Macrea hitting a tee shot Thursday

June 3, 2016 - Friday morning

45 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

I'm up bright and early this morning so I can take Brutus to the veterinarian's for an 8 AM appointment. It's time for his annual vaccinations and check up. 

It used to be simple taking a dog to the animal doctor for a rabies shot. One would unload the pooch, the doc would give him a quick once-over, insert a needle under the skin, and ten seconds later, both owner and puppy exited the office.

Now we have to fill out paperwork and take in a stool sample. A stool sample? Yesterday, I let Brutus out of the house, then followed him through the woods until he found the appropriate place, right in the middle of the thickest brush. 

Seeing him finish, I quickly walked to that area, baggie in hand, thinking I would get what was needed, seal it tight, and call it good enough. The problem was, I could only smell, but not see what was needed.

It took me several minutes, but I eventually found it... on the bottom of my shoe. 

Page Two:

Knowing Grady was coming later Thursday morning, I made pancakes for breakfast; not just any kind, but super duper cranberry flapjacks.

The secret? It's all in the flipping. Firm, yet gentle, so the pancake doesn't bruise. No one likes a bruised pancake.

I come from a long line of pancake makers. Grandma Pennington was the best. She'd fill the black cast iron skillet with her magic mix, let it cook on top of the kitchen wood stove, then with a flip of the wrist, have the pancake lying on the opposite side. 

Dad was a good pancake chef. He, too, followed in his mother's footsteps, although Dad wasn't quite as adept at flipping. Though they were every bit as tasty as Grandma's, one would occasionally land outside the pan onto the stove top. 

I inherited a few of Grandma's genes. With Sargie's help, we've concocted a winning recipe that includes sour cream, fruit, cinnamon, vanilla, an egg or two, and other ingredients far too secret to mention. As far as flipping goes, well, it's coming. I can only hope to aspire to the greatness of those flapjack flipping ancestors who have gone on before. 

Page Three:

Macrea arrived mid morning with Hambone in tow. After a quick reunion, we bade Grandma Sargie and Grady goodbye and made our way to the golf course.

The weather was perfect, more so than our golf game. 

Macrea and I were pretty evenly matched. We had some good shots and a few that weren't quite so spectacular. In the end, we called it a draw and agreed our outing had been perfect in every way.

Part of the course runs alongside a lake

Page Four:

While we were away, Grandma Sargie and Grady did their own thing. One of them was to go to town then stop at a playground on their way home.

An optician by trade, Sargie browsed the little-kid sunglass section at a local department store and made sure Grady's eye wear was up to date.

Grady quickly became the most fashionable two-year-old on Pentoga Road.

He also came home with a new Ninja Turtle shirt, complete with cape.

Wearing winter slippers and his penguin snow cap, along with his Ninja Turtle shirt, Grady was ready to fight evil the world over.

After a quick supper, the boys left for Iron Mountain. Mark and Sheri stopped out later in the evening to pick some more rhubarb. We had a pleasant conversation and before I knew it, I was showing them pictures from my arctic days. It was a fun evening.

Page Five:

Sargie's off again today and I hope to get the arbor erected this morning. Other than that, I'll leave today's activities up to her. It's to be a nice day before rain begins tonight and continues for the next day or two.

I think I'm going to get this uploaded then warm up a leftover pancake or two for breakfast. It will soon be time to load Brutus into the Blazer and off we'll be to town.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...