Putting on of the black suits signals the crew it’s walk time.  I want Bridget and Spike to get their business done pronto and come back inside so I can fix my coffee.  I have to admit it is a peaceful start of the day, though, wandering around the palo verde, ironwood trees, saguaros, and flowering creosote bushes as the first streams of sunlight beam out from beyond Black Mountain.  Funny.  In the afternoons I’m anxious to move on, but on mornings like this I don’t want to leave.

A little after eight the desert stillness is swept away by the drone of ATVs.

I look out the door and across the sloping desert.  From my house on a hill the red vehicles look like big, racing ladybugs as they zip down the main road, triangular flags fluttering aloft.  A dark pick-up follows with what looks like white plastic drums, possibly containing water?  I wonder if it’s the border patrol on a mission.  A border patrol truck often goes by pulling a trailer-load of ATVs.  I remember Rick saying the ATVs are a way for the agents to pass the time when boredom is about to drive them crazy.

It’s surprising how quickly the cold desert night warms into a sunny, comfortable morning.

Bridget is a baby.

I putter around the campsite and straighten up the BLT.  Every time I step out the door the hordes of mourning doves take flight.  It looks like a Hitchcock movie. 

I experiment with my camera’s timer.  I figure out how to set its delay function.  I place the camera on the BLT’s belly-band, grab Bridget, step back, and presto!  All in ten seconds!

The PTV’s appointment is for 11:30 this morning.

Bridget: "Uh-oh, rvsue is not happy about this."

On the way I stop at the Chamber of Commerce to fill up some water jugs.  I go to lift the handle on the pump and . . .  What’s this?  The handle is locked down.  Oh darn, no more free water. 

Next I stop at the Ajo post office to pick up the rest of my Amazon order.  I get part of the order (a package of brushes). So far, so good.

Then the post lady hands me a card.  It says the rest of the order couldn’t be delivered because of an undeliverable address.  What?  

The packages were sent via United Parcel instead of by U.S. mail to a GENERAL DELIVERY address!  Now how dumb is that?  So now I have to fix this problem and I bet I’ll be charged for shipping.  Well, that’s two strikes. 

Off to NAPA Auto Repair. 

I hope it’s not strike three.

Other blogs show boring historical landmarks and natural wonders.

After discussing the PTV’s problem with the repair guy, I decide I don’t want to sit on the “waiting bench” inside the store.

This photo shows what the inside of a NAPA store looks like.

The tree that grows cotton!

The crew and I walk along the roadway.  It’s lined with yellow brittlebushes and an interesting tree with cottony blooms.

Um . . . another pic of the cotton tree!

The road out of Ajo . . . Hwy 85 north to Gila Bend

The brittlebushes are in bloom all over the desert and in the town of Ajo. They look pretty growing along the roads and in people’s yards.

Not what one would expect to see next to an auto parts and repair shop!

The crew and I turn back toward the NAPA store and notice a mural at the rear of the building where U-Haul operates.

I love outdoor murals.

The repair guy presents the PTV’s diagnosis. 

Bridget: "Aren't the colors lovely!"

The oil pressure is fine.  Since the gauge is “pegged,” the problem is probably the “cluster.”  It’s where all the gauges are. 

“We could pull the housing and replace it, but that would mean waiting for us to have the odometer reading notarized and it’ll cost you around $130 . . . These things go bad all the time on Chevys around the year yours is.” 

“Just so I can read the oil pressure gauge.”  I’m thinking out loud.

The repair guy continues. 

“It’s annoying to see that gauge all the way up.  If it’s really gonna bother you, we can replace the cluster.  That’s a lot of money to not be annoyed but we’ll be happy to do it if that’s what you want.”

There's somethiing about a dirt lane . . .

“What if the oil pressure really is high?”  I ask.

“Well, if that were to happen, the check-engine light would come on.  Same if it’s too low.”

To make a long story short, whether it’s the sending unit or the dash gauge display unit, I decide to leave it be. 

“So I can expect the other gauges to conk out at some point, too?”  

At first a tentative hello . . .

He smiles, shrugs, and replies, “Probably.”

The crew and I go up to the counter to pay the $32.50 labor charge. 

Bridget hides between the counter and my legs.  

Spike, however, wants to mee the NAPA dog, a shar-pei mix, while I hand over my credit card.  (I haven’t had much luck trying to pay with my out-of-town checks.)

Soon the barriers come down . . .

