Pears, Puppies, and the Petty “I Told You So” I’m Still Holding Onto

I know my posts are random, and “in order to be successful in writing, it needs to be done as often as possible.” But there’s so much I want to do!

When I quit working, I thought I’d have a ton of time for all the things I’ve always wanted to try. I do have more time—but somehow, it goes by faster than ever.

Last week, I bought honey from a local couple to make elderberry syrup from the first berries on the bush Dennis traded a dozen eggs for last year. They had pear trees dropping fruit all over the ground. When I asked if I could buy some, they said I could have all I wanted. The man even came out and shook the trees for me—nearly knocking us both out in the process!

I loaded up a big Aldi bag and left with honey, pears, and a good reminder that people can be kind. I needed that.

After cleaning, coring, and chopping enough pears for a honey ferment (ready in 2 weeks) and soaking some in bourbon (ready in 4), I still had 20 pounds left. They’re the hard green kind, so they’ll keep awhile. I found a recipe for pear butter that sounds promising but haven’t made it yet. More than likely, some pears will end up as chicken snacks.

I promised my new honey friends some elderberry syrup this week. I hope they don’t offer me more pears—but if they do, you know I’ll take them.

On Wednesday morning, the dogs and I found two puppies huddled on the side of the gravel road. Pebbles tried to walk right past like she didn’t see them. Maggie ran up, tail wagging—then stopped short and bolted behind me.

As I got closer, I saw why. There were two live puppies… right in the middle of parts of other puppies that weren’t alive.

I scooped up the survivors and headed home. Sadly, I know exactly where they came from. My neighbor is in and out of jail, and his dad “takes care” of the dogs when he’s gone. At last count, there were more than 30 adults—aggressive, feral, and sometimes splitting into smaller packs that roam the road, barns, and creek.

It started ten years ago with two female pit bulls I found and planned to take to rescue. But the neighbor came looking for them, and I wasn’t home. Dennis gave them back. I was furious—we knew how he treated his dogs. Dennis said they were his dogs, and we had no right to keep them. I’m still pissed ten years later and sometimes want to say, “See what happened?”

Truthfully, even if we’d gotten those females to safety, he probably would have just found more. Still, the petty part of me wants the “I told you so.”

I once offered to pay to have the neighbors dogs spayed. He looked at me like I was on something. “Why would I do that? It’s natural for women to have babies, ain’t it? You shouldn’t mess with nature.” You’ll be sad to know this man has reproduced.

The white male puppy could barely hold his head up and had puncture wounds all over. The bottoms of his feet had strange holes that I’m hoping aren’t botflies waiting to emerge. The black-and-tan female bit the hell out of me when I grabbed her, but she’s stronger and smarter—no surprise there.

The female ate right away; the male had to be syringe-fed fluids and honey to get him going. Both were crawling with fleas, ticks, and worms. I spent the rest of the day bathing, worming, feeding, and cleaning up after my two new houseguests.

I hate thinking about the puppies that don’t get help, but I can’t dwell on it. The sheriff’s department has told me repeatedly that unless a dog kills a human, nothing can be done. So until then, I’ll help the ones that find me—whether Pebbles likes it or not.

I hatched out three more baby chickens, and I’ll be damned if they don’t look just like their ugly daddy. Our chicken count is down to ten now. Maggie leaves them alone if we’re home, but if we’re gone and they’re out, it’s a buffet.

She’s not the only reason the flock is smaller. I don’t have a single barn cat anymore—Bob disappeared while we were in Europe, and she was the last. We may have a bobcat nearby, but Dennis also caught a coyote on the trail cam yesterday. I don’t like to kill anything, but the coyote needs to go. Moose and Poppino aren’t much bigger than cats, so they could be targets too. Okay, Moose is bigger—but he’s still fun-sized.

Yoga is still my non-negotiable. I do an hour every morning, whether I love it or hate it that day. When I started, I couldn’t even touch my toes and I hated pigeon pose but it has become my favorite hip opener.

I use an app called Inner Dimensions—$140 a year for more workouts than I could ever finish. There’s everything from chair yoga to the crazy pretzel poses people picture when they think of yoga.

If you’re considering it, try it. Yoga builds strength, balance, and flexibility, which can help prevent falls—or ridiculous injuries like “I sneezed and threw my back out.” (Don’t laugh—it happens.)

Do the damn yoga. You’ll thank me later.

These days, I have time for friends again. In the last two weeks, I’ve been hiking, had easy lunches, and even stood in the river in the pouring rain, drinking beer and shooting the breeze.

I’m slowly figuring out the little secrets of life everyone else seemed to already know.

So… what are you doing with your summer? And if you have any burning questions—like why butterflies are attracted to poop—send them my way. I’m here for you, even if you don’t drink beer.