Unfortunate Accident?

I saw the news report about the Alec Baldwin shooting. I heard how the armorer on the Rust movie set who was responsible for insuring all rounds are set and catalogued so that no live rounds are in the prop gun. Yes this is a very preventable and unfortunate accident, yet I have to wonder, if this was an accident, who ultimately is responsible for Halyna Hutchins death.

While I don’t put much stock in conservative news such the Washington Examiner, I find it interesting they considered this a homicide rather than an accident. I say that it is interesting because investigators haven’t even come to that conclusion yet.

It is though what this country has come to; a fringe group delighting in this tragedy at the expense of a man they hate because of his ridicule and mockery of a former President.

I don’t have much stock in the ways of the National Rifle Association anymore neither. Their politics has gone so far to the radical right I fear for their true purpose. Yet, what I did learn long ago when I took a hunter’s safety course so I could get my first hunting license, was a credo I’ll take to my grave, which was never assume a gun is safe or “cold” unless you personally check to ensure it is unloaded and safe to handle. Never aim a weapon at someone unless in defense of life and property. Never assume a gun is unloaded unless you check first.

If Mr. Baldwin had done any of those things, then this tragedy would have never occurred. This isn’t a politically charged issue, it is a common-sense issue that everyone familiar with firearms know and lives by. Those that do not know this, either needs to learn it or never have anything to do with firearms.

What A Place

This place I moved to is a house near a golf course in the central portion of Spokane also known as the Audubon Neighborhood. Unlike the house I lived and own, the neighborhood is far removed from the cares and concerns of crime, poverty and blight.

Most of the neighbors are a bit more affluent, work in professional careers, have lawns on tree-lined streets that are green, and the hedges trimmed. It was a place I wanted to live at, had I made more money and my preapproval amount had been significantly higher.

I received a call from my wife the other day, informing me about money matters that are a bit out of my control at the moment until I received actual money from the job I returned to. I told her that I missed her, and she stated that she and Lillie missed me too.

“Mom really misses you because you talked with her and helped her out. She really
misses that.”

She recounted her tirade against Lillie’s stepdaughter and her grandson, my stepson Terry for their sloth.

I told her the home owner has a similar issue with his 20 something son too. I glanced into his bedroom the other day: clothes strewn all about the floor, a water filled fish tank with no fish but some grayish film inside that I could only assume was a new science project he was experimenting on, an unmade bed, soda cans and empty bottles laid about the dresser, floor and table like thing. It’s a small room made smaller by the clutter.

Thankfully, the rest of the house isn’t like that room, though it isn’t clean by Lillie’s standards, not by a long shot. I told the home owner, a disabled vet who was in the National Guard, like myself, but got deployed unlike me to Kuwait and Iraq for Desert Storm, about Lillie. He chuckled at the kind of spic and span order I came from, to this.

We discussed our mutual experiences and I admitted I wrote for the holy trinity: fun, money and therapy. I told him I chose writing over drinking after my stroke I suffered in 2002.

Bob, he’s the actual room mate who helped me and Stephanie move down to Idaho. He lives in the basement with Bill’s stepdaughter and her one-year-old toddler. As far as I know she and he are not an item. They just live in the basement. He’s also a former alcoholic—I mean recovering alcoholic who helps pay the rent by donating plasma and cooking dinner.

Yesterday I helped clean the house. I did the bathroom while Bill cleaned the kitchen floor along with the floor in the living room and hall way. Bob did some dusting. The boy, Luke is his name stayed inside his closed bedroom with his dog Cooper, a Great Dane that is slightly smaller than a Shetland Pony. I think his stepdaughter snuck out while we were cleaning too. Later Bill asked Luke to give Cooper a bath.

He took the dog that stands at my hip when on all four legs, I imagined he would stand well over my head if he stood on his hind legs, outside and ran the hose and scrubbed him with doggy shampoo. Luke had to roll up his pants and remove his t shirt. Thankfully for both it was a sunny and reasonably warm afternoon by Spokane standards.

On occasion, Bill’s other son is dropped off by his ex-wife, named Josh. Josh has Downs Syndrome. He’s chubby and chummy, who likes to touch and feel and hug everyone. He has that ageless looking innocence that these people possess. I know how far that goes sometimes and Bill warned me that I needed to watch him and keep my bedroom door closed so he wouldn’t be tempted to go inside. I think she brought Josh here yesterday but then they left. I stayed in my room, figuring I wasn’t needed. I did overhear some yelling prior to them leaving, so I guess there was an issue, and I chose to stay out of it.