Turning into Darby Well Road, I realize I’m starving! 

The crew always falls asleep on the Darby Well Road.

I’m glad I made my standard bean dish last night.  It requires great expertise.

Open a big can of pinto or black beans, a smaller can of chopped tomatoes, and a can of kernel corn, and dump it all into a pot.  Add some garlic powder or any other seasoning you happen to have.

Then take the block of green chilies out of the freezer.  Since the chilies are frozen harder than concrete, place the block on the rear bumper of your vehicle or rv.  (Not directly on the bumper, of course.  Put something under it to keep it clean, for heaven’s sake.)  With one hand jab a screwdriver (Phillips or blade will do) into the frozen chilies while holding a hammer in the other.  Whack the screwdriver with all you’ve got.  Throw frozen chunk of chilies into the pot.  Heat and serve!

rvsue

Bridget is cuddled next to me.  What a warm little muffin you are, little girl. Spike obviously has to go out.  “Okay!  Okay!” I rush to dress.  He continues to bark like crazy, jumping at the door.  Before I can get my pants on, I turn the lock, push the door open, and he busts out.  Quickly I yank the cords to lift the mini-blinds.  I want to keep a close eye on him while I finish getting dressed.  Bridget sticks her head out from beneath the covers.

Our house on a hill

I pull up the blind in the rear of the BLT. 

There goes Spike, trotting up the lane.  At that very moment I also see an animal, greyish-brown, dash across the lane at the top of the hill, running from creosote bushes on the left to a clump of palo verde on the right.  “OH NO!”

I dash out the door and sprint up the lane.

I scoop up Spike who’s totally unaware of the possibility of danger.  As I carry him down toward the BLT, I look to our left and see a black-tailed jackrabbit the size of a Volkswagen bounding up and over a small ridge.  Oh, it wasn’t a coyote after all.  It’s time to step up the security.  When rabbits show up, coyotes soon follow.   Spike stares at the sky from my arms, oblivious.   Man, that was one humongous bunny.  No wonder he’s so big.  He keeps ahead of the coyotes.

Bridget’s looking out the window at us.

Oh geez, if I don’t get us inside in the next two seconds, she’s going to start crying.  We get back inside and I dish out the crew’s breakfast before setting up the percolator.   “Boy, Spike, you really know how to jump-start a morning!”

Photo taken yesterday before heightened security.

After coffee, I take my cellphone outside to call Felix.

In case you haven’t read this blog from the beginning, for which, if I might add, you should feel great shame, Felix is the guy who bought my house in Georgia.  I need to track down my W-2 form.  The school I retired from sent it to the house as I didn’t have mail-forwarding set up at the time I retired.

“Hola, Felix!  It’s Susie!”

I can tell Felix is happy to hear my voice, but then he gets serious.  “I’m at the hospital.  Remember my brother Transito?   He’s been here for three days.  They’re running tests.” He tells me Julio (his son) asks for me and then adds with his typical directness, “We need you, Susie.” 

I used to translate letters, notes from Julio’s teachers, and other cryptic documents.

When English isn’t your first language, acronyms, slang expressions, and multiple word-meanings make the written word incomprehensible for people like Felix who have diligently studied and practiced the language for years.  Anyway.

“Felix.   Do you know what a W-2 form is?” 

I want to make sure he knows what I’m talking about to avoid starting a comedy routine reminiscent of Abbott and Costello. If you don’t know who Abbott and Costello were, well, you should, so google it because I’m not going to sit here and explain “Who’s On First.” 

Back to Felix and the W-2.

“Yes.  It’s for tax-eez.”  We arrange to talk again in a few days.  That’ll give him plenty of time to turn the house upside down to find where Julio might have put the form.  Julio’s a great kid, but he takes advantage of living in a one-parent home and gets into everything.

Felix asks where I am and I tell him I’m in Arizona . . . in the desert.

“Oh, Susie.  You need to come back here.”  I reply with “maybe someday,” although I doubt that will happen.

Whenever Spike's happy, he licks Bridget's ears.

Tomorrow is the PTV’s appointment at the shop.

Once that’s taken care of, it’ll be close to tank-dumping and propane-buying time.  That would also be a good time to leave the area and find a new camp. 

I do want to stay and see the desert come into bloom.  Every day we discover new flowers.  But I also want to camp in new places. 

As is my style, I’ll wait and see.  Maybe when the PTV is ready to tow, we’ll be ready to go!

