This is rather a sad musing tale.
The Sorry Drunk in the Trailer House is another one of the sagas I've been following in the 8 years I've traveled my work/home route. Almost to the end of my mountain road - on the to-work end - was a sagging old trailer home. The curtains in the windows were in tatters, the yard was a quilt of bare earth and weedy patches. There was a good-sized Rottweiler chained to the front steps. The inhabitant of the trailer was a character that looked like his blood had been almost fully replaced by alcohol. Disheveled, dirty, he was never wearing clothing that fit the climate that day. He walked down the side of the road to what I assumed was work of some sort. Occasionally, I would see him sitting at the intersection of the mountain road and the main road, waiting. I began to get concerned about the dog when I realized it had no shelter during the day. And no water bowl. And no food bowl. So one morning, I threw a bag of dry dog food in the back of the car, along with a jug of water and two extra dishes. I was a little leery of approaching him (LARGE intact male), but figured I was armed with food and good intentions, so I had a pretty good chance of convincing him I was friendly. I filled the food bowl and the water bowl and put them well within reach. He turned out to be a sweet dog, who was very happy to see the food. I put the bag of food, along with a note, around the back of the trailer and left. This went on for some time - his food dish was filled as long as I provided the food. I also found out that I had to provide the water. It dawned on me that this fellow was either squatting or hadn't paid the rent in a very long time and the landlord wanted him out. Just as obvious was the fact that the dog was there to keep people away. I am not a fan of keeping dogs chained up all day without shelter, so I brought it to the attention of my friend and neighbor, the local dog warden. In rural areas, all the dog wardens are pals, so I knew that he would contact the right authority and that the dog would be treated well.
(My god. This is turning into War and Peace....)
A couple of days later, the dog was gone. A couple of weeks later, all this poor sap's worldly possessions were put out in the front yard; a sad little pile. Bit by bit, pieces of his estate disappeared - free piles are a big thing around here. There was evidence that he wasn't going quietly. Each day there was a new day of battle between the land lord and Bill the Barnacle (as I came to think of him). I think at one point BTB was living in the little shed for a while. Eventually, though, he gave up and moved on. The trailer was completely gutted and has had a complete renovation and is very spiffy. While I will never know what happened to BTB, I do know that his dog got a very good home with a family that loves him to pieces. A happy ending for one of the pair.
Have you ever eaten something that makes your teeth squeak? I made some lentil/greens soup and decided to put a dash of lemon juice in it. Geez. It tasted fine, but it made my teeth feel squeaky. That got me to thinking about a cake someone made me preGI (gluten intolerance). It was a very sweet, dense cake with caramel in it. One bite and it glued itself onto my teeth. If I had been wearing braces, I would still be dealing with it, ten years later.
I am having to deal with my Onset Winter Claustrophobia, caused by all the layers of clothing I have to wear. I sometimes feel like a turtle on its back when I get behind the wheel in office clothes, wool scarf, heavy gloves, heavy coat. I like cold weather but hate having to pile on all those outer garments. It's the same feeling I get when I have to mix something with my hands and it sticks to them. I have to wash my hands ever five seconds or I get the heebie jeebies. Hmm. I wonder what Aunt Sweezie would have to say about that.