Taming the jungle

If any of ye socks had asked me twenty years ago about my feelings toward yardwork . . . especially on the weekend . . . the answer would have been far different than it is today.

Back then, it was all about forced labor on a dusty, Texas-sized parcel of land.

The infrequent reward was a ten dollar bill. More often than not, however, I was told to be thankful for the roof over my head and three squares a day.

Oh, how times have changed.

Nowadays, I actually enjoy working in the yard. At least, early in the mornings. Any other time of day, and it's just too hot in this little corner of heaven.

I guess one of the reasons I've grown to enjoy it so much is because it's one of the few times left in this hectic world where I can unplug. I'm no longer the slave of a computer or cell phone, just the unruly botanical encroachments on my (thankfully) postage-stamp sized patch of green.

Lately, I've been trying to fight the war out there with "earth friendly" tactics. I use a push mower and edge with a hoe. Both, are decidedly less convenient methods, but I can use the exercise. And, in addition to the cut in carbon emissions, I'm enjoying the reduced fuel costs and decibel levels around here.

Also, I've been trying to use organic methods to ward off the annoying little sprouts that creep up between my brick walks. Unfortunately, they have been a decided failure, requiring yours truly to get down to the bruising and scraping task of trying to fight the battle mano a mano.

I get a lot of thinking done out there, though. At least until the neighbors start waking up for their morning strolls. They either want to chat or let their canine companions christen my horticultural palate. A few interruptions like that, combined with the growing intensity of the Florida sun, generally drive me back indoors well before lunch time.

Such is the state of affairs on this particular kick-off to the weekend . . .

Has the economy gone to the dogs?

I think so, especially after learning about an old Pavlovian experiment with canine subjects.

Two dogs were put in separate cages. A bell would ring, after which they would be "zapped" by some low voltage.

But, one of the dogs had a button that would stop the zapping in both cages. Eventually, he learned to hit that button as soon as the bell rang to save both himself and his unwitting comrade.

Later, the same two dogs were put in different cages. This time, both had the ability to stop the zapping by simply moving from one side of the cage to the other.
Well, the dog who had previously had a switch in his cage started looking for a solution as soon as he heard the bell ringing, until he eventually learned the new steps that were necessary to stop the zapping.

But, in the other cage, the dog who had never been taught about the switch heard the bell and immediately began cowering and whimpering. He hadn't been taught to search for a solution to his misery. This response has been labeled a "learned disability."

The behavioralist who presented the experiment says lessons may be drawn from it and applied to our current economic situation.

The folks "in the know" got used to pushing the Fed to flip the switch on interest rates every time our financial bell started ringing. But, now that's not going to work. So, while the eggheads scramble around trying to figure out what the new solution is going to be, the economically illiterate are cowering and whimpering rather than trying to find the solution, too.

Pretty thought provoking stuff. But, I think we're going to keep getting zapped if The Disaster in Waiting leads us down the road to socialism in the attempt to find that solution . . .

Going to the dogs?

Despite my recent post about the bad dog owner who let her pets drink from and urinate on a public water fountain, ye socks know I am an animal lover at heart.

Well, while I was unpacking at the new abode, I discovered a beautiful dog nosing around my back yard. (I don't have a fence, so I guess that pretty much gave her the license to roam.)

Anyway, when I went to investigate, I discovered the pooch in question belongs to my new neighbors Greg and Gail. And, she had a "big brother."

Gail gave me a mini-lesson on the breed, English Springer Spaniel. And, believe it or not, I am now contemplating a puppy. It may be a year or so before I act on it, but the seed has been planted.

If you want to plant a seed of your own, check out this breeder web site:

http://www.churchillenglishspringers.com

Click on the "Puppies" tab, and you can find out all about a litter of eleven--yes ELEVEN--pups who were born in May. (8 females, and 3 males) They even have a live puppy cam. So, even if you cannot adopt one yourself, you can at least have a desktop menagerie for entertainment.

Cheers!

The Reason for Bottled Water

Disclaimer: I am NOT a dog person. At all.

In fact, I am beginning to become not a "dog person" person.

Here's why:

So, I'm driving home, along my usual route to the Lake Hammer Chalet, when I came to a red light near a public park that shall remain unnamed here.

It was there I noticed a youngish lady walking two dogs. Lest you think I was merely ogling the girl, let me also say that the two dogs in question were such a stark contrast that they would have attracted anyone's attention. One was a Great Dane, and the other was a Boston Terrier.

Anyway, the point of all this is the woman walked her two canine companions to a water fountain in said park. I thought she was getting a drink for herself. Instead, she flipped on the water and allowed the Great Dane to quench his thirst.

It was absolutely disgusting, his big slobbery mouth all over the font where we humans are expected to derive our own libations.

But, what happened next was equally as bad.

As the bigger dog was getting his germs all over the hardware, the little terrier was hiking his leg and releasing a golden stream all over the side of the fountain!

The now-unattractive walker seemed oblvious to it all as she chatted on her cell phone.

I, on the other hand, have made a commitment to never use a public water fountain again . . .