Every day we explore something new.

 rvsue

For instance, how do you position the rig in a campsite?  When in a campground with defined parking places, there isn’t much choice.  Boondockers, however, can usually choose exactly how to park.  To me that’s part of the fun of it – creating my own outdoor living area.  The crew and I have been exploring the Darby Well area of the desert, looking for future places to camp.

We find a lovely site.

It has a stunning view of the mountains and is ringed on three sides by the wispy branches of Palo Verde and a few stately saguaros.   It’s elevated, which I prefer, and the rocky road up to it has only a few washed out places that our PTV pulling the BLT can easily traverse.   

The crew and I walk around it. 

Wow!  Nice! 

I try to imagine how I’ll park.  Hmmm …  

I soon discover the only choices are up close to the road with the door opening into the road, or facing the other way putting sharp rocks and the lesser view on the door side.  I see that the ground where I want to place the BLT is severely sloped.   

Now it doesn’t look like such a wonderful campsite.

So what are the considerations when parking an rv?

These are the things I look for.  The first is beauty.  What is the 360 degree view?   I don’t want to live in Camp Ugly.  I suppose there’ll be times when I have no choice, such as an overnight stop when travelling from point A to point B.  I’m talking here about a more lasting campsite.  

I consider a lot of factors.

How level is it? Is there any chance of getting stuck?  Will a heavy rain wash out the road?  Is the site visible from the main road (something I want to avoid, others may want that)?  Will I be violating any rules?  Will the sun warm one of the windows in the morning to help take off the chill? Will the sun be too harsh on the door side of the Casita? How will the sun’s rays strike the solar panel?  Will I see the sunset from my dinette window?  Will the wind hit the Casita broadside?  Am I low enough to be sheltered from too much wind?  Am I high enough to get television reception?  Cell phone? 

Whew!  Time for a break.  Go get a snack or hit the restroom.  I’ll wait . . .

Okay.  Where were we . . .  What will I first see when I step out the door?  Are there any dangers for the crew nearby (like the desert cholla)?  Is there a tree for a bird feeder?  Will it be where I can comfortably sit and watch it? Will other rvs be in my view or within my hearing?  Will I be in theirs?  What is the surface of the ground going to be outside the Casita door?  Are there sharp rocks that will tear the patio mat?  Do I need the patio mat on this ground?  How easily will I be able to take the crew on short walks from this campsite? (Can I do so without being caught in pajamas?) . . .  

I don’t go through each and every one of these questions when looking at a potential site.  It’s more automatic than that.  It seems tedious when written out here.  In real life it’s fun!  Especially when everything, or almost everything, turns out to be right where I want it!

The crew and I go visiting!

After a day of rain, it’s a warm and sunny morning for walking up to Caron and Chris’s camp.  They invited us for coffee.  Bridget and Spike meet their big, black, and beautiful Dixie.  Bridget, after rudely snarling at Dixie, sneaks off to rub her back on the underside of their motorhome, getting dirty, while Spike marches around their campsite, making his marks, scratching the ground, and acting important.

Dixie, on the other hand, sits serenely at Chris’s feet, her silent way of saying “whatever” at Spike’s lame attempt to claim territory and Bridget’s low-class behavior.  As for me, I enjoy talking with Caron and Chris, mostly about rving, retirement, and how much we love both.

The recent rain brought new flowers!

Thanks to readers who suggested I try Picasa for my photos. (You can click the photos for an enlarged view.) Do you think there’s an improvement?

rvsue

I’ve filled up the water jugs at the spigot in front of the Chamber of Commerce and now I want to check my mail.  

The post office is tucked in alongside the deli and various shops.  I’m happily surprised when the post lady brings out not only a package from friend Geri, but also part of my Amazon order of painting supplies.

It’s a beautiful day.  Finally, a day without wind!

I take some photos of the plaza and browse the shops.

The plaza at Ajo, Arizona

Then we tool on over to NAPA at the far side of town to arrange for the PTV’s oil pressure gauge check-up.  The earliest appointment we could get is for next Tuesday.   

Practically across the road sits the IGA grocery.  I buy a lot because I need to restock several items.  I had considered driving to Casa Grande, some 90 miles one way, in order to go to Wal-Mart and my bank, and for the heck of it.   Any savings, however, would be wiped out by the cost of gas and then the oil pressure situation made the trip out of the question.

The crew deserves a hike.

On the way home I drive past our lane and go deeper into the Darby Well area.

Motorhomes are nestled among the saguaro.

