A Little Common Sense about Heat.

This is long but please read it to the end. It’s getting to be summer and looks like a hot one. Why did I bother to write this. Cause you are my friends or at least friendly acquaintances and I want to get Christmas cards from you.
I’m a born and bred 6th generation Texican, 64 years old. In the AF I was in Korea and froze my ass off. In Saudi Arabia I was happy with the 135 degrees. Of course, I wasn’t humping a 60 lb pack either, but I could do everything I was supposed to.

 

The point of my story? You have to be very careful in high heat. Stay hydrated, wear protection of sunscreen, long sleeves and a hat with a brim that’s not touching the top of your head. And stay out of the sun in midday. Siesta is a way of life to us old timers. It’s not a cute custom, its necessary. Did I say drink lots of Water! Coke, beer and coffee don’t do it. Remember, once you get Heat Exhaustion its like malaria, it never quite goes away and you have to be extra careful. My German farmer ancestors would get up at daybreak, do whatever needed to be done, come in at noon, eat a good meal of protein, carbs and veggies, then take a long nap. Then they’d work in the house or barn until 4 PM or so and go out to work to dark. No A/C at all cause it didn’t exist back then.
As a 911 operator I saw two heat-related deaths. Both AF guys in great condition. A pilot and a high ranking officer. Both went out in the midday heat wearing skimpy clothes and ran for exercise. The pilot was literally found in a ditch, no ID so it took fingerprints to tell us who he was. The other gent was running around perimeter road. But they knew him cause of who he was. But his rank didn’t save him.
So, here’s the third tip. When you do decide it’s safe to run, at the very least carry your identification and a list of your medications. That way if they do find you alive its easier to help you.

 

And last but not least, if you run at night, please run in a well-lit area, and wear reflective clothing (or at least white). I was driving out to our old barn along a dark road, no lights whatsoever. All I saw was little flashy things close to the ground but I pulled over as to not hit the bunny. As I passed by I saw it was a young lady in a dark sweat suit running beside the road and in a large grassy field. I went on out to do the horse thing and noticed a very large tractor mowing the grass. This Scared me stupid. On the way back, I passed the gal again. This time I stopped and made her get in the car and took her back to her car. Why? She was running in the dark in a place that had rattlesnakes, coyotes and stray dog packs. But what really scared me was if she had fallen, been bitten by one of the above or passed out, that big ole tractor would not have seen her. She would have been found by someone in the morning all shredded. I still get the shivers.

 
So, here you go. Please, please think of the worst thing possible and move to prevent it. I’m not that smart, but my grandparents and their parents taught me some common sense and self-preservation. I can only hope this tirade of mine might, just maybe prevent some unnecessary injuries or save a life.
I’m through now. Thanks.


Holidays

Holidays are certainly interesting.  You hear from and are visited by your family and you need to be able to deal happily and quietly with them. And this year my family had to look past who was missing in the celebration.

But I am by nature a bit of a loner.  I’m happier at home with my dogs, than going out to visit.

I think we are all this way just a bit.  And unfortunately the one person who was the central cog/linchpin for us was my Mother.  I say that sadly because she left us a year and a half ago.  She knew all our foibles, our preferences and our dislikes.  She knew what to say when we ran to her with skinned knees as children or money problems as adults.

My dad has never been one of those touchy-feeley sorts.  He grew up in the 30s and 40s when men were too busy making money for the family to really be a part of the family. It was always up to the wives to pull everything together and keep the cookies baking and the meat roasting.  And his career in the Air Force kept our Dad often away for a day, a week and sometimes even a year’s deployment.It was her wisdom and determination that held us together. So even now, there is an unmistakable hole in the center of the family when we get together proving once again that though the husband may be the head of the family, the wife and mother are the heart.

So, if you’re one of the lucky ones who, on a holiday trip home, walk into a bright, warm kitchen filled with love, laughter and the wonderful smells of turkey, ham or delivered Chinese Food give that woman (or man for that matter) a big hug,  a loudy smacky kiss and spin them around while laughing together.  Because a house without a wife is only a building with a lonely husband inside.

 

 

 


Rats and Jacks in the house pt 5

Previously: I have lost my Bridget, but found little Katie.  She had been imprisoned in ‘the pound from hell’ with a little identical male, possibly a litter mate. I has now been discovered that she is pregnant.

The vet assured me that she was indeed pregnant, possible 3 or 4 weeks.  We should have a Christmas Gift.  No, she doesn’t do abortions at this late date.

