…but I’m glad it’s not mine.”

Those words were spoken to me by my Atlanta-ish neighbor Leeann (some of you have met here at LitFest), around 1980 (?) when I had just described to her an incident with a tenant renting my guest bedroom. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn my lesson with that one (a male dance instructor at the Fred Astaire Dance Studio where I was the office manager who reminded me of the actor George Sanders in the movie Rebecca). I later rented the room to a guy (he maybe answered an ad?) who would scream in his sleep. He also soiled his boxers regularly, which was gross. I only know that because my wash machine was in the kitchen. Maybe the dryer was, too; I can’t remember. That was a weird little house.

Later, there was a young female roomie who was pleasant enough, but grew up with an African-American “Mammy,” which I didn’t think was still happening those days. I guess it’d be nice to have two moms, but I just could not wrap my head around that one.

I’m still blissfully living alone, but still managing to have an interesting life. Dogs are my favorite people, and also a source of income once in a while. Life doesn’t get better than that - to hang out with the best kind of “people” there are and get paid for it! I was at the Yancey Farmers’ Market a couple of weeks ago, and there was a guy holding a cute little dog on a leash, out in the sun, while his wife was buying produce. Naturally, I was compelled to meet the dog (Abby), and told the guy that if they ever wanted to board her, to bring her to my house whenever. Both he and his wife were thrilled to know there was nearby a big shady fenced yard and friendly dogs to hang out with while they shopped or went on vacation.

Another woman who was looking for dog-boarding on “nextdoor” - which I think is a Facebook-ish alternative - brought her dog “Winter” for a butt-sniffing play date. Winter will be staying here for more than 2 weeks soon. Winter is a huge white fluffy Husky. I’d told Debi (the owner) that I generally avoid guard dogs like Huskies and Dobermans and Shepherds, but she assured me that Winter is the most laid-back Husky ever, and she’s right. Everybody (except Debi and I) sniffed butts, then went around to pee on each other’s pee, and nobody ‘won’ - good times.

Based on the Farmers’ Market meetup with Abby and her owners, I decided to make it official, sort-of, by having business cards made. I can’t figure out how to attach one for you to see, but it’s cute - a picture of a beagle (of course), my business name (‘MY OTHER HOME’), and my contact info, including the wording “reasonable rates”, which basically means $10 per overnight or per day (or part thereof).

The only people to whom I will hand this card are people whose dogs I’ve already met. Abby is - if I remember correctly - a small King Charles Spaniel or something like that. It doesn’t matter a whole lot, as Sadie and Fang are used to visitor dogs of any sort. Sadie just does the butt-sniffing and goes back to her hidey-hole, but Fang is delighted to have another playmate, whether or not they want to play. Sadie often thinks the play-fighting is real and gets upset, thinking she has to break it up. I love that girl; I think I was like her when I was a kid.

Sadie’s muzzle is greying, and I think her eyes are getting cloudy, but she’s been my best friend since 2020, when the Humane Society asked me to take her in. She’d never been inside a building. Her “owners” had moved and dropped her off at the shelter. All of the sudden there are walls, noises, smells, strangers, fluorescent lights. She was freaking out. I brought her home and let her into the big side yard. If I sat in a lawn chair there, she’d come to sniff my hand. If I stuck my hand through the fence from the front yard, she’d come and sniff it. But she wouldn’t come near anyone.

At the time, I was still working, so I propped my back door open with a heavy paint can - for two months, day and night. Whether I was home, at work, or asleep, Sadie could come inside and see what it was all about. Two months later, I came home from work. I walked into the living room, and she was standing in the kitchen. She came up to me, stood on her hind legs, her paws on my shoulders. She knew she’d be safe here. I wish I had the capacity to do that for people.

Changing channels: I posted on the Celo List that I needed yardwork help. An amazing young couple answered, and have come by and done a lot of work, whacking invasives, moving downed limbs, weed eating around the fences, and whatever they see needs attention. My sister Kate had sent me a weedeater with wheels - sounds weird, but it works great. Working it feels sort of like running a vacuum (which I’ve never liked to do), but if I keep up with it, it shouldn’t be so hard to keep the front yard presentable.

Kate also ordered for me two plastic porch rockers. They are turquoise, which has become my favorite color. I assembled one this afternoon, then rested and debated whether to assemble the other or wait until tomorrow. Unfortunately, I tackled the second and messed it up. I think the arms are attached wrong…I was drilling holes when I should not have. My bad, but I have great neighbors, and tomorrow Christian will come over and fix it. =whew= His son Jacobo (“Booger” to me) is the high point of any day. He is a riot. 1½ years old, and he’ll run over here whenever he can, to race around the house or yard, talking nonstop (none of which I can understand, but pretend I do) and generally charming me as only a toddler can do. He’s very serious, but gets a kick out of silliness, of which there is no shortage over here. I’m sooo lucky to get to be a grandma (an “abuela”) to somebody so nearby!

The storm last weekend drove pine tree limbs through the roof of the gazebo. Three roof sections will need to be repaired. I sent 25 photos to my insurance agent, and hope they pay up soon. One thing inside the gazebo that got broken was a clay piece I got at a roadside tourist place in Florida years ago. It’s five figures circled around a central “cup” which would hold a candle. Their arms are around each other’s shoulders, and when a candle is lit, their faces are warmly lit with what appear to be smiles. I don’t know if I can repair or replace it. If not, I’ll use a gift certificate from the local pottery school I’ve had for 10 years and not yet redeemed, to see if I can replicate it.

I do hope your life is less interesting than mine!

xox

Lucy