Bridget and Spike scramble out of the PTV.   We’re on a mission to find new campsites.  This requires us to walk because I don’t want to take the PTV up unfamiliar trails that could have deep washes across them with no place to turn around.  Plus it’s fun to hike with a purpose.  The next time we come here I want to camp in a spot that’s more secluded and with a different view.

An arrangement of cholla branches

  We walk up a dirt lane and find a beautiful spot not far from Cow Plop Mountain. 

Yeah, that's a cow plop. A very big cow plop.

Its only drawback is a big hole nearby (abandoned mine? animal den?).  Once the PTV is back to normal we’ll look some more.  Spike and Bridget love these explorations!

"When we get home, Bridget, I'm going to take a nap."

I get out our little charcoal grill. 

The crew guards supper.

It’s difficult to do a good job with chicken on this grill as the distance of the chicken from the briquettes cannot be adjusted very much.  Just the same, you get what you pay for and I’m glad I got it.

The chicken legs have the skin on which gets burned, of course.  Oh well, I don’t want to eat the skin anyway and underneath the meat is tender and good.   

I also put on a hot dog which I love to eat burned, and the last, thankfully, two turkey burgers from a box of the frozen patties. 

One “burger” is for the crew to share and the other is for me. 

They really are terrible. 

"I love you more than Bridget does."

The crew thinks the hockey-puck burgers are wonderful and, judging from their eyes, they cannot believe I’m giving them each such a big piece. 

I should have given them mine, too!

We share some chicken and I put the rest in a zip-loc for tomorrow.

After our feast and clean-up, we watch the setting sun together.

We also watch a gang of mourning doves devour all the birdseed I’ve put out.  Every day more show up.  We’re up to eighteen at a time.  Bridget gets annoyed with them and walks around the ironwood tree, sending them off in a flurry of wings.  A half-minute later they’re back.  After they’ve stuffed themselves at our all-you-can-eat buffet, they finally leave.   

I put out more for the sparrows who dine most daintily, shelling each seed before picking another.  It’s funny how you can see human behavior mirrored in the actions of birds and animals. 

Later in the evening I get in pajamas and cozy up with the crew.

I want to look at the brochures about Utah that Geri sent.  I love not knowing where we will be in the coming months!  I’ve learned not to set an exact itinerary, just acquaint myself with areas I want us to see, set out in that direction, and then let the journeys unfold. 

Bridget and Spike are dreaming, too, fast asleep. 

Bridget opens her eyes momentarily as I turn on the television.  Oh boy.  Here we go.  The choices are how to plane a chair leg by hand (always good to know!), men trying to injure or kill themselves being daredevils (narrated in Spanish), or PBS being so. . . so . . . PBS.    

I turn it off and wrap up the day the same way I started it — reading the latest comments from blog readers!

rvsue   

 P.S.  Did you hover your cursor over the photos?

We’ve spent a lot of time inside the past few days in order to keep out of the wind.  The solar panel has given me more than enough power for watching television and going online, and the Wave 3 catalytic heater has taken the chill out of the mornings.

I notice a strange phenomenon related to living fulltime in my little trailer.

When I lived in my four-bedroom house in Georgia,  I would sometimes get cabin fever. 

This made me wonder how I’d cope with the confines of a 17-foot trailer, especially when the weather keeps the crew and me indoors. 

I don’t know why, but I haven’t once had a case of cabin fever in my Casita.  Not even during the snowstorm in New Mexico last fall or during the past few days of constant wind in the desert. 

I can’t explain it, but it’s nice to know!

I need to take the Perfect Tow Vehicle into town. 

As soon as the engine is on, the oil pressure gauge needle goes all the way up as far as it can go.  I noticed this a few days ago while towing the BLT to empty the waste tanks and fill up with water.  The guy at NAPA said it might need a new sending unit.  “You’ll be okay driving it.  Just bring it in so we can take a look at it.”   Of course, I interpret his words as permission to procrastinate!

While walking with the crew this morning, I thank God for my good health. 

Lately several people I know have faced health challenges.  Here I am, sixty-three years old, and I’m able to climb rocky slopes and take long walks without discomfort  (and at a pretty fast pace in order to keep up with Spike!).

I don’t take any pills or shots and all my senses are in good working order.  My digestion is good and I sleep well at night.  No longer do I have the headaches, leg cramps, foot problems, neck pain, shortness of breath, anxiety attacks, depression, and bad dreams I used to have before I retired and hit the road.