My husband was out of town, so I called him and told him of the good(?) news.  As I expected, he was underwhelmed.  Telling him about the more than likely father, he seemed better.  At least they were going to be Rat Terriers, at least we could hope so.

But she was so skinny! So, I started feeding her like a French king, or Henry VIII. Every morning she got scrambled eggs with cottage cheese.  Though, that doesn’t sound good to us.  She quite thought she was in heaven and always asked politely for more.  Then I made sure she had a good quality kibble and raw meat once in a while.  She finally quit looking like a starving pup herself and began to look maternal, though she never got big. A woman I knew (nameless) overheard me talking to my friends about the food I was preparing for Katie.  She commented that she wouldn’t spend so much money on mutt puppies from a dog I got from a pound. I was taken aback.  I took a deep breath and replied that maybe so, but they were my mutt puppies and they were going to get the best start I could give them.

Well, it was the middle of Dec, a cold and rainy night.  I got off late, the kids on my school bus were in high spirits with Christmas Vacation due in two days.  My husband said to meet him at our favorite Mexican Restaurant. So during our lovely dinner, I asked if the dogs when out before he came.  He said, yes, all but Katie.  That seemed odd to me but I was in the middle of some great cheese enchiladas.

So when we got home, Abbott and Jessie met us at the door. No Katie. I found her in the middle of our king-sized bed on the comforter.  She had one baby already, and was delivering a second one.  For a ten month old pup, she was doing beautifully.  Then after about fifteen minutes, something else appeared, a dark lump.  Honestly , I couldn’t tell if it was afterbirth, a piece of poop, or another pup.  I poked at it with my finger and it squeeked.  So, it was indeed a puppy, a tiny little brown puppy, perfect in every way.

David came in and looked, seeing the two little spotted pups, asked “only two? Well, they are spotted after all.”

I had to laugh and point at little brownie. “Well, most of them.”

“Where did he come from?”

I pointed at Katie, who was dutifully cleaning her three sons.  “There’s the culprit. When in jail, a girls gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”  She looked at me suspiciously. Yes, I had saved her, but she’d only known us for a month and a half.

“Why are they all brown?”

And that was a good question.  For a black and white mama, and ostensibly a black and white papa, the spotted pups were white with brown spots and browny was, well, totally brown.  But I had no answers.

We moved the little family into the small bedroom where her bed was set up.  I set up a little heater for them setting it at 80 degrees.  Little Katie looked up at me, and smiled.

 

 

 

 

 


Genetics and silliness

I ran across Ancestry.com’s latest ad.  It was ‘exposing’ that Brits aren’t really British.  I had to laugh because of what I know about the history of the British Isles makes their whole ‘discovery’ hilarious.  For whatever its worth, my BS is in Sociology, with a minor in History and Literature.  Now I’m not arguing with them, they’re right, but lets explain it a little.

Here’s the original article complete with pie chart.

The British Are Less British Than We Think

And here’s my response.

I’m sorry I had to laugh at the pie chart put out by the Ancestry people. Anyone shocked at their results should pull out their history books and read them.  They show the Irish Celtic DNA (technically the Native Englanders) the Romans fought showed at 22%. Italian/Greek showed at 3%. It sounds like some Roman Soldiers had a little fun on their liberty days before being recalled from Hadrian’s Wall and Bath to fight the barbarians at the gate. Anglo Saxons ok. The Saxons moved into England and were in charge for a long time after Rome fell so 37% sounds right. As far as Western European/French uh, HELLO, Normans as in William the Conqueror who showed up and beat the Saxons show 20%. Scandinavians well, here comes the Vikings with 9%. The Iberian influx were maybeee survivors of Spanish Armada at 3%. and the infamous Other at 7%. Actually, I’m surprised that its such a low number. Give it another century, it will be much higher probably showing more middle eastern. But overall. It just doesn’t matter. its okay for fun, but I wouldn’t take it seriously.

Here’s the big main deal.  Populations are fluid.  We can track it in the history books, we can see it in the bazaars and the forums.  There is no such thing as races, only ethnicities and religions.  They come, they go.  We may or may not like it, but it is what it is.

Checking human DNA is like checking a Rat Terrier.

The Rat Terrier is a working farm dog.  It is part white terrier, part Whippet, part Beagle, and maybe some Jack Russell or even Dachshund.  Basically, whatever was successful survived.  A stupid dog, like a stupid person just doesn’t live very long without societal help.

Be proud of who you are. Because you are the result of successful blood lines.  Your forbearers survived feast, famine, war and pestilence.  Some traveled to different islands or even continents.  It’s okay to be new, you just have to be successful.