We get along I think because we all share a connection. We all are recovering alcoholics who work extremely hard at sobriety. Mine is the writing, the other two, uses their Christian faith and Bill’s son Josh to keep them away from the brown jug. How long will I stay here in this house? I have no idea, but because I am taking everything one day at a time, it might be soon, or it might be months down the road. It is nice here though; what a place.

A Funny Thing Happened

Not really funny, sad is more to the point. The good news out of this experience these last few days is that I am back to work. On Tuesday I came home—Lilly and Tom’s home—from going to the library to look over my emails, send out new resumes to potential employers and reading the local news from the Twin Falls Times.

Now when I got there Tom was talking and I heard my name mentioned in the conversation. Curious, I went into the kitchen and announced myself. He gave me a taciturn look then said, “We have to talk, and you aren’t going to like it.”

As I mentioned before he doesn’t mince words but comes right and tells the honest by God truth whether you like it or not. I probably wasn’t ready for what he had to say, but deep inside suspected it had to do with my responsibility to him and Lilly when it came to money matters and household expenses.

“You haven’t been pulling your weight around here and we need you to fork over $500 by Wednesday or you can get out.” He used an expletive after ‘get,’ but I won’t repeat that word fearing it might offend some of my loyal readers.

Then he went on a rant about how they have suffered these past few months, working harder and going further into debt and I haven’t helped one bit and somehow the issue with my book marketing got in the mix in which he opined, “You won’t make a dime from.” Also another similar expletive after ‘a.’

It’s been very hard on all of us and I didn’t have an answer that he would have liked, and I wasn’t angry enough at him to come back at him with an “Oh yeah, well (expletive) you too!”

“I knew I was relying too much on my own self confidence that I would have money coming in from remote jobs that I was sure would pouring to me. That never happened. Instead, I was nearly scammed at least twice, and probably got my finances hacked by someone unscrupulous. I’ve been running in the red all this past month and so Wednesday when I got my check, saw to my chagrin I didn’t have $500 to give them.

I sat in the library wondering what my best options to this were. There was only one, move back to Spokane and see about getting my old job back. So, I emailed my former manager at the casino. I gave her the sob story that was genuine. She replied back that there was an opening and I needed to let her know so that she could hold it for me.

So now, I had to tell my stepdaughter the other news, which I knew she wouldn’t like, that I was coming up here and I needed to move back into my house, the one she and her hubby were renovating so we can put it on the market and sell.

While she was sympathetic to my plight there were already six people living in her house now. I replied to her text that I am the homeowner, which in my book trumps her complaint that the house was already full.

Her reply, the house is a mess, it wasn’t in the contract, and she was the renter. Wife then called wanting to know what was going on and why her daughter was blowing up her phone. I told her, and she told me no, don’t go there.

I then allowed her to go ahead and talk to her and come up with a mutually benefitting solution. I then went to Tom and Lilly’s house and packed everything that would fit I my Charger and then heard her voice in the other room.

She came in—my wife that is—and told me that they made arrangements that I would stay at a friend of her and her husband’s for $300 a month. So, on this Thursday evening, I am here in Spokane, with the expectation that tomorrow I was going to go back and work at Northern Quest once again.

The Cat Box

That woman came home this evening smiling down at me while I was taking my daily cat nap. Being that I’m over 90 years old in cat years, I feel entitled to one or a dozen such naps in a day.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I remember now, That human female came into my room and presented me with something inside a shopping bag.

“Happy Birthday!” She told me with her wicked smile, a smile I would dearly love slapping with my outstretched claws. She too is old as evidenced by her white hair and the wrinkles on her face, a hideous woman.

The man who is her mate, I like him. He is sweet and gentle, rubs my chin and neck just right, and gives me a thrill whenever he runs his hand down my back as if giving me a wonderful massage. They call each other ‘honey.’ I don’t know why.

I looked at her with my most disgusted stare imaginable and meowed at her with contempt. “What is it?” I demanded. I meowed at her again. “You woke me up, plus if my memory serves me right, I was born in the spring. It’s autumn you stupid cow.”

But she just smiled at me as if I didn’t know what I was talking about and pulled from this plastic bag, which I would have playfully shredded years ago, a box looking contraption. “A new litter box for you! Isn’t it wonderful?”

A litter box? When I absolutely have to do my personal business, I meow my command to be let outside so I can dig a hole in the flower bed and complete my necessary affairs. I hate litter boxes ever since I was a kitten. Now, I think she has lost her mind.

First, she and ‘honey,’ move us: me, those obnoxious birds, that dog and all of the other stuff into a van and take us halfway around the world to this place where strange and interesting new creatures greet me, along with more dogs and cats than I could shake a stick at. I tolerate it, but don’t like it. I am no longer queen of my domain anymore. Instead, I am a peon.