My brainpower isn’t what it used to be and my memory sucks, but that’s okay. 

I guess one could say my life pressure gauge is on low.

rvsue

Ooh, that sun feels good!  Spike and Bridget agree with me.

It’s warmer outside the BLT this morning, than inside.  I sprinkle more birdseed on the ground under the ironwood tree.  I fix my coffee and settle into my camp chair.  

I love the little Black-Throated Sparrows with their white facepaint and black bibs.

A flock of eight of them visits our campsite every day.  They all seem to live in harmony.  Sometimes one will run over to another and touch beaks.  They move so quickly I can’t tell who’s feeding whom. 

The Mourning Doves bring a different atmosphere to the seed buffet

.   

They swoop in with much ado, flapping wings at each other, bullying, and hopping about in hormonal hissy-fits.  Usually they drive off the sparrows.  And can they chow down!  Geez, I’m going to have to buy more seed.

It’s always a pleasure, however, to see Mr. and Mrs. House Finch arrive.

They like to dine at the hanging feeder, getting right inside it.  Rarely do they join the hustle-bustle of birds on the ground.   Their chirping is a delight to hear.

I notice a Cactus Wren perched at the very top of “our” saguaro.

He’s facing the sun singing his heart out, but he doesn’t visit the happy throng enjoying breakfast before me.

The Cactus Wren flies away, and a Gila Woodpecker claims the saguaro.

He clings to its side among the thorns.  Sometimes he drinks from the hummingbird feeder.

Last but not least are the Anna’s Hummingbirds.  When positioned toward the sun, their crown and neck glow irridescent pink.

And their aerial maneuvers make the fighter jets that occasionally fly over from the missile range seem slow and clumsy!

My thoughts turn to mundane matters.

While I watch the birds, I take stock of my situation. I’ve got almost-full propane tanks and water tank, and near-empty waste tanks.  (I took care of those tasks the day before yesterday.)  It’s almost laundry time again.  And I’ll need groceries again soon.  Buying groceries at small stores in small towns really increases my outlay for my food, for the crew’s food, and for daily-living sundries.  I mull this over until I see a way I can cut down on my spending at mom-and-pop groceries with their high prices.

After almost six months, my pattern for full-timing is in better focus. 

I’ll travel in spring, summer, and fall, but in the winter, I’ll camp in one general location in the desert.  I may have to move to keep within the 14-day limit, but I won’t go far.  Winter will be my time to re-discover the desert I’ve come to love, renew my spirit, and re-evaluate my life choices.

The bright yellow blooms of the Brittlebush cheer up the drab roadside.

Back to the groceries . . .

In late fall, on my way to the desert, I’m going to stock up on groceries at Wal-Mart.  Really stock up.  Buy by the case.  Why not?  I’ve got plenty of room in the PTV to store non-perishables, and I won’t be doing much driving so the weight isn’t a problem.  Also, I can always hide cases or milk crates of canned goods under the BLT.   Saving money makes this old bird sing!  Cheep-cheep!

The downside is fewer of my dollars will go to small business, which I would like to support. Oh well, I’ve got to be prudent with my money.

Speaking of spending or not spending my money . . .

Yesterday I checked with my credit card company and found my accumulation of points amounted to $79!  I jumped online to Amazon.com and spent it in record time.  I like to buy fun stuff with points-money.  It balances the miser in me. 

Last time I used my points to buy the blue patio mat for $65.  This time I ordered acrylic paints, paint brushes, and other artist supplies to be sent to the Ajo post office through general delivery.  I love getting packages!  What fun!  

rvsue

P.S.  Bird identification and photos came from http://www.cabezaprieta.org

He barks and hops and fake-growls at me until I grab the black suits and leashes.  “Spike!  We already went on a long hike this morning!”  He insists.   I guess he wants to catch up on what he missed on his sick day.  Bridget and I follow Spike’s lead.   He takes off like we’re on an expedition, holding his nose high and trotting along with great confidence and purpose. 

The three of us explore the rocks, ridges and ravines.

Itty-bitty flowers of purple, yellow, and white look like miniature replicas of full-size flowers sold in garden shops. It’s a time like this that I wish my camera had a more powerful lens. 

I step carefully to avoid crushing the flowers.  I notice Bridget’s habit of stepping daintily serves her well in the rocky desert. 

Blades of grass are sprouting all over.  Grass?  In the desert?  I never would have thought I’d see so much grass. 

