Monday, February 13, 2017

A DAY IN THE SOUTHWEST

                                                   
I thought I would switch gears and just for craps and giggles write about our stay in Arizona. Since the 1st of the year, Pat and I and our two dogs have resided in Maricopa, which is south of Phoenix and fifteen miles from Casa Grande, if that means anything to you. Our house is in a retirement community so unless someone’s grandchildren are visiting it’s pretty much the haunt of the silver heads. Just like in the Army, lights out, is around 9.30 p.m and wakeup is around 6.30 a.m. although you don’t see too many people exiting their abodes before 8 a.m, unless it’s women in their housecoats to get the newspaper or old men in their---aw forget it.

One of our early morning activities is walking the dogs. I did walk Molly up north too but there are some changes. #1 is Molly has to be on a leash and this automatically turns this seventy-five pound Lab into a sled dog and I have worn the heels out of my shoes and probably will need roto-cuff surgery when I get back to Minnesota. #2 is up north, Molly poops in the woods and my theory is if it’s good enough for the bears, it’s good enough for Molly. Not down here. No woods and no bears and strict orders to pick up after your pet. Most people you meet with pets have a leash in one hand and a bag of excrement in the other. Blows my theory about not taking any crap from anyone. The place is clean so everybody for the most part participates. The contents of the bags go into the garbage, along with the plastic bag, which isn’t supposed to, but I draw the line at cleaning out the bags and recycling them.

We have lots of rabbits along the trails, which by the way are beautiful trails winding their way through ponds, and green meadows and along the backyards of beautiful homes. The ‘Sound of Music,’ could have been filmed here instead of traveling over to Bavaria or wherever they went, but back to the rabbits. Pats dog Bailey is very good at flushing rabbits out of the bushes so she-- Bailey not Pat-- dives in and Molly remains outside ready to pounce on the prey. This necessitates me into burying a deadhead to hold myself back when the rabbit runs out and Molly takes chase. I can tell by my shirtsleeve length that my right arm-- my leash holding arm-- is now an inch longer then the left.  The rabbits have no real enemies here, save for the occasional encounter with a Grand Cherokee driven by someone with 60 80 vision, who has trouble distinguishing anything beyond the hood ornament.

Needless to say dogs waste elimination, is not limited to solid wastes. The liquid waste you can’t pick up. Molly is some kind of self-proclaimed doggie urinalysis analyzer, so this necessitates many stops for her to really breathe in the aroma. It’s like pou- pouri for dogs. They say a dogs nose is hundreds of times more sensitive then humans so for us to really draw a parallel to this, it would be like sticking your head in a full diaper pail. Not really finding the attraction here.


Since I’m limited to about 6oo words in this column I have spent the whole allotment talking about the unsavory bathroom habits of dogs and I have no room left to tell you how nice it is here, but you’re in Minnesota and I’m down here and you don’t want to hear it about it anyway, so Ta Ta until next week.---Mike

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