40 years of hosing fun

This weed needs water. Too bad. It's on the other side of the fence and Roamer has declared it an enemy. I wanted to see Roamer wrestle it in her madness because, even though it is dead, is still taller and bigger around than my little Roamer. How do you rip something out of the ground that has leafs bigger than your thighs and thorns longer than your thumbs?



We bought this box in Provence, France last winter. It has gold Cicadas in it. They love cicadas in Provence. They market the little buggers that go "shweeyou shweeyou shweeyou" like a local treasure. I want to say "French dudes... these bugs walk down the gutters in Kansas..." When you open the leetle box, the leetle cicadas weegle back and forth and make that funny shweeyou noise. You have to wiggle it though.



Two weeks ago I got scared. The gold bugs would start making noise for no reason - even with the lid closed. I would reach out to tap the box and they would stop. I would walk away and they would start. I would start toward the box and it would stop again. Slowly walk away - START!. What weirdo freakin' spanish ghost dwarf is freakin' with me now HUH!?!?!?!

Reminds me of a story. I was watering the summer brown spots in our little yard this afternoon, taking care not to water that aforementioned dead monster weed that was staring at me across the fence. Roamer came out and I squirted her with the hose. It was fun. Suddenly I was trasported to 1966 in DeSoto, KS. I was 2.5 or 3 years old. My earliest memory was picking up a hot green hose one summer evening and using both my little chubby hands to squeeze the handle on the nozzle to squirt water. It was the neighbor's hose, so I pointed it at the two neighbor girls (whose patio I was tresspassing upon) and squirted them quite evenly. They ran screaming inside. I waited around. They came back out in their little dressy dresses. I hosed them pretty expertly this time, having had a little practice at this point. They ran in again. Out comes their Dad. He reaches down and yanks the hose away from my hands withour saying a word and hurls it into his garage and shuts the door. He had black hair. I remember!

Dulcinea

We got a new dog from the Spanish Doggy Prison. There was quite a variety of dogs there. I picked the one that seemed most out of place in prison, was the youngest, and had a healthy innocence. I also opted for a female. Dulcinea fit the profile.



"Dulcinea" is a name borrowed from Don Quixote. The author of Don Quixote, Cervantes, lived in our town here 500 years ago. The name translates as "sweetness" it works with her doggy prison name "Trufa" which means sweet chocolate. HA! I like her paw coloring. I was also drawn to her hair. It is not "fur" because it feels like an old black wig that was found under an old box, or perhaps a sorority girl's "poof-doo" after too much hairspray and a 48 hour binge in Tijuana. Endearing - what can I say?



She is a lot of fun. I look forward to seeing her and playing with her in the back yard. Plainly speaking, I need a little creature to hug and harrass. Dulcinea also growls at strangers that come to the door. Even if they are Romanian kidnappers!