They’re changing BZ’s insulin. Which means he’s got to wear a glucose monitor for awhile. Which means we’ve got to ‘install’ one on his belly.
Last time we did this, it went well. We cut his hair, and I zapped him with the Installation Tool while he was napping, and it worked fine, first try. So I wasn’t worried.
So we cut a patch of his hair, waited till he took a nap, and I zapped him. It fell off, wouldn’t re-attach, and we couldn’t make it work. Fifty dollars, down the tube.
So we bought another monitor, waited till he took another nap and, after some minor adjustments, I zapped him again. And it fell off again. Another fifty dollars down the tube. What a racket.
Meanwhile, we’re giving BZ his ‘new’ shots, but we don’t know what they’re doing to him.
So we bought aNother monitor, and we had the vet show us how it’s done.
And after all that, taking it off made putting it on look easy.
Full bloom
I buried a goat.
The bathroom remodel is finally winding down. Whew.
I was looking forward to tiling the tub, because I bought a top notch tile saw at auction awhile back, but I’ve never actually used it. So I dragged it out, set it up, turned it on, and … the motor was very dead. And there is no warranty for stuff you buy at auction.
Meanwhile, I still had to tile the tub, so I dragged out my $49 “bottom-of-the-line in ’09” saw – the one that’s got 2 floors and 3 tubs under its belt – and I tiled the top of the tub with it.
It’s mindless work, and my mind started mumbling: ‘Sure would be a shame to throw out such a nice machine just because the motor doesn’t work.’ And I fantasized about fixing it. Maybe even finishing the tub with it! Haha. I know a black hole when I see one, though, and I banished the thought. I finished up, cleaned up, and put my feet up.
Next morning, my coffee convinced me that the least I could do was an autopsy, so I took the saw apart and, yup. The commutator was shot. What a shame.
And then, me being me, I put the dead rotor in the lathe, fixed the commutator, and put it all back together. And now it purrs.
And then I finished the tub with it.
There’s a spot on my back that itches like crazy. Right where my back leans into the back of my reading chair. I assumed I needed a different cushion.
But no. I itch because I have shingles.
They say that, at my age, I’ve got half a chance of getting shingles.
And they say that you don’t want to fuck with shingles.
So I got my shingles shot when I turned 60, but that, apparently, was a long time ago in virus-years, and it wore off, and here we are.
I’ve been reading up on it and, apparently, I’ll be experiencing a thing called ‘nerve pain’, and I can’t wait to give it a try. I’ll give you a full report.
One of many.
A duck laid 9 eggs in the planter on the garage wall, right between the bays. She faced down 2 weeks of driveway traffic, hatched them all, and led the way to the pond.
A robin laid 3 eggs in the wreath on the porch wall, right in front of the window. We can watch her in her nest from three feet away. She hatched them all, and we’ve watched them eat, sleep, squawk, and grow for a couple weeks.
Bird teenagers, about to get their licenses.
A turkey has been flirting with his reflection in the window in the garden, right next to the sink. He’d peck hard at the window, wobble about for a turn or two, and then peck it again, over and over. Punch drunk starting at 5 in the morning.
This guy never did get laid.
Shingles did not live up to its reputation.
I’m on the mend, and it was bad, but not as bad as I’d heard.
I was a little disappointed.
Lets hear it for drugs.