Age changes things

 Seems like lately, one or the other of us has some sort of doctor appointment.  Gabe decided he wasn’t getting enough of the attention around here, I suppose, because although he hadn’t had stomach problems for about four months, last week he started vomiting from one to four times daily.  He didn’t act sick at all; once he was done puking, he was racing around the place like always.  However, after five days of cleaning up vomit, I took Cliff’s advice and made an appointment with the veterinarian.  Yesterday Gabe was full of energy and excited to go for a car ride.  I explained to the vet what was going on with him.  He checked him over and agreed with me that Gabe seemed healthy as could be, and sent us home with something to calm his stomach and an antibiotic, just in case there was any trace of infection.  Gabe hasn’t vomited since the vet visit, but I don’t think it’s because of the meds.  I think whatever it was had simply run its course.  The vet agreed with me that it may have been caused by something Gabe ate outside, because that dog will eat any kind of bug or worm or manure or rotting flesh.  I can’t help but wonder if he ate some of those Asian Lady Beetles; I’ve read online that sometimes dogs get sick from them, although the vet had never heard of such a thing.  I knew from experience not to tell him what I read on the Internet. No doctor wants you telling him what you learned online.  

So, this week I paid $70 to the vet for the exam and meds, plus $40 for a six-month supply of Ivohart.  Then day after tomorrow I’ll pay the groomer $35 for a trim.  It’s a good thing I love my Little Prince.  

Cliff, reading Craigslist, noticed the dairy where I’ve bought baby calves for a few years is selling them for $100 apiece.  And to think a couple years ago they were $425 each!  The funny thing is that even at such a cheap price, I don’t feel the urge to go buy at least one.  I told Cliff, “I think I’m done playing with calves, once we get these two butchered.”  In my heart, I know I’m done. 

It’s pretty much the same with the garden.  I don’t plan to have more than a few tomato plants again next year.  My body has too many aches and pains for heavy work, and I certainly can’t take the heat any more.  Besides, the two of us don’t eat enough to bother with canning beans and tomatoes, and we seldom have company here for a meal these days.  

I’ve come to realize that I won’t ever be traveling to the places I’ve dreamed about, but it’s OK.  I’d rather be at home with Cliff than running around the country with anybody else.  Besides, you can’t travel when you’re seeing doctors all the time!  OK, I’m exaggerating.  It’s just that here lately, we’ve seen more doctors than I really care to.  

We have had some drop-dead gorgeous days lately.  The drought is back with us, but the autumn leaves have really been struttin’ their stuff.  Now there are more leaves on the ground than on the trees, but they were pretty while they lasted.  I’ve been monitoring our propane tank, which will need to be filled up before too long.  However, since the kitchen range is the only thing using propane in spring, summer, and fall, we use very little until it’s time for the furnace to start doing its job.  The tank is 30% full.  I’ll have them fill it when it’s down to 20%.

All the horses are gone now, although two of them may return in the spring.  Adam bought a place, so his horses are at home with him  Once the calves are gone, though, it will be really nice to be able to leave gates open and not worry about something getting out.  

This seems like a rather negative entry, but it’s more of a “waking up and slowing down” story.  At some point you realize life on this earth is going to end for you, and suddenly the things you’ve thought were so important aren’t that big a deal at all.  That’s where we are at present.  I’m tossing things out and taking stuff to Goodwill.  Every time I look around a room, I see something else that could go.  The grandson’s wife let me know she’d like my butter churn when I’m gone... I told her she can have it now.  I won’t be milking any more Jersey cows and making butter.  And so it goes.

It’s the circle of life, folks.  We’ve all gotta walk that lonesome valley by ourselves.

Until next time, Donna