Rain rolled in the burg early on this Sunday morning. How do I know? Because Gracie is scared of thunder. Even little thunder rumblings. She doesn’t hunker down — she runs, pants and whines.
Good thing we tackled the yard work yesterday. Even though I missed a couple phone calls while attacking the ditch with a weedeater, it’s still a pretty good thing it’s done — rain is in the forecast for the next 4 or 5 days last I looked. I’m not sure what this day will bring for me, but the pesky neighbors are going camping. Peeking out the back door, I’m thinking they’ll need a flashlight to set the camper up even at noon today.
I’ve been packing my days with work (day shift – regular job : 2nd shift – remodeling project), but last night I did nothing but plant my butt on the couch and watch the tube. It probably had something to do with my arms feeling like jello after vibrating to the tune of a heavy weedeater in a deep ditch for too long — so long I wondered if I could get that grilled cheese sandwich from the plate to my mouth.
But here’s what I learned!
I don’t want to relocate to Panama. At first, I thought it was an awesome idea. Fabulous homes on the beach for $250k? And, the cost of living is reported to be what it was in the US in the 50’s. Then, I found that pets are required to be quarantined for months. Libby would be so pissed! She doesn’t like to even get her feet wet to pee if it’s rained — she could care less about the beach.