I know it’s been forever–my little Mac laptop has finally expired so I haven’t had anything to write on! Luckily, my lovely sister loaned me her wireless apple keyboard to use with my iPad, so we’re back in business! No pictures for awhile, until we buy a new computer, but that will have to be put off in the interest of keeping the budget happy. A certain little black dog–I won’t mention whose, or which–decided to impale herself on some unknown object–my money’s on a t-post, antler or buried farm implements–and had to have an emergency visit to the vet last weekend.
Our dogs don’t get injured during normal business hours during the week. They get injured when you know the vet’s going to charge you eighty bucks just for walking in the door.
But, thankfully, she escaped a torn abdominal wall and just needed stitches and a drain to keep fluid from accumulating in the wound.
Which was $800, mostly due to anathesia since it was quite a big hole in her little flank and needed lots of attention so they had to put her under for a few hours.
We’re still not mentioning names, though. This is an anonymous little black dog.
Long story short, she’s alive and happy, especially since she ditched her cone somewhere as yet unknown to the rest of us. We know it’s outside. And that’s all.
We have bad luck with cones–Gaucho once blew one to smithereens when he bailed off the four-wheeler to bite a bull in the face. To his credit, he did get the bull turned. Not to his credit, he wasn’t supposed to help at all. Just watch.
What’s worse, a ditched and lost cone (Elizabethan collar, if you want to get really fancy), or an in-a-million-piece cone? Who knows. If I were a hashtagger, I would hashtag #ranchdogprobalems or #toosexyformycone.
But I’m not that hip. Sorry.
So that’s what’s going on here. That and snow. Lots and lots of snow. But, from what I’ve seen from the news and heard from girls at work, we’re in much better shape than the Deep South, so I’ll take it (and my four-wheel drives vehicles) and like it!
On that note, I’m introducing a new blog post concept: Soapbox Saturdays.
Today’s Soapbox Saturday topic: unbearably slow drivers on rural two-lane highways.
Dear all of you people who fall into the above category:
I am not a crazy driver. In fact, my dad made me pull over so we could switch drivers on the way home from Montana because apparently I drive too slow. But. Let’s say the driving conditions are good. Let’s say that the speed limit is a moderate 65-mph. Let’s say there’s a big, wide shoulder and lots of places in which a worried driver could pull over to let other people past. Let’s say the speed limit is posted obviously and in multiple locations along the route.
And let’s say that someone is driving slower than molasses in wintertime.
Why, oh why, you people, do you choose to drive ten or more miles an hour under the speed limit? And refuse to pull over to let others pass, even when the line of headlights behind you stretches longer than a college macroeconomics lesson? Why, when the driver behind you (who is not even tailgaiting you, by the way) finally breaks down and does something she’s never done before and honks at you and flashes her brights to let you know that this is getting to be a little excessive?
It’s dangerous, folks. And it’s annoying. And if you’re that scared of driving on the highway, then don’t. If you must, then put your hazards on so we all have confirmation that you’re thoroughly freaked out, and pull over every so often to let others pass. I understand driving slower in poor conditions. I understand being nervous to drive on the highway. I understand being unsure about two-lane highways, because I suppose they can be intimidating. I suppose I even understand driving like a butt if the guy behind you is being, well, a butt. I don’t understand ignoring posted speed limits and letting cars pile up behind you when the driving conditions are good and the driver behind you is taking deep, calming yoga breaths and focusing on the good things in her life in order to avoid not becoming a butt.
Why not pass, do you ask?
Because it’s busy enough that time of evening to make passing impossible. See? I did have an answer to that.
When you live in a rural area, there are some tradeoffs, like a longer commute. Don’t make a longer commute unbearable by driving an unconscionable amount below the posted speed limits.
There it is. My Saturday Soapbox.
I could have chosen extortion by the veterinary industry, due to the fact that it seems to cost roughly the same amount to put a forty-pound dog under as it does for a small human, but I’m glad my little girl is okay and it could have been much worse.
In the wise words of my dear husband “Well, at least it wasn’t a horse.”
That, folks, is very true.
On that note, have a lovely Saturday night. I’m watching the Hobbit, planning this month’s menu, and having an exciting Saturday night all around.