Freezing rain is battering the east windows, the blustering wind driving it hard against the glass. It is not a day to be on the roads unless you absolutely have to, and luckily we don't need to go anywhere. I have a hot tea on the table beside me, and a book lays beside it.
We got up early this morning to make our first batch of campground reservations. Hurray - our camps for Sept and Oct are solidified. Yet to come is a try at Presquile. I've never been considered spontaneous and retirement hasn't changed me in any notable way, so I'm happy to have plans made at this time of year.
Gosh, the wind has picked up and the rain is now bucketing down in torrents.
For the last few months we have been doing the dogs nails with the dremel rather than clippers. Unfortunately, I don't keep at them on a regular basis, so it is a constant struggle to keep them from clacking. The dogs hate it. Here's what I wrote about it in my writing practice:
" Three pairs of glowing eyes gleamed in the dim light under the desk. The items on top of the desk shook with the vibrations from the huddling dogs beneath it. I reached my hand in and brought out the first victim. Spike backed up frantically, trying to get out of his collar so he could make an escape. I scooped him up in my arms and carried him to the altar. The soft mattress and smooth sheets of the futon cradled his trembling body as I tipped him onto his side.
Carm joined the attack and gripped Spike's limbs in his hands. The dremel flicked on and the sound of buzzing filled the air, drowning out any verbal protests by the small dog. Foot by foot, nail by nail, slowly his nails were trimmed back until they would no longer make the dreaded click, clack on the wood floors.
Finished! And the little dog jumps off and runs away ecstatic at having made it out alive.
Bella is nearby, maybe she figures getting it over with is better than the awful anticipation. Or maybe it was an accident, one she'll be sure to guard against in the future. I grab her collar and walk her over. She jumps onto the futon and I lay her on her side. Carm sits down beside her and grips her legs. I get to work, shortening and sculpting each nail, hoping to get them short enough that they don't hit the floor. Jerk, her foot nearly pulls out of my hand. A small drop of blood on her nail tells me why. She struggles to get away, but Carm is too strong. Foot by foot, nail by nail, slowly her nails are ground back. The simple word "ok" has her jumping off the futon and dancing for joy.
Kabira. Hum. I wonder where she is? A quick glance around doesn't yield a result so I start looking more carefully. She's still under the desk, shaking like a leaf and looking out at me, hoping I can't see her. Gently, I take her collar and ease her out and over to the gallows. With a little encouragement she jumps up and of her own volition lies on her side, her legs sticking out. She cries a bit and I feel like a cruel overlord, but get to work anyway. Carm has her pinned so her flailing legs don't knock me in the face. Foot by foot, nail by nail, slowly her nails are trimmed back in the vain hope that she won't clack. It's no use, I let them get too long months ago and the progress to get them short again is painfully slow.
With glee she jumps off the futon and dances over to the fridge where a special treat awaits all three. "
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