Open Sesame

Well, the dedicated X-ray suite at the orthopedic surgeon's offices which everyone has been waiting for is now open, finally. I was meant to start work there in the first week of August, but due to problems with construction, installation, commissioning and power outages the project has dragged on until now. But, as of 8am this morning, we are, as they say at NASA, "good to go."

It has to be said that so far it seems to be a decent place to work. The building has recently (within the last year) been fitted out, and apart from a few spots where the roof has leaked it looks pretty good for a doctor's office. My X-ray machine seemed to function fairly well all day, although all the preset kVp/mAs settings are gone after the power outage, so I have to set my own (that's where I decide how much radiation you get, whether I'm just tickling you to get through your finger or blasting the living daylights out of you to get through your entire chest.) I had a quick look at the manuals for it and I think I may be able to program the thing myself - after all, how hard can it be ?

As luck would have it, a sales rep from a drug company came up to 'educate physicians on new development within the company product range' or, more precisely, to peddle drugs. Legal ones, of course. One of the sales rep's duties is to buy lunch for the staff, and not to be cheap doing it. Unfortunately the best Gloucester has to offer is Applebee's so I settled for Santa Fe Chicken Salad. When I was on clinical training at Oyster Point the grub came from a very expensive restaurant called Christaldi's, but beggars can't be choosers I suppose.

Tater is a thief. I made a peanut butter sandwich tonight, and was reaching for a plate to put it on when he leapt up from behind me and stole it. I chased him into the living room, but he'd buried himself in the sofa before I could catch him and bitten a huge chunk off by the time I prized open his jaws. Bad lad, he's meant to be on a wheat-free diet. I think this is the canine equivalent of falling off the wagon.

Thought for the day - if someone's gonna pee, have them in the tent peeing out, not outside the tent peeing in. Night, all

Don't fence me in...

Well, Poppy has gotten out of the yard. Again. After El Jeffe and I spent twelve hundred bucks and hours of hard work erecting a six-foot fence, then dog-proofing it, or so we thought, by burying rebar 3 inches apart to a depth of about 2 feet along the entire fence line, she just appeared in the street outside my window. She's been out for around 10 hours now, and shows no sign of returning. Not that she's gone far, mind. I can hear her barking playfully outside as I write this. She sees it as a game, and won't come in until she's bored, or tired, or hungry, or wet.

We're still unsure exactly how she's getting out, so this time I've been pumping Tater for information. So far the little stoolie has been very unhelpful, but we have made some progress:

They dug three tunnels, Tom, Dick and Harry;
Tom went from under the kitchen window into the next door's yard under the East wall;
Dick went North from beside the garage side entrance;
Harry went the deepest, and ran from beneath the deck, straight under the fence to the South and 200 yards into the trees beyond;
The dirt was hidden by eating it, then pooing it out onto the excercise yard;
When it looked like the plot would be discovered, they stopped Dick & Tom and concentrated solely on Harry, barking at night to cover up the sound of the digging.

That's it for now. I'm planning to put Tater in the cooler for a week to see if that softens him up. Although I doubt he's been making fake Luftwaffe uniforms by sewing old kibble sacks together - he hasn't got any thumbs to hold the needle. I just hope I don't look out of my window to see Poppy trying to clear next door's garden fence on a stolen motorcycle.

Thought for the day - you can't polish a turd. Night, all.

You shall have a fishy when the boat comes in...

Well, I went deep-sea fishing on Saturday. I drove down to North Carolina's Oregon Inlet on Friday night and met up with my 2 fathers-in-law, my brother-in-law, his wife and some of their friends. We woke at 4am Saturday (goodness me, these boat people like an early start) and were on the dock for 4.45am. McDonalds was shut despite assurances from the hotel desk person that it wouldn't be, so breakfast was coffee and muffins at the dockside store. Not that it mattered, because the journey out to the fishing grounds was rough, with a 7-ft swell, and my breakfast ended up in the boat's head. In my defence, though, my father-in-law was also sick, and he spent 40 years in the Navy. Once i'd voided my breakfast, however, I was fine.