Stopping to rest, I’m reminded of childhood days of long ago.

Many hours at a time I roamed the woods and fields around our house in northern New York State. 

Usually I fantasized I was an explorer or pioneer, living by my wits, reading animal tracks, fording streams, looking for signs of hostile Indians, (I read Last of the Mohicans several times.), recording new plants, and so on.  I remember building a hut out of pine boughs, packing the walls with the damp sod of the woods. 

For hours I sat inside peering out, not making a sound, waiting for a close-up look at wildlife. 

Of course, the landscape here in the Sonoran Desert is entirely different from the verdant valley in which I grew up.  The anticipation of discoveries is the same.

What's this? A giant squid in the desert?

 I loved it then and I love it now.

How peaceful to be standing in the desert with no one in sight, no evidence of human presence!  What a gorgeous day!

“This was a good idea, Spikey!”

Some days I think about moving on, and then I change my mind.

Why move just for the sake of moving?  It’s warm and sunny here.  The crew and I aren’t done exploring the land around our camp. 

I enjoy the gentle rhythm of each day, whether it’s washing the Casita or hanging out laundry or cooking with the door open wide behind me.  Every evening I watch a new sunset. 

Shall I make a campfire, watch television, read a book, go online? 

When the weather improves elsewhere, I’ll go looking for elsewhere.  For now I’ll keep enjoying now, here.

rvsue

He doesn’t do his wake-up stretch.  He doesn’t pester Bridget to get up.  He doesn’t lie on his back and squiggle to scratch his back.  He doesn’t wag his tail.  He doesn’t hop off the bed, run to the door, and whimper, “C’mon! It’s a new day! Let’s get going!”   He even sits still while I put him in his suit.  Hmmm.  This is odd.

It’s still cold for our first walk of the day, so the crew knows to get the job done quickly.

Bridget does her business.  Spike looks around.  Nothing.  He doesn’t even want to walk up the trail behind our camp to sniff all the overnight new smells.  Okay.  Maybe he didn’t get a good night’s sleep.   We go back in and I get the percolator going.  I freshen up the water dish and pour out the breakfast kibble.  Bridget dives in.  Spike lies down, not interested.  Bridget carries a nugget of kibble over to Spike and chomps it in front of his face.  No reaction.  Uh-oh.  Not a good sign.

I decide to see how he is after a good nap.

Bridget snuggles in while I do computer stuff and drink my coffee.  I notice Spike is having trouble getting comfortable on the bed.  Finally he dozes off.  Not eating, not urinating after an entire night.  I try not to worry.

It’s sunny and warm when he wakes up.

We go outside.  Spike isn’t walking right.  He’s holding up his right hind leg as if he doesn’t want to put pressure on it.  I pick him up and hold him in my lap in the camp chair.  I check his pads, sliding my fingers in between them to check for hidden burrs or cuts.  Nothing.  I flex all the joints in his leg and his hip.  No flinching with pain. His belly isn’t hard.  I massage his muscles.  They seem okay, except maybe the inside thigh muscle seems tight.  But that could be tensed up because he’s hurting.  Or maybe it’s a muscle spasm that started during the night. I hope that’s all it is.

I wrap a baby aspirin in a piece of cheese.

Spike LOVES Kraft singles!  I ask him if he wants some cheese and his ears perk up for the first time all day.  Down it goes, carrying 81 mg. with it.  I hope this does the trick.  “Good boy, Spike!”  He limps his way under the BLT and lies down on the cool ground.

By mid-afternoon he’s shivering.

I run to the computer, get online, and do a search for “ask a vet about dog shivering.”  I read that it’s a sign of pain.  I hesitate to give him another aspirin.  Gee, it might aggravate an internal problem.  Now my worry is in overdrive. 

I hurry up the lane to Rick’s place.

Spike's not himself.

I explain what’s going on and ask where there’s a vet in town.  “There isn’t one,” he replies.  “You’d have to drive to Casa Grande or maybe Buckeye, up by Phoenix.”  

“What?  Phoenix!  What do people DO around here?”

“They drive up to Casa Grande or . . . ,” he repeats.

“But that’s an hour-and-a-half away.  By the time we get there it’d be closed!” 

Rick and I discuss possibilities . . . something he ate, scorpion bite, buried thorn, pulled muscle, muscle spasm, on and on.   He remarks sardonically, “You could wait for the Ajo vet.  I read on the laundromat bulletin board that he’ll be here on the 19^th.”