I watched this mad woman put the cat box together and filled it with cat litter. Of course, when she is finished, she expects me to obey her command to flop myself inside and do my business, while she watches me. I don’t think so!

Instead, I just looked at her with indignation that she would even consider that I would behave like a common lap dog and willingly go where she commanded. I have my pride and dignity to uphold. After many fruitless attempts, she gave up and left the room.

My keen sense of hearing zoned in on her conversation with the woman she called Mom and ‘honey’ calls Lillie, as she complained, “That cat won’t have nothing to do with that box! She wouldn’t go near it.”

The ancient woman ‘honey’ called Lillie replied, “She’ll come around eventually. Winter is coming and we don’t know for sure how bad it will be.”

“Winter?” I meowed in outrage. I almost forgot. Back where we came from, I had to endure the cold, the snow that piled so high I had to literally jump about to get to where I needed to go. And those idiots who drove with such reckless abandon. I don’t know to this day how I survived some of those winters up there. Here? Like that old woman said, no one knows.

While she was out of the room, I did check it out. It was a bit roomy, even for a litter box. It smelled new and clean, which I didn’t mind. I pawed at the granules. That too was fresh and smelled enticing. I squatted down and unleashed some urine that I had been holding to have an excuse to go outside. I suppose it will do for now. I just won’t give her the satisfaction that I liked this cat box.

Unusual Indeed

I applied for a writing job a while back through the Indeed job search site and I received a response for a job offer. I assumed it is legitimate. I even had an interview with this company on Thursday via Zoom. On Friday I received word that I had the job and I just needed to fill out some paperwork and then I could start training on the next Monday.

They informed me I needed to mobile deposit a check to get the necessary software for the writing job I was going to perform, which entailed editing and proofreading pages on their website. Then I could begin.

To start with I had a devil of a time getting this check through my email server. It finally arrived through my Spam folder. The check was made out to me, but the company’s letterhead was of another company from where it came from.

I asked about this, and the person on the other end said it was a donor and this was common practice. I went ahead and deposited the check through my cellphone using my bank’s mobile app.

Today I went to check on the status and transfer the funds into a newly made checking account. The teller asked for the check, which I had to return home and grab, and showed her. The teller told me that check was returned as potentially fraudulent.

On Monday I get to see if that company’s Zoom account or work’s website even exists. Or if the person I talked with even existed. Thankfully, I have no money to give these people, or I would have been out of almost $3,000. A valuable lesson learned I guess.

My Next Project

I finished my first draft of the newest Nick Roberts thriller yesterday and will take a short break from Nick for a time and do something else different.

It’s something that has mulled inside my head for a few days and if I can get to the particulars of what I want to accomplish may turn out to be a particularly delightful story indeed.

My mother-in-law had her parents come to stay in their final years. Her mother had Alzheimer’s and her father blinded from Macular degeneration. Both were in their nineties. While the mother turned out to be a loss soul who had absolutely no idea who or what she was, or where she ended up, her father on the other hand, though blind wanted to be a part of the big picture in his daughter’s life.

Like I said, I have an idea of how I want to go about this, traveling back in time to the highlights of his life while he walks up a long driveway to the mail box. Each time he has to stop and rest on a folding chair his daughter strategically placed along the way—there are six altogether—he steps back in time and relives that event.

Of course, I will need to just make up these stories as I go: youth, teenager, young adult, family head, to older and finally to where he was now as an elderly man slowly walking to the mailbox. As is the custom, my custom at least, each story or episode must be enticing, dramatic and tension filled to capture and hold the reader’s attention throughout.

I don’t know if any of my loyal readers had ever read or saw the movie Slaughterhouse Five, by Kurt Vonnegut, but the story line is that the main character, Billy Pilgrim, exposed to the horrors of war, traveling through a time machine from past to present and then future to find a truth.

It is a journey we all take in life with more twists, turns, and bumps than many of us care to admit. In the end though it is a journey well worth the effort.

Now will it be something ready for publication in the near future? I have no idea. We will have to see.

Back To Basics

I have a bit of a cold today. You know, runny and stuffy nose, cough, feeling like crap. It goes with other feelings I have right now, but that is for another time. There’s a little girl who lives with us now. She’s four and her mind is like a sponge soaking up information both good and bad.

I’ll touch on the unpleasant habits later but the good things she’s learning are numbers especially when her mother announces “One…Two…Three.” She knows not to cross the threshold after three because of the dire consequences involved; letters of the alphabet which she already know A is for her name and P is for her brother’s name. So, all the things that has her first name initial is hers and all the stuff that belongs to her brother is labeled with his first name initial.

