Funny: it seems like dachshunds and corgis are the breeds that are most likely to be named after food. Pizza (2, and a boy) did not tell me why he was named that way, but I bet he’d like some nevertheless.
A blond foofly wiener! With super-pettable ears!
Did he just wave at me? I think he just waved at me!
Today you get to hear about the latest trials and tribulations that have afflicted Adam and his pet Lummox. Because I feel like it.
I spent the day at an amazing little coffee shop/restaurant/candy store called ‘Peace’s at Bunn Gourmet‘. And then when I knocked off for the day, I headed back to the vee-hickle, let myself in, and then decided to do some work fixing stuff up before I went to bed. Slave, slave, slave, that’s all I ever do these days. So I went out to get my toolboxes, figuring I’d repair a couple of broken cabinet doors and maybe try my hand at fixing a bad wire. And then I realized that my glue wasn’t in my toolbox, but in my parts box, so I went back out and — no, really, these details become important later — and found the glue, and went to go back inside.
And I gave the door handle a pull and it felt harder to open than usual (it’s usually pretty stiff, though) so I pulled harder, and… it snapped. Not off, mind you. It just sits in the open position. All except a tiny sliver of it. Which, as I learned, is both not big enough to provide the leverage necessary to open the door and as sharp as a razor.
Now, one might think, “Well, maybe you could open this up with a pair of pliers.” At least, I did. But one might also think “Wait, didn’t I just bring my toolboxes inside?” I did have wood glue, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to be much help. So I went off to the gentleman manning the booth at a nearby gas station to ask if he had any pliers.
He didn’t. So, desperate, I flagged down the only woman at the gas station and asked her if she had any tools with her. And lo, indeed she did! She had screwdrivers and not one but TWO pairs of pliers. And I grabbed the needle-nose and walked back and click! Door open!
I gave her the pliers back, and went inside, then thought, “I should do something nice for her! What do I have? Oh, I know, I have some chocolates!” I then came running out, shouting, “Wait, wait! Don’t go away just yet! I’ll be right back.”
You can guess where this is going, right?
Yeah. I was ‘right back’. To sheepishly admit that I had in fact closed the door after myself when I’d run out of the Lummox to tell her that I would be right back, and now I couldn’t get it open again. So she got out the pliers again, trying to snicker quietly rather than as loudly as I really deserved, and I opened the door, and arranged some chocolates in a box for her, and this time when I walked out, not only did I leave the door open, but I had TWO pairs of my own pliers in my pocket, just in case.
Ugh. And now I have to figure out how to fix a goddamn door handle on a 30-year-old bus. What it really needs is welding, but I’d rather not wait the several months it would take for me to learn how to weld.
Welp, my laptop has 3% battery left, I’m parked in a Sam’s Club parking lot for the night, and I don’t much feel like wasting gas turning on the generator, so you get a post of these two Dogs of Illinois. Let’s call them ‘Honorary Dogs of San Francisco.’
The older one loved me. The younger one was dubious. They had a third sibling, a German Shepherd, but she was so terrified of me that I couldn’t even get a picture.
The attitude was ‘Great Guardian of the Car’.
His attitude was ‘I have an itch in my neck… yeah, right THERE.’
I took a rather… ambitious bike ride yesterday, up to Springfield and back in a big circle. I estimated 50 miles but it turned out to ‘only’ be 46. And I did, to be fair, have an electric bicycle helping me. However, I also had more than 30 pounds on my back for more than half of the way. My shoulders are still sore, as are my legs, and both of them will probably be more so tomorrow.
Oh, also, the return half was done in the dark. Which was mostly very nice, interspersed with the occasional moment of utter terror.
There’s a little bitty bridge that cuts Lake Springfield in half. Almost nobody seems to use it, especially at night. I can’t imagine why not, nor why, in that case, it was built at all. But it made a great bike route!
My notes are sparse, but what I think they mean is that Sadie’s folks know she’s an Aussie on one side and a mutt on the other. I do have down that she’s 7, and I’m going to hazard a guess that there’s some dachshund in there.
I’m definitely seeing dachshund in that face.
Oh, and the legs. Those too.
Hillary (2, girl) is a giant heart of gold wrapped in a big fur coat.
Someone had just been drinking and her entire muzzle was soaking wet. And of course I got it.
Muppet fur can hold an awful lot of water.
She’s a polite Lady Of A Certain Age, who daintily greets everyone, and ignores anyone who happens to bark at her impolitely. And she is very patient, too.
Anyone have any breed guesses? Border collie mix, maybe? Lab in there somewhere? She’s a puzzle.
I know they’re more aggressive pound-for-pound than almost any other beast out there, but I still think they’re adorable.
This one is from San Francisco, but I’ve met a few out here in the midwest too.
It has been a long, rather frustrating day. I spent all of it up until about 3:15 PM rebuilding the power cable that connects the Lummox to the power main, because I kept getting alerts telling me that the cable had a ‘bad ground’, but only about every other time I used it. Well, I don’t know if I actually fixed it or if or if this is one of those 50/50 chances but I finally got it working. And a good thing, too: it was in the mid 90s here, with upwards of 90 percent humidity. And after that I spent the rest of the day fixing the roof fan, which was also broken. We’ll see tomorrow if that worked: gotta give the case time for the epoxy to set. Of course, neither of these things would have taken a competent electrician more than an hour to do, but that sort of lets me out.
Anyway, have a cat. I could really use one to cuddle up with right now. I did get to visit with my campground-neighbors’ Boston terriers, but I’m not sure ‘cuddle’ is quite the right word for what those rather energetic dogs perpetrated on me. Pounce-and-lick-frantically, maybe.
I wonder if any of the RVs at the camp have cats?
Iko was 12 weeks old when I took these pictures, just before I left San Francisco. He is, of course, named after the amazing song. And he has an amazing instagram, full of the most ridiculously cute pictures ever collected in one spot. Seriously. Go look at it. You deserve it.
Someone didn’t want to be on his way home. He wanted to meet ALL the people.
If Iko is that big at 12 weeks, he’s going to be a monster by the time 12 months rolls around.
An ADORABLE monster.