“Great,” I moan.  “The 19^th of February.”

I go down the lane and look under the BLT. Spike sees me and starts shaking.  My presence must be making him tense up.  Oh, if he can make it until the morning, we’ll be at the vet’s door first thing.  I go inside to get online and locate some veterinarians.

Suddenly I hear barking!

Bridget’s bark is unmistakable.  Is that Spike I hear, too?  I run outside and Spike is sprinting up the hill, barking his fool head off because a couple with a spaniel is approaching.  Great!  This is great!  The two dogs sniff and Spike lifts his leg on a bush.  Hurray! 

Spike eats a little bit for supper and takes a few sips of water.

He sleeps pretty well all night on a cushion and covers on the floor.  In the morning I don’t bother putting the crew in their suits.  Spike urinates, but he still doesn’t want to put pressure on his hind leg.  He walks behind the BLT where I can’t see him.  Then I catch him sneaking up the hill to visit Lady, not limping at all.  Oh, that’s a good sign!  He’s back to his old shenanigans. 

“Spikey, come back.” 

I chase after him and carry him home.  “You can’t visit Lady at 6:45 in the morning, little boy.”  He doesn’t seem to be in any pain, although he doesn’t want his kibble.  I know!  I’ll make him some scrambled eggs!

He wolfs down the eggs, eyes bright waiting for me to pass him each bite.

Now he’s resting again which is normal for early morning.  I’ve got the heater on for his benefit.   I’ll watch him until noon and make the decision whether to carry him to Casa Grande. 

He looks like he might be on the mend.

rvsue

Update:  Spike woke up, went outside in the sunshine, looked at me and wagged his tail! I let him walk up to see Lady.  No limping! 

"Feeling better, little boy?"

Yawning is good.

 

There's his morning stretch! Spikey's coming back!

What a beautiful sight.  Gosh, how I love him.

Last time I tried there was no reception.  I press the button on the 12v outlet that activates the antenna, plug in my 400 watt inverter, plug the television into the inverter, and turn it on.  A quick channel search finds three channels!  One is Spanish and two are English.  The Lawrence Welk Show is bubbling along (orange polyester suits!), but soon the Saturday night movie begins.  It’s a good one called Goodbye Again (1961) with Ingrid Bergman, Yves Montand, and Anthony Perkins. 

Walking the crew at sunrise, I can see it’s going to be a beautiful day.

The sky is a clear blue and there’s no wind.  I’ve been feeling off-kilter the past few days. I’ve lost my equilibrium.  I’ve been making a conscious effort to restore my peace of mind.  Nature helps. Rick seems to be experiencing negativity, too.  His words have rolled around in my mind more than once since he spoke them a few days ago while returning from a walk with Lady.  “This place is getting too crowded.  I can see I’m going to have to leave in about two weeks.  It’s starting to close in on me.”  I know that feeling.

Walking the desert at sunrise is great therapy. 

I discover some new, small mounds of tender plants that have sprung up between some stones.  The usual, it’s-good-be-alive antics of the crew always make me feel light-hearted again. 

I smile remembering how Spike started his day. 

He likes to scratch his back by lying belly up, kicking his hind legs in the air, and twisting.  I warn him, “Spikey, you’re going to fall off the bed doing that.”  Sure enough, one wiggle too many and he flips over the edge, landing perfectly on all fours.  He stands still for a moment as if wondering, “How’d I get down here?”  If he could talk, I bet he’d say, “Uh, I meant to do that.” 

The crew and I make a trip into town.

First stop is the Chamber of Commerce.  I fill up my water jugs at the spigot out front.  Then I dump my trash in the dumpster in the parking lot.  After that I stop at Family Dollar for some laundry detergent and pedicure equipment.  My feet look like I’ve been running barefoot across the Australian Outback.   The final stop is Olsen’s IGA store.  A regular can of Maxwell House Coffee . . . $6.19!  Kraft’s Grated Parmesan Cheese . . . $5.49!  I throw the stuff in my basket, and remind myself I pay no rent in a lame attempt to neutralize the pain. 

I must have acquired “desert ear.” 

My grocery shopping experience is not fun.  Loud music pierces the air.  Some woman who’s managed to develop the dubious talent of combining a high-pitched screech with a full-force yell is tearing holes in my eardrums.  I scan the shelves with my hands on my ears. By the time I make it to check-out, I’m reeling. 