She knows what no means, because her mother and most recently all the other adults in the household has repeatedly told either “no,” “don’t do that,” or “we already told you not to, yet you do it anyway.”

I’m sure she feels that we adults are picking on her so unfairly especially when she shows us her pouty expression and her eyes take on that woe-is me expression, as if we are supposed to feel empathy or sympathy toward her plight. I don’t because I’m not sympathetic or empathetic when it comes to four-year-old girls.

I’m sure she will someday understand that rules are there for a reason, but at four, she isn’t buying into it. She wants to push the envelope and try to get away with as much as possible before getting caught.

I remember how I was at four. Dad had just moved us to East Wenatchee in 1962 and Me being the adventurous sort decided to explore the world, walking about the neighborhood, meeting new people, soaking in the sights and the sites that upon hindsight was not the smartest thing for a four-year-old to engage.

Mother was at least worried sick, at best she wanted to tan my hide for making her worried to death. Twice a deputy sheriff pulled into some stranger’s house because either Mom called them, or the concerned neighbor called asking about a little boy who might be lost.

Fortunately, this little girl isn’t like me, or her mother would be pulling her hair out by now. Her negative attributes she obviously also picked up from adults, such as being selfish, greedy, and envious are all too apparent too especially when she doesn’t get her way and she throws a temper tantrum.

She and her brother have inspired me to write a chapter in the latest book I’m writing. In it, the antagonist, who is a hired assassin, abducts one of the protagonists along with a mother and four children, ranging in age from four to ten. This man has no idea what he has gotten himself into.

The Camp Out

Last Friday we set out up north in our camper to the north country, north of Ketchum and in the Saw Tooth Range where glacier peaks used to be common but now because of global warming are bare rock. In a way it is a sad commentary of how our species have seen fit to destroy ourselves this way, ironic actually because 65 million years ago dinosaurs used to roam this planet until an asteroid nailed them right in the kisser. Now we are using fossilized dinosaur waste to encourage our own downfall.

Anyway, off my soapbox and on to the camp out my wife promised me was going to be fun. The Mormon Church sponsored this event at a camp site near Lake Alturas, near the town of Stanley. We nearly didn’t go at all because we were bickering back and forth as married couples often do, but because we lost that cockatiel named Bobby, she was especially on edge, insisting no one open the door to the bird room even though Bobby was an old bird and the other remaining five are young and healthy. It almost came to blows or worse divorce court. But cooler heads prevailed and Friday morning after final packing and checking off everything we boarded the Dodge Ram 2500 with fully loaded Arctic Fox camper that weighs in at around 4,000 pounds.

I didn’t realize it until our return trip how much longer the drive is from Gooding to Hailey going do north on Idaho’s Highway Route 46. It ends at US 20. I took a right there and then continued until we got to Idaho’s Highway Route 75. I recognized that the highway going north from Gooding isn’t as straight a route as I had assumed. It meanders right and left and goes over a lovely pass with a six percent grade, which I downshifted to second.

Once we reached Hailey, I found a convenience store with gas pumps and went out and pumped gas while my wife went inside to pay. I waited and waited for the cashier to turn on the pump. She came outside and asked if he had turn it on yet, “No,” I replied a bit more brusquely than intended. She then told me, “He’s from some oriental country that nodded and smiled at her like an idiot. She slid her debit card into the pump, pulled it out and she then pushed regular.

I was going to mention to her that the truck’s engine works best on a higher-octane grade than regular, but her anxiety was already razor thin just getting this trip off the planning stages as it is. I let it slide. As it was, the price per gallon was over $4.35, and even with a half full tank it cost almost $80. The higher plus grade would have set her back probably over $100. Lovely dinosaur waste anyway.

We then moved north to Ketchum and then we were in the forests and the Wood River Valley. We travelled along, in a northerly trek. I casually asked her about a map so we could find this lake and campsite.

“There really isn’t one,” my wife replied while looking at the stapled brochure the church provided.

“How are we going to find it if there is no map?” I asked not to her directly.

“I don’t know. Everyone in the church goes to this every year.”

“But this is your first time. They really should have printed up a map for you.”

