March 5, 2016 - Saturday morning
28 degrees/cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

We may have American Bulldog chops for supper tonight. For whatever reason, Brutus has decided it's too far to walk to the woods to heed nature's call. Instead, he's decided to call the area under the old apple tree, located in the middle of the back yard, his new bathroom. 



I saw him head that way early this morning, so I put on my slippers and just as he began, ran outdoors screaming and yelling. It wasn't in time. I'll have to take the scoop shovel to remove the mess later this morning.

Grrr. I'd rub the dog's nose in it if I didn't value my right arm so much. I've always said he's either the smartest dog I've ever had or the dumbest. Right now, this morning, I'm pretty certain he's the dumbest.

Speaking of my loyal companion... I was working on the back wood pile yesterday, bringing next year's dry fire wood to the front of the wood shed, splitting it, then tossing it in, when I heard a squeak. I knew it to be that of an ermine, a weasel, and figured he'd run the opposite way to exit the wood pile.



Brutus heard the squeak too and had his nose to the ground, his head cocked, his ears alert. He appeared to be ready to pound on the little critter should it appear.

As time went by, I forgot about the weasel. The sun was bright, the temperatures warm, and after a winter of doing little physical work, I was enjoying working up a sweat.

I picked up one chunk of wood, then another. Suddenly, the weasel popped out of the pile and ran straight at Brutus and me. The pup let out a squeal, one that was higher pitched than that of a little kindergarten girl wearing a pink dress on her first day of school, and ran the opposite direction crying and whining. The weasel started running up my boot and pant leg and after kicking him off, I made a hasty retreat. I'm certain that ermine had glowing red eyes, fangs the size of elephant tusks, and very well may have been breathing fire. None-the-less, I went back to the wood pile armed with a stick ready to do battle, but never did see or hear from him again. Oh, and Brutus? He never returned to the wood pile. Obviously traumatized, he opted for a sunny place in front of the barn and fell sound asleep.

I took advantage of yesterday's early-morning cold temperatures to prune my three largest apple trees. They badly needed it two years ago, but I got busy putting up maple syrup and let the time slip by. I simply forgot last year, so it was with a sense of urgency that each was pruned yesterday. 

Large branches and suckers were cut from one, some shaping and lower limbs removed from the others. When it was all said and done, the trees will be ugly this year, but should continue to grow and become productive in the years to come.

Sargie and I took our usual afternoon drive and stopped at several stores so she might peruse the clearance racks. Yesterday was a success. She found a pink hooded sweater for the right price.



We stopped by one local lake and discovered the fishermen weren't at all concerned about rotten ice even though vehicles have recently been falling through like hot lead balloons.



In fact, several went through last weekend where we were staying prompting warnings from the DNR.

Nobody loves ice fishing more than I do, but I guess I value the old Blazer (and my life) too much to go driving on rotten, thin, springtime ice.

Mark texted yesterday afternoon and asked if we were on for a fish fry?! Heck yeah. We met last night and enjoyed a wonderful meal of fried fish along with French fries. It doesn't get any better than enjoying a UP Friday night fish fry with good friends at one's favorite eating establishment.

We were about ready to leave when I decided to make a quick, last minute, stop in the men's room. I opened the door to find a long haired, blonde, less than desirable looking, person standing at the urinal. 

Oh my God, I'd walked into the women's rest room. I quickly apologized, backed out, then stopped and thought. Wait a minute, what's a woman doing, standing in front of a urinal? I pushed my nose up to the sign on the door. Sure enough, it was the men's room.

I went back in, but needless to say, we didn't make any small talk. If looks could have killed, I'd have been six feet under. I don't know. I'm from the generation where a man still takes pride in looking like a man and I'm too old to change now.  

Hopefully, today won't produce any fire-breathing weasels or long haired ugly blondes standing in front of urinals. Sargie and I have talked about going somewhere or the other, but I'm not sure we will. Our plans change on a whim and that's as it should be. It means we're free to do as we please and that's a good thing.

I think I'm going to begin putting together my two indoor green houses this morning. It's time to germinate the petunia seed so I ordered a heat mat that's to be here next Tuesday. Other than that, I'll let Sargie decide today's agenda.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

I worked for a while on the snow blower Friday afternoon. The gas tank has gunk in the bottom and needs to be taken off and thoroughly cleaned. I simply drained the old fuel yesterday in hopes that I'll get through the remainder of the winter. Everything will be completely taken apart this summer and done right.