Later I ask Rick if he’s had a similar experience.  Without missing a beat he explains, “Oh yeah.  It’s the weekend and the manager’s not there.  The lunatics are running the asylum.”   Boy, he really knows how to summarize a situation!

By afternoon the sun is hot.

In Arizona, once you’re out of the direct sun in some shady spot like the back side of the trailer, the air is quite a bit cooler.  I open the window on the shady side and that cool air wafts over the bed.  Oh, I think I’ll lie down and plan my next move.  I fall into a delicious nap, the kind I haven’t had in a long time.

Supper is a green leaf salad with cukes, radishes, and a mound of Olsen’s potato salad, followed by one of those measly snack-packs of orange jello. Oh why didn’t I buy that pie?

I’m disappointed that I don’t have more photos in this entry.  It took twenty minutes to insert that cactus pic. 

The crew is pestering me for a walk.  The sun is low in the sky.  When we return from our walk, I’ll see if my television reception is still good.  If not, I’ve got a backlog of books on my kindle.

rvsue

The crew is already conked out on the bed with me.  Spike’s at my feet and Bridget’s in my armpit.  That’s enough reading for tonight.  I pull up the window blind about eight inches so I can see the stars, place my glasses on the little table, rearrange my pillow, click the light, and scrunch down into the covers.

My head on my pillow, I contentedly gaze up at the night sky.

So many stars are visible tonight.  As is my custom, I recount the activities of the day in my mind, and wonder what I’ll do tomorrow.  Gee, those stars are bright.  I lift up my head to get a better look out the window.  That’s when I see it. What in the world is THAT?

An orange, glowing sphere is hovering just above the horizon.

This light is bigger than the lights of the stars.  I start to analyze.  It’s hovering too far above the horizon to be the light of a building.  There aren’t any buildings anyway.  This is the desert, silly.  I strain my eyes to make sure I’m actually seeing something, not just a reflection. 

Holy sh*t!  There’s ANOTHER one!  (Let me interrupt the story line right here and point out that I did not say the above referenced swear word out loud.  I did, however, think it in a very big way.)

Two brilliant orange lights just above the desert horizon . . . Hmmm.

It can’t be Christ returning.  These lights are in the north and He said He’d come back from the east.  Besides there’s two lights.  Who would the other guy be?  Oh, there’s got to be a logical explanation.  It’s probably reflections.  Yeah, that’s it.  That’s what they always say about people who see UFOs, like those folks over in Roswell.  But what could they be reflections of?

The refrigerator lights!  That’s it!

I whip my head around and look at the two orange lights on the fridge panel.  One shows the gas is on, the other the level of cold it’s set at.  What a relief.  I ease out of bed, grab a towel, and drape it over the refrigerator lights.  I’m smiling in acknowledgement of my fine-tuned, analytical ability.  Not too shabby.  The old girl’s still got it.  I go back and look out the window.

THE LIGHTS ARE STILL THERE!

“Holy sh*t!  I know, I know, excessive swearing.  You’d swear, too, if two unidentified, unexplainable big ol’ orange lights were hovering on YOUR horizon.  I slip into my shoes, fumble around for my flashlight, go outside, and creep around the trailer to get a better look.  “Son of a b*^#tch!”   (Sorry! This time I say it out loud.)

Now there are THREE lights!

This is NOT good.  What IS this?  An alien attack?  I look up the lane.  Rick’s Scamp has a light.   Good, Rick’s up.  I’m calling him.  He’s gotta see this.  I go back inside.  Bridget’s awake, sitting up looking at me with her “I’m scared” face.  Spike sleeps on.

“Hi, Rick.  I’m sorry to bother you but I see your light is on.”  I’m talking fast.  This is urgent.  Whatever these things are, they’re multiplying by the minute.  “Look out your window to the north.  What the heck are those lights?”  I try not to sound too alarmed.

“Oh, that’s just flares,” he replies without laughing, for which I am grateful.   “They put up those flares so they can do practice exercises at night over at the missile range.”

The muscles in my neck relax.   

“Gee, I thought we were being attacked by aliens!”  Before I can say goodbye, the connection crackles, breaks up, and the call dies.  Now THAT’s more likely aliens!

The next day Rick strolls by, walking his dog, Lady, and says something that makes me feel a little less the fool.

“My first night out here I saw them and I almost grabbed my toothbrush and ran,” he tells me with a chuckle.

Speaking of bright lights in the sky, take a look at tonight’s sunset!

rvsue