Wednesday, September 28, 2005, 17:33
Short and Shorter
At the end of September, I am always taken by surprise to see how short the days are getting. Only a month ago, the sun was setting at around 8 p.m. -- and now it's setting at 7 p.m.
I have to keep reminding myself that this is merely an indication of things to come because in December, the sun will set a little after 4:30 p.m. and it will be dark very early.
I don't know why I am taken by surprise when the days grow shorter. All summer long, I watch the sun moving farther south. During the longest days, the sun sets a little north of a television tower northwest of our place (PBS tower). On the shortest days, the sun sets far south.
When the sun is at its northern most point, I have a hard time remembering what it's like when its at its southern point, and when it's at its southern point, I have hard time remembering what it's like at its northern point.
The sun sets even with an ash tree on the south side of our property in December. I know this because I usually see the sunset when I am down in the barn, doing my evening chores. Right now, at the end of September, the sun is much more than halfway to the ash tree when it sets.
As far as I'm concerned, I am happier when the sun sets north of the tower and there is still a bit of faint light in the sky at 10 p.m. But I am happy in January, too, when I can actually see that the sun has started on its northern journey once again.
LeAnn R. Ralph
Sophie Update: Sophie has now learned that she can climb on the screens in the living room. The two windows on either side of the picture window are crank out windows, so the screen is on the inside. Tuesday evening, I walked past the living room and spied Sophie clinging to the screen with all four feet. She was halfway to the top.
Sophie had a good reason for climbing the window, though. There was a moth bumping against the screen and she was determined to get it! I plucked her off the screen, encouraged the moth to go outside by blowing on him, and closed the window. Then I distracted Sophie with a toy. It's easy to distract Sophie with a toy. Thank goodness.
A little while later, when I was in my office checking e-mail, I heard "KA-THWACK KA-THUMP" And then Pixie came running in and curled up by my feet under the desk. A minute later, Randy came in the office carrying my green fleece zip up jacket that had been hanging over a chair.
"Why are you chasing Pixie with my jacket?" I said.
"I'm not," Randy said. "I was showing Sophie that it's not a good idea to climb on the screens."
"Oh," I said. "You'd better apologize to Pixie, then."
Which he did.
Pixie was relieved. She thought it was something she had done, although she had no idea *what* it could have been.
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Tuesday, September 27, 2005, 18:50
Clean and Fluffy
"Here, Pixie! -- Ohhhhhh Pixie! -- Come heeeere, Pixie!"
Of course, Pixie didn't want a *thing* to do with it. She was hiding underneath the desk in my office by Randy's feet Monday evening -- and she wasn't going to budge.
Whenever I take off Pixie's collar and brush her, she knows what's coming next.
A bath.
And as far as Pixie is concerned, "bath" is a four-letter word, and if she never heard it again, she would be a happy dog, indeed.
As soon as I had finished brushing Pixie, she took refuge under the desk. Sometimes I brush her without giving her a bath, but Pixie wasn't going to take any chances.
"Here, Pixie!" I said again.
"Go on, Pixie," Randy said, nudging Pixie with his toe.
Reluctantly, Pixie crept out from beneath the desk, ears drooping, tail down.
"Good girl!" I said.
I picked her up, walked to the bathroom and put her in the tub.
Pixie is supposed to get a bath once a week. That's what the allergist told me. I am allergic to dogs, and I am supposed to be giving her a bath once a week to cut down on the dog dander in the house.
Even though she's supposed to get a bath once a week, I am lucky if I get it done once a month. Which is just fine with Pixie!
During the summer, she gets a bath outside with the hose. After sitting in the sun all day, the water in the hose is as warm as -- well -- as warm as bath water. At other times of the year, I give her a bath in the tub.
Pixie, like all Shetland Sheepdogs, hates water. Her attitude is, "I am a herding dog. I am NOT a water dog!" Ask a Sheltie to do anything else -- go out in subzero temperature, go out in a rain storm, go for a snowshoe walk in deep snow, go out on a hot day -- a Sheltie will do it as long as "their person" goes with them.
They do not, however, like baths.
Pixie is good about getting a bath, though. My previous Shetland Sheepdog, Lady, was convinced she couldn't stand up in the bathtub. Pixie not only doesn't worry about slipping, she also walks around and around and around the tub while I am applying shampoo, sudsing and rinsing. When I'm finished, I draw the shower curtain shut and she can shake as much as she wants to get rid of some of the water.
When we are through, I towel dry her, and then she runs around the living room, trying to rub herself dry the rest of the way. When she's outside, she tries to rub herself dry on the peonies, the daylilies and the blue flag iris. The couch works better for rubbing herself dry. It's an old couch -- so I don't really mind.
By Tuesday morning, Pixie was pretty much dry, and her fur was so fluffy she looked like she was twice as big as she had been the day before.
I keep telling Pixie how pretty she looks after her bath Monday night, and that she smells good, to boot -- but she's not buying it. She never does.
LeAnn R. Ralph