She didn’t say anything, and I didn’t pursue it further. We took a pit stop for Zeus the old mutt breed dog we decided to take with us at the last moment. He can jump in and out of my Dodge Charger just fine, but the Ram sits twice as high as that car. Stephanie had to lift him inside the back portion of the club cab before we left. At this rest stop, which was a turn out on the opposite side of the highway—still on HR 75—I let Zeus out from the back seat. It took some coaxing on my part, but he finally jumped out. I placed a leash on him and down the side of the highway we walked. He did his business, while she went into the camper and did hers. When Zeus was fished, I used my one good arm and placed my hold along his ribcage and hoisted him up enough for him to grasp his forepaws onto the inside frame and muscle himself inside. Then I went inside the camper and took care of business inside the narrow confines of the camper’s WC.

Then we were off and on the road. Did I mention cellphone service? There is none once we went outside Ketchum; no WI-FI either. So, she is looking to the Google god to direct us to this lake and campsite. I’m looking for a sign, any sign that would give us a place to turn off from, and naturally we drove pass it and didn’t realize it.

So, we keep driving north and she is getting more upset with the church people, Idaho in general because they can’t maintain decent signage and me of course because it’s always my fault. Finally, I spot a motel/lodge on the side of the highway and turn in there. It looks Bates Motel-scary with ramshackle looking façade, worn and rusted neon signage that I suspected hadn’t worked in 20 years and older cars parked in front that I also think hadn’t run in as long a time.

I get out and knocked on the door. I expected an old man with thick white beard and carrying a shotgun to answer the door. Maybe he was hiding behind the doorway. A young 20 to 30ish aged woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, slender body, wearing a tank top and painted on Daisy Dukes opened the door. She gave me a curious look and a pleasant smile.

“I’m lost,” I told her. Her smile widen as if I wasn’t the first to grace her threshold with that line. “I’m looking for Alturas Lake.”

“Oh yeah. Let’s see, you go back down that highway about seven miles and take a right. There should be a sign but it’s hard to see.”

“Yeah, well we didn’t see it all.”

“It’s really hard to see coming up this way. Good luck,” she stated and closed the door while I went back to my truck and got in.

“It’s seven miles away, back that way,” I told Stephanie.

“How could we miss it?”

“I certainly didn’t see no sign,” I told her. “And I was looking for it too.”

She shrugged and I placed the truck into gear and got back on the highway from where we came. Naturally the sign we turned on was a half mile too soon and we once again found ourselves feeling lost and abandoned. We drove over a washboard gravel road for a little over a mile when I found a place to turn around and go back.

About then we spotted two cars coming our way and flagged them down. The first car just kept going, but the second went pass but stopped and backed up. As luck would have it, the woman who drove the car was from the church and greeted my wife with a welcoming smile of recognition. She told us it was about a half mile further down and to the right on a paved road. We then went back and onto the highway, then found the road that led to Lake Alturas. Neither of us were confident about that woman’s sense of direction and we kept passing, stopping and going back to at least two forks on the road before we reached our destination. It was then she read that one small little sentence stating, “No Pets Allowed.”

“Seriously?” I asked with as much frustration at her as with the organizers from the church. After all, it was a last-minute decision on her part. She should have read it thoroughly the first time, especially the part about allowing pets.

“Well, maybe we can tell them he’s your service animal,” she suggested with a smile. We once had a blind female Boxer we named Princess that was over 14 and diabetic. We used to joke about putting on a pair of sunglasses and walking into a store or hotel telling them it was my service dog. Zeus has serious hi and joint issues due to arthritis. I have serious walking issues of my own due to the stroke I suffered back in 2002. I knew that wouldn’t work here either. I parked the camper in a parking space I was certain I could back out from and let my wife, who could sell ice to an Eskimo, out to talk them into just this once allowing Zeus to camp with out for three days.

She was gone a good fifteen minutes before she came back and got in. “Let’s go to the state campground. They allow dogs there, and it won’t cost very much. There are no hook-ups for RVs here anyway. It was just cabins, plus they promised us meals, but nothing is organized for that,” she suggested as I nodded and placed it in reverse and backed out, put it into drive and drove down the road to a state campground. It seemed nicer though we had some water nearby to fill the camper’s holding tank, but no electrical hook up and no dumping station when we left on Sunday.

Stephanie filled out the paperwork and I got the camper set up, pulling out the slide-out, using our square to make sure our camper was as level as could be expected and getting ourselves ready for a weekend of roughing it in the woods of Central Idaho. Oh, did I mention no WI-FI or cellphone service?

Stephanie upon reflection realized that too. I guess her ulterior motive for coming out here had more to do with escaping her mother and pseudo-stepfather than any transcendental spiritual experience, and WI-FI was needed for such an experience. “Let’s go back to someplace that has internet and cellphone service.”

