This afternoon, a guy from Invisible Fence was here installing a "fence" so that Baxter can run wild in his own yard. As it is, the big puppy can only run wild on the patio and in a mulched area so sloped that he looks like a goat when he stands at the highest point. In fact, we have occasionally called him Goat Puppy.
An invisible fence is really an electric wire buried in the ground that interacts with a collar that reminds the dog where his boundaries are. That's a polite way of saying that it zaps the dog if he gets too close and ignores the warning beeps. When the guy finished with the wiring, we walked Baxter around the perimeter of the yard to introduce him to the beeps and the flags, and I wore my winter boots and coat and scarf because we were trudging and sliding through what's left of two inches of snow, now less than an inch and slushy and mushy. It was raining at the time and cold and a little windy, and I was very happy to be finished with the exercise and to be back inside where I could get warm.
I was also happy to remember that next week at this time, we'll be in Hawaii. Honolulu, to be exact. On the beach. In the sun. Where it's 80 degrees during the day and 70 at night. With no coats or scarves or snow boots.
A few days before Christmas, Husband said he really could use a break from cold weather and hard knocks and would like to go to Hawaii in January. I did not point out that we have only begun with winter in Ohio—it's only January!—and instead I said "OK." Of course, I did. And now I'm planning by reviving my summer clothes and arranging to board the dog and the cat. I'm scheduled to get my hair cut tomorrow, so I called ahead and threw in a pedicure, too. Why not? And I've read the details of the resort where we'll be staying—they offer two-hour horseback rides, which I feel I must do, and they have a beach and pools and restaurants with delicate teas and sushi and yummy things I won't be cooking, just eating.
Between now and this trip to an island in the sea, I'll be training Baxter inside the fence with melting snow and mud and rain and cold weather. It won't be pleasant, but I'll keep next week in mind. Besides, it's only January.
An invisible fence is really an electric wire buried in the ground that interacts with a collar that reminds the dog where his boundaries are. That's a polite way of saying that it zaps the dog if he gets too close and ignores the warning beeps. When the guy finished with the wiring, we walked Baxter around the perimeter of the yard to introduce him to the beeps and the flags, and I wore my winter boots and coat and scarf because we were trudging and sliding through what's left of two inches of snow, now less than an inch and slushy and mushy. It was raining at the time and cold and a little windy, and I was very happy to be finished with the exercise and to be back inside where I could get warm.
 |
| We'll be Gidget and Moondoggie. |
I was also happy to remember that next week at this time, we'll be in Hawaii. Honolulu, to be exact. On the beach. In the sun. Where it's 80 degrees during the day and 70 at night. With no coats or scarves or snow boots.
A few days before Christmas, Husband said he really could use a break from cold weather and hard knocks and would like to go to Hawaii in January. I did not point out that we have only begun with winter in Ohio—it's only January!—and instead I said "OK." Of course, I did. And now I'm planning by reviving my summer clothes and arranging to board the dog and the cat. I'm scheduled to get my hair cut tomorrow, so I called ahead and threw in a pedicure, too. Why not? And I've read the details of the resort where we'll be staying—they offer two-hour horseback rides, which I feel I must do, and they have a beach and pools and restaurants with delicate teas and sushi and yummy things I won't be cooking, just eating.
Between now and this trip to an island in the sea, I'll be training Baxter inside the fence with melting snow and mud and rain and cold weather. It won't be pleasant, but I'll keep next week in mind. Besides, it's only January.
Comments