Monday, June 2
Since I first spotted the deer behind our camp four days ago on the day of our arrival on Badger Mountain, she has reappeared twice each day, in the morning and at dusk. Today another deer is with her but he/she slips into the woods as soon as I go outside to take a photo.
January and February money reports are up!
I’m online all morning until almost two in the afternoon. If you’re new to this blog, the reports summarize our travels for the month and show income and outgo, plus amount of savings and also Amazon earnings. All this can be accessed through the topic “Money 2014” in the header at the top. Please feel free to ask any questions you may have about those reports.
At some point during the morning, I take a break.
I’m sitting in my camp chair soaking up some rays when a truck pulls up. Uh-oh, it’s the ranger paying me a little visit.
The young man is courteous and friendly and professional, but you know how it is . . . There’s always an underlying tension in these meetings. He asks the usual questions, including “So, you live in South Dakota?” That question is designed to figure out if the person camping is living full-time in their camper.
My answer?
“Well, I’m not there very much. You see, all my life I never had much chance to travel or to camp, so now that I’m retired, I’m making up for lost time, seeing the West.” Am I evasive? Yes. Did I lie? No.
Fortunately this ranger doesn’t pursue the subject.
He does ask if I’m camping alone and offers his assistance if I need anything. I thank him and volunteer that I know about the 14-day limit and I will follow it.
He leaves and I go back online for another couple hours.
The crew’s patience with me runs out.
“Okay, okay. You’re right. We haven’t taken our long walk yet.”
Not in the mood to drive anywhere for a place to walk, I lead the crew up the slope behind our camp.
There are a series of meadows separated by stands of aspens and firs as well as streams of melted snow and ice coming down from the top of the mountain.
The climbing walk is good exercise and we enjoy it.
Of course, it isn’t long before we stop while Spike cools his heels. Notice the closed eyes.
Why go around a patch of mud when it’s shorter to walk right through it? Makes sense.
Okay, let’s talk fat.
You know how you’re feeling good about yourself and then somebody takes your picture when you’re not wearing black, when you’re not holding your gut in, or when you’re not standing behind the high-back chair, and then they show you the photo? You look at yourself and go, “Holy crap, I look like hell.”
Well, that’s kinda’ what happened to the Bridge today. I refer to the photo below.
I look at that photo and go, “Holy crap, she looks like hell.”
I’ve been aware for a long time that Bridget is overweight.
She was a young dog at a normal weight when I brought her home. I was teaching then, leaving at six in the morning on my commute. I would come home around eleven or twelve hours later, exhausted. Bridget probably napped all day long, stuck in the house with Spike, five days a week.
Our house was situated beside a long, straight stretch of road that people liked to speed on and it didn’t have much of a shoulder, so walking along it was not an option. The surrounding properties were fenced. That meant no daily walks. Not good for a dog with a rate of metabolism on par with a lamp.
I’ve reduced her portions as much as I can without making her miserable.
As it is, the plate of food I give Bridget holds about half what I give Spike. They eat twice a day. I buy lean meat. Spike chews the fat off any bones I hand out before Bridget has her turn at them.
Well, increase her exercise, you say.
Not that easy. It’s not like I can put her on a treadmill or make her run laps or drop her off for her pilates class. We go for two walks a day, a long and a short. When she doesn’t want to walk anymore, she sits down. Actually, she sits down a lot. Sometimes she refuses to take a walk at all.
I know being overweight will probably shorten her life.
I wish I could do something to help her, but I’ve exhausted all acceptable options. She’s a chubby dumpling of a dog and it looks like she always will be. God bless her. She keeps us warm at night.
Meanwhile . . .
By the time the crew and I return from our walk on the slopes behind our camp, Bridget and Spike both have muddy paws and my Keen sandals are caked with mud, too. Not to worry. We Keeners know that mud won’t hurt them. I left them on the blue mat for the mud to dry and fall off (photo below). I may have to wash them.
You can also see in the photo that the mat is smaller.
Sometimes I fold the mat into a 4.5 foot by 12 foot size because there are rocks or a bush or something in the way. It’s wide enough for a chair and still extends the length of the Best Little Trailer.
Can you find the dumpling in the photo?
You also can see in the photo that everything is dirty… the shoes, the mat, the chair, the BLT. I’ll deal with that . . . one of these days.
rvsue
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“Is she done talking about me?”