Personally, yes, I wanted the transcendental experience because I feel one with nature and away from civilization. But I also had received an invitation from a potential employer who wanted to see how my writing style was and I needed to write out a synopsis and outline for a romantic story idea. I too needed an internet connection to be successful, plus a deadline for Saturday, which was the next day.

I agreed to go along with her idea. WE went back to Ketchum and did some sightseeing, mostly trying to find any kind of campsite that offered hook ups including internet. I suggested at least twice to locate an RV park. “Surely they have what you desire. We toured around Sun Valley and finally she found an RV park just south of Ketchum. As luck would have it, they were booked. The nearest one was south in Bellevue. She called that business, and they had an opening and went back south, pass Hailey and into the smaller town of Bellevue. WE picked up more groceries at an Albertsons Supermarket and got our spot at 5:30 that afternoon. Once again, we set everything up, including placing our sewer hose down a drain that accepted our gray and black water, hooked up ac and potable water from a faucet into our camper from a hose. The middle-aged proprietor with graying hair and spindly legs handed her the receipt which also included the park’s WI-FI password. She was happy finally.

We ate, cooking soup on the gas stove, watched Net-Flix on our tablets and later on the furnace kicked on and she enjoyed sleeping cozy warm on the overhead compartment. It’s much more challenging for me to try and climb up that far, so I made the decision that I would convert the dining section into my bed. It worked out great for both of us. I guess our parents also came to that same conclusion that sleeping together was not nearly as fun as it was when we were younger.

I spent most of Saturday doing the synopsis and outline, then emailing everything to this video gaming company that has these types of lonely hearts or dear hearts romance themed storylines that sells hot and heavy in the orient. I never realized myself, but if my story works for this company and I can convert it into some kind of script then I’ll have something of a steady income through my writing, while awaiting royalty checks to come in for my books.

On Sunday, we took our time coming home, finally leaving the RV Park at about one in the afternoon. We drove down HR 75 and parked at a highway rest area for a couple hours and then drove home. I realized going this route south to a town called Shoshone was actually closer than heading back the way we came on Friday. By seven that evening we pulled into the long driveway and unloaded the camper.

Today I get to celebrate my 63rd birthday. No campouts are planned, maybe a barbeque instead.

Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

Today I was going to use this space to remember 20 years ago tomorrow. You know, where I was when our lives and sense of security suddenly vanished when we witnessed two jet airliners fly into the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers.

Instead, I’m saying good bye to Zeus, our dog and member of our family for nearly twelve years. It wasn’t anything like he was run over by a car or anything quite so tragic. It has to do with him wanting to be the Alpha of the pack and that wasn’t acceptable to Lillie my mother-in-law.

Wednesday night while she was out in the back patio enjoying the evening with her two little dogs, Zeus apparently attacked one of the dogs. Knowing Zeus, he more than likely growled and snapped at the little nipper. But the damaged was done. I was in the house watching TV and wasn’t aware what was going on when someone let Zeus in and then not more than five minutes later, she came in and told me what happened.

I looked down at Zeus who laid on the floor over his blanket then I went back to watching TV. The fact that I didn’t do anything about it at 9 o’clock in the evening apparently spoke volumes to her and she yelled back, “Don’t nobody get off your butts to do anything about it!”

She left the house and then a moment later Stephanie went outside, following her and then Terry followed suit. I wasn’t part of the drama. I prefer the drama on the TV program I was watching than the drama playing out because of an old dog who only wanted to be part of the family and failed miserably.

The problem wasn’t Zeus but us humans who changed the rules on dog hierarchy. They are taught when they are pups about dominant/subordinate, and they follow that when they are part of a litter. But us humans changed that rule the moment they are adopted, and they must learn that they are no longer the alpha and must be in their hierarchy to obey them and not show any aggression to other dogs that in the dog world is proclaiming they are the alpha of the pack.

Zeus merely wanted to let the little dogs know his place in the pack was higher than theirs. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work out that way. Yesterday we went about trying to figure out what to do. The last thing we could do, no one wanted to do, but it had to be done to keep the peace and harmony in our human pack. After all, Lillie is the alpha here. Stephanie found someone who could do it for us and this morning she took Zeus there. Vets we have found out from past experience, are more interested in treatment instead of final solution.

So, it is a long goodbye to a loyal and true friend. Goodbye Zeus.

The Camp Out

Last Friday we set out up north in our camper to the north country, north of Ketchum and in the Saw Tooth Range where glacier peaks used to be common but now because of global warming are bare rock. In a way it is a sad commentary of how our species have seen fit to destroy ourselves this way, ironic actually because 65 million years ago dinosaurs used to roam this planet until an asteroid nailed them right in the kisser. Now we are using fossilized dinosaur waste to encourage our own downfall.

