, I imagined John rushing through the store, grabbing every comfort food he could imagine me, or him, wanting, worrying about whether I would want regular or diet ginger ale and searching the aisle frantically for both, and being so obviously torn between buying good for me foods and all the not-so-good for me foods that I like. … Honestly, though, two bags of cookies and spicy hot Cheetos for a person in intestinal agony? I laughed so hard I cried.
My guts won’t be right enough for Cheddar Jalapeno Cheetos for a while, but by-gawd, I got ’em.
And a few cookies didn’t kill me none at all today at pam[at]viewfromthenorth40.com
(Author’s note: I’m pretty sure the problem was too many days of mild dehydration = total dehydration and a core system meltdown. Is it totally weird to not like water?)
Last night at sunset I let Cooper out to make his rounds and mark his territory like the he-mutt he is, but about 20 seconds after I closed the door he started barking like a little mad man. He had something serious going on so I looked out the door and John came from his shop, both thinking we would see a strange vehicle or one of those creepy have-hammer-will-work-for-food guys in the drive. Nope.
It was a 3.5 ft. rattlesnake half-coiled 12 feet away from the front step (where Cooper was barking) and right in the middle of the 5-foot space between our car and house where we walk all the time. John opened the front door for Cooper to retreat to a happy place in the safety of his home, I put the smack down on the snake with my not-so-sharp-anymore sickle-type weed whacker and John disposed of the body. It takes a village to dispatch a snake around here.
We really praised Cooper for barking before we put him in the house and after we went back in get him out from under the table. We started, last year, training him to bark at the snakes rather than just running to hide so he could help us locate and eradicate them when they come down around the house. It’s also really helped his confidence. He definitely used a watch-dog voice to let us know about the snake. He was all “Intruder alert!! Call 911! Intruder alert!! You do not belong here!!” rather than an “Oh, lawd! I’m gonna die out here!!! Why meeeee!!”
It took a little coaxing to get him past the snake spot that night (some blood spillage occurred during the fracas), but once he was past the spot he was all happy and full of himself again — as he was this morning too.
Every day should be Super Cooper Day at pam[at]viewfromthenorth40.com
K-Pam the Adorable
It’s a grand day for finding the bestest of things and stuff!
In my email, I found a random photo of K-Pam looking adorbz and all in a new snow suit, with her little puggly buddy Puck telling the photographer, “I’m paying you premium price here to catch the essence of her mega-cuteness, bub, so double-check the lighting and the angle. Hey, I don’t think you’re doing it right, man. Ah, hell, she’s so cute, she can even make you look good, dude.”
And it ain’t so much in the unbearable adorableness of being department, but just so you know, I wore my winter coat today for the first time since last spring … and found my missing glasses. How pumped am I now?
I’m totally buying a lottery ticket tomorrow at: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40.com
View from the North 40 