Dawn on the ocean was beautiful, and after a cold start the weather couldn't have been better. Forty miles off shore we found a school of tuna and were soon hauling them in, hard work if like me you've never done it before. The First Mate was working hard to keep all the lines straight and gaff the tuna as we pulled them in, and by lunchtime we'd caught our limit of eighteen fish, each weighing around 35lb.

The Mate told us a couple of intersting things about the Nag's Head area. Firstly, it got the name in the 1700's when local people would tie a pole and a spinnaker to a horse and lead it through the dunes during a storm to lure ships into the shallow coastal waters, where they would wreck and the locals would plunder the cargo when it washed ashore. Secondly, the people would know if a ship had foundered in the night when bananas would wash up onto the beach in the morning tide. Hence, it's bad luck to bring bananas onto a boat.

Back at the dock, we had the guys at the packing house to gut our fish (a very messy business; we were glad to pay them handsomely to do it) and headed home. I spent an hour or so chopping the fillets into 44 inch-thick steaks for the freezer. Our friends and neighbours had some, and of course Poppy and Tater tried some and liked it, and we still have enough tuna to make us grow fins eating it !! Next time I go, I hope El Jeffe can come too.

Thought for the day - if I can't take it with me, I'm not going. Night, all.

Disturbing the peace...

Well, big news in the Gloucester-Mathews Gazette this week, a possum broke into the ABC store (that's the off-license to us Brits) and wreaked havoc among the booze. Apparently, he was heard by a passer-by, presumably during a particularly noisy frenzy of drunken havoc-wreaking, and the police were summoned to investigate. They opened the store and swamped the building with armed officers, clearly concerned with the possibility of real civil unrest. An eye-witness told this write "The possum was totally enraged. It was surrounded by empty bottles and was staggering around, growling and waving its paws menacingly. I was terrified."
Fortunately, the combined forces of Gloucester and Mathews Police Special Response Squads were able to subdue the beast, who was taken to jail straight from the scene, to be arraigned after it sobered up the following day. "My men took control of the situation, using nightsticks and stun grenades to overwhelm the criminal," said one senior Gloucester officer. His counterpart with Mathews police "We employed justifiable force with the mace and tazer. You can't be too careful these days." The owner of the ABC store was unavailable for comment, but the Night Manager was concerned with the legacy of fear following the incident. "I just want to know who will protect us once he's out of jail. Possums have long memories. It's like crossing the Mafia - you mess with one, you mess with them all."

Thought for the day - you shouldn't drink if you get nasty. Night, all.

The Cone Of Shame

Poor Tater!! The Boy hasn't had a good week at all. he's been scratching for a fortnight or so, and the vet says it's an allergy, probably to something he's eating, which to be honest doesn't really narrow it down much. So he's on a diet, the Science Diet Lamb & Rice Puppy Formula. He's not allowed to eat normal dog food, which pretty much means that Poppy 's on the same diet. No treats, no eating food from the table, no nuthin'. I even saw El Jeffe feeding the poor thing carrots this evening, and he was wolfing them down like they were chicken legs. He's also had a steroid shot, which calms the itch for 4 days or so but makes him pee like a racehorse. We're awake 3 times each night just to stop him flooding the kitchen. Worst of all, though, he has to wear The Cone Of Shame. Oh, the ignominy of it, such a handsome little chap, forced into public ridicule. I asked him if he could get BBC America on it. He wasn't amused. Poppy thinks it's hilarious, especially because Tater can't see past the edge of the cone and bumps into stuff until he just sits, grumbling and refusing to move. Oh, and he's hurt his shoulder, so he can't go on long walks for a month. Or chase stuff. Or go swimming. Nothing to do but eat carrots and bite Daddy. Life's hard for a little dog. And until his sharp little puppy teeth are gone, it's not great for his owners, either.

Thought for the day - Dogs have owners. Cats have staff. Night, all.