Anyway, off my soapbox and on to the camp out my wife promised me was going to be fun. The Mormon Church sponsored this event at a camp site near Lake Alturas, near the town of Stanley. We nearly didn’t go at all because we were bickering back and forth as married couples often do, but because we lost that cockatiel named Bobby, she was especially on edge, insisting no one open the door to the bird room even though Bobby was an old bird and the other remaining five are young and healthy. It almost came to blows or worse divorce court. But cooler heads prevailed and Friday morning after final packing and checking off everything we boarded the Dodge Ram 2500 with fully loaded Arctic Fox camper that weighs in at around 4,000 pounds.

I didn’t realize it until our return trip how much longer the drive is from Gooding to Hailey going do north on Idaho’s Highway Route 46. It ends at US 20. I took a right there and then continued until we got to Idaho’s Highway Route 75. I recognized that the highway going north from Gooding isn’t as straight a route as I had assumed. It meanders right and left and goes over a lovely pass with a six percent grade, which I downshifted to second.

Once we reached Hailey, I found a convenience store with gas pumps and went out and pumped gas while my wife went inside to pay. I waited and waited for the cashier to turn on the pump. She came outside and asked if he had turn it on yet, “No,” I replied a bit more brusquely than intended. She then told me, “He’s from some oriental country that nodded and smiled at her like an idiot. She slid her debit card into the pump, pulled it out and she then pushed regular.

I was going to mention to her that the truck’s engine works best on a higher-octane grade than regular, but her anxiety was already razor thin just getting this trip off the planning stages as it is. I let it slide. As it was, the price per gallon was over $4.35, and even with a half full tank it cost almost $80. The higher plus grade would have set her back probably over $100. Lovely dinosaur waste anyway.

We then moved north to Ketchum and then we were in the forests and the Wood River Valley. We travelled along, in a northerly trek. I casually asked her about a map so we could find this lake and campsite

“There really isn’t one,” my wife replied while looking at the stapled brochure the church provided.
“How are we going to find it if there is no map?” I asked not to her directly.
“I don’t know. Everyone in the church goes to this every year.”
“But this is your first time. They really should have printed up a map for you.”

She didn’t say anything, and I didn’t pursue it further. We took a pit stop for Zeus the old mutt breed dog we decided to take with us at the last moment. He can jump in and out of my Dodge Charger just fine, but the Ram sits twice as high as that car. Stephanie had to lift him inside the back portion of the club cab before we left. At this rest stop, which was a turn out on the opposite side of the highway—still on HR 75—I let Zeus out from the back seat. It took some coaxing on my part, but he finally jumped out. I placed a leash on him and down the side of the highway we walked. He did his business, while she went into the camper and did hers. When Zeus was fished, I used my one good arm and placed my hold along his ribcage and hoisted him up enough for him to grasp his forepaws onto the inside frame and muscle himself inside. Then I went inside the camper and took care of business inside the narrow confines of the camper’s WC.

Then we were off and on the road. Did I mention cellphone service? There is none once we went outside Ketchum; no WI-FI either. So, she is looking to the Google god to direct us to this lake and campsite. I’m looking for a sign, any sign that would give us a place to turn off from, and naturally we drove pass it and didn’t realize it.

So, we keep driving north and she is getting more upset with the church people, Idaho in general because they can’t maintain decent signage and me of course because it’s always my fault. Finally, I spot a motel/lodge on the side of the highway and turn in there. It looks Bates Motel-scary with ramshackle looking façade, worn and rusted neon signage that I suspected hadn’t worked in 20 years and older cars parked in front that I also think hadn’t run in as long a time.

I get out and knocked on the door. I expected an old man with thick white beard and carrying a shotgun to answer the door. Maybe he was hiding behind the doorway. A young 20 to 30ish aged woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, slender body, wearing a tank top and painted on Daisy Dukes opened the door. She gave me a curious look and a pleasant smile.

“I’m lost,” I told her. Her smile widen as if I wasn’t the first to grace her threshold with
that line. “I’m looking for Alturas Lake.”
“Oh yeah. Let’s see, you go back down that highway about seven miles and take a right.
There should be a sign but it’s hard to see.”
“Yeah, well we didn’t see it all.”
“It’s really hard to see coming up this way. Good luck,” she stated and closed the door
while I went back to my truck and got in.
“It’s seven miles away, back that way,” I told Stephanie.
“How could we miss it?”
“I certainly didn’t see no sign,” I told her. “And I was looking for it too.”

She shrugged and I placed the truck into gear and got back on the highway from where we came. Naturally the sign we turned on was a half mile too soon and we once again found ourselves feeling lost and abandoned. We drove over a washboard gravel road for a little over a mile when I found a place to turn around and go back.

About then we spotted two cars coming our way and flagged them down. The first car just kept going, but the second went pass but stopped and backed up. As luck would have it, the woman who drove the car was from the church and greeted my wife with a welcoming smile of recognition. She told us it was about a half mile further down and to the right on a paved road. We then went back and onto the highway, then found the road that led to Lake Alturas. Neither of us were confident about that woman’s sense of direction and we kept passing, stopping and going back to at least two forks on the road before we reached our destination. It was then she read that one small little sentence stating, “No Pets Allowed.”

“Seriously?” I asked with as much frustration at her as with the organizers from the church. After all, it was a last-minute decision on her part. She should have read it thoroughly the first time, especially the part about allowing pets.

“Well, maybe we can tell them he’s your service animal,” she suggested with a smile. We once had a blind female Boxer we named Princess that was over 14 and diabetic. We used to joke about putting on a pair of sunglasses and walking into a store or hotel telling them it was my service dog. Zeus has serious hi and joint issues due to arthritis. I have serious walking issues of my own due to the stroke I suffered back in 2002. I knew that wouldn’t work here either. I parked the camper in a parking space I was certain I could back out from and let my wife, who could sell ice to an Eskimo, out to talk them into just this once allowing Zeus to camp with out for three days.

She was gone a good fifteen minutes before she came back and got in. “Let’s go to the state campground. They allow dogs there, and it won’t cost very much. There are no hook-ups for RVs here anyway. It was just cabins, plus they promised us meals, but nothing is organized for that,” she suggested as I nodded and placed it in reverse and backed out, put it into drive and drove down the road to a state campground. It seemed nicer though we had some water nearby to fill the camper’s holding tank, but no electrical hook up and no dumping station when we left on Sunday.

Stephanie filled out the paperwork and I got the camper set up, pulling out the slide out, using our square to make sure our camper was as level as could be expected and getting ourselves ready for a weekend of roughing it in the woods of Central Idaho. Oh, did I mention no WI-FI or cellphone service?

Stephanie upon reflection realized that too. I guess her ulterior motive for coming out here had more to do with escaping her mother and pseudo-stepfather than any transcendental spiritual experience, and WI-FI was needed for such an experience. “Let’s go back to someplace that has internet and cellphone service.”

Personally, yes, I wanted the transcendental experience because I feel one with nature and away from civilization. But I also had received an invitation from a potential employer who wanted to see how my writing style was and I needed to write out a synopsis and outline for a romantic story idea. I too needed an internet connection to be successful, plus a deadline for Saturday, which was the next day.

I agreed to go along with her idea. WE went back to Ketchum and did some sightseeing, mostly trying to find any kind of campsite that offered hook ups including internet. I suggested at least twice to locate an RV park. “Surely they have what you desire. We toured around Sun Valley and finally she found an RV park just south of Ketchum. As luck would have it, they were booked. The nearest one was south in Bellevue. She called that business, and they had an opening and went back south, pass Hailey and into the smaller town of Bellevue. WE picked up more groceries at an Albertsons Supermarket and got our spot at 5:30 that afternoon. Once again, we set everything up, including placing our sewer hose down a drain that accepted our gray and black water, hooked up ac and potable water from a faucet into our camper from a hose. The middle-aged proprietor with graying hair and spindly legs handed her the receipt which also included the park’s WI-FI password. She was happy finally.

We ate, cooking soup on the gas stove, watched Net-Flix on our tablets and later on the furnace kicked on and she enjoyed sleeping cozy warm on the overhead compartment. It’s much more challenging for me to try and climb up that far, so I made the decision that I would convert the dining section into my bed. It worked out great for both of us. I guess our parents also came to that same conclusion that sleeping together was not nearly as fun as it was when we were younger.

I spent most of Saturday doing the synopsis and outline, then emailing everything to this video gaming company that has these types of lonely hearts or dear hearts romance themed storylines that sells hot and heavy in the orient. I never realized myself, but if my story works for this company and I can convert it into some kind of script then I’ll have something of a steady income through my writing, while awaiting royalty checks to come in for my books.

On Sunday, we took our time coming home, finally leaving the RV Park at about one in the afternoon. We drove down HR 75 and parked at a highway rest area for a couple hours and then drove home. I realized going this route south to a town called Shoshone was actually closer than heading back the way we came on Friday. By seven that evening we pulled into the long driveway and unloaded the camper.

Today I get to celebrate my 63rd birthday. No campouts are planned, maybe a barbeque instead.