What a day.
Nov. 4th, 2006 11:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pecuniumI ache. In mind, body and spirit, I ache.
I hate this time change. It screws with my sense of time in a way that suddenly later sunsets don't. Combine that with getting up in the late hours of darknees to take Maia to the train (and the resultant state of, "Broken Bed," a bit of our personal language, referring to not sleeping well at home, when the other isn't present) and my internal clock is all caddywhumpus.
So this morning I was dragged from the arms of Somnus by the clangor of the alarm (ok, the cheap, synth, version of Debussy's Flight of the Bumblebee this phone plays. I miss Mozart's Toy Symphony, that would be Leopold, not Wolfgang) because I had drill. I was looking forward to a day spent doing that most important of things, adminstrative paperwork, NCOERs, to be precise. What in the civilian world would be employee evaluations. The joy which filled me was indescribable.
So I put on a winter-weight set of BDUs, and headed in.
Not quite. The first four hours were actually scheduled for combatives. This, in plain-english, is hand to hand combat. The army's is a grappling art, with eye-gouging, stomach punching, joint-twisting and all sorts of fun things not seen in your high-school wrestling match.
It ended with us going four rounds of five minutes with different partners (that's one round for each parter). It's fun, but hard work, and one comes away with aches and pains. I have pinched, or twisted, something in my neck. It probably happened in my first bout, when Sgt. Chang and I (she's about 140lbs, to my 120lbs) went at it, hammer and tongs. She works for a federal law enforcement agency, and I am wiry, flexible, and stubborn as all fuck. We ended up about 100 feet from where we started and it wasn't a straight line. Neither of us "won" but I think I got the better of her, because most of the time she was trying to keep me from choking her, and she was never able stop me from getting my hands to her neck. If I'd been allowed to box her ears (only something I'd do in a real fight) I think I could have beaten her.
With an hour and a half for lunch, I headed home, because I wanted a shower, to change into summer weight, and grab a bite to eat.
I did the first two. But Barry telling me Token was missing put lunch to bed. I spent the time I might have been grabbing it, looking to see where/how he'd left.
It's good thing I was too tired to be livid, because I was coldy furious.
The western side of the yard is fenced. The neighbors own the fence. They never repaired the place their dog (now deceased) used to slither into our yard. Token got into their yard on Thursday. No big deal, and I blocked the hole in the fence when I got him back.
But I underestimated his desire to go and find the fox (he knows there is a fox out there, somewhere), and at some point this morning he managed to weasel his way (all 70 lbs of him) into a narrow passage (which he made by forcing the board away from the fence) and then squirming through the, small, hole.
And they put him out of the yard, onto the street. They had to. I saw the fence when I went to get him. It is 6 ft. high, with a flip-latch at 5 ft., and opens, stiffly, to the inside. Token is not one to jump a fence. He goes under things, following his nose (he's an English Foxhound, after all, from a long line of couples). The only way he gets out of their yard is if someone opens the gate.
Needless to say I was a bit distracted doing the write-ups for the NCOERs. Barry went to the pound, and filled out a blue-card, because he wasn't there. When the duty day was done I called Maia (wh hadn't been answering her phone at lunch, and talked to her about it. I felt horrible. Sad, angry, depressed, guilty. Why didn't I put the radio collar back on him? Why didn't I make sure the fence was truly blocked? What if he's been hit by a car, again?
I'd not have minded if they'd called the pound. I'd have been annoyed (in all the years they had a rambling dog, the Animal Control was only called once, and that was when the beast was making three, or four, trips a day into the yard, for a week. They would get upset with us because the dog would come under thier fence, so as to jump ours. He did that after they changed the to the higher fences they now have.
But they didn't, the let Token out.
While we were talking (and Maia was great, she didn't blame me, or say a single harsh thing) she got a call from Animal Control, they had him.
They were able to call because we'd embroidered phone numbers on the collars.
So she called Marcia (Barry being gone, looking at the pound) to tell her where to find the vaccination records. I pulled up, just after she'd put him into the kennel in our room. I talked with them for a few minutes. There were two trucks. To bring us one dog.
Because they'd had to block an onramp to the freeway. He, apparently, had been the subject of several reports, in the course of the day, but they never saw him. A woman, getting on the freeway (210 at Hill, Eastbound, which is to say, on the far side from us. A distance of about 1 1/2 miles, and across three major streets; four lanes and significant traffic; with people doing in excess of 40mph) saw him, stopped, managed to coax him to where she could see him, and called them. Then she kept him in sight until they arrived. I wish I knew who she was.
So I am now in bed, dosed with Flexeril, and getting ready to sleep. Oliver and Token are kennelled (the look on Token's face when he saw the Olli-monster was ecstatic). Maia will be staggering in about 0300, and she thinks I am in Los Alamitos.
I hate this time change. It screws with my sense of time in a way that suddenly later sunsets don't. Combine that with getting up in the late hours of darknees to take Maia to the train (and the resultant state of, "Broken Bed," a bit of our personal language, referring to not sleeping well at home, when the other isn't present) and my internal clock is all caddywhumpus.
So this morning I was dragged from the arms of Somnus by the clangor of the alarm (ok, the cheap, synth, version of Debussy's Flight of the Bumblebee this phone plays. I miss Mozart's Toy Symphony, that would be Leopold, not Wolfgang) because I had drill. I was looking forward to a day spent doing that most important of things, adminstrative paperwork, NCOERs, to be precise. What in the civilian world would be employee evaluations. The joy which filled me was indescribable.
So I put on a winter-weight set of BDUs, and headed in.
Not quite. The first four hours were actually scheduled for combatives. This, in plain-english, is hand to hand combat. The army's is a grappling art, with eye-gouging, stomach punching, joint-twisting and all sorts of fun things not seen in your high-school wrestling match.
It ended with us going four rounds of five minutes with different partners (that's one round for each parter). It's fun, but hard work, and one comes away with aches and pains. I have pinched, or twisted, something in my neck. It probably happened in my first bout, when Sgt. Chang and I (she's about 140lbs, to my 120lbs) went at it, hammer and tongs. She works for a federal law enforcement agency, and I am wiry, flexible, and stubborn as all fuck. We ended up about 100 feet from where we started and it wasn't a straight line. Neither of us "won" but I think I got the better of her, because most of the time she was trying to keep me from choking her, and she was never able stop me from getting my hands to her neck. If I'd been allowed to box her ears (only something I'd do in a real fight) I think I could have beaten her.
With an hour and a half for lunch, I headed home, because I wanted a shower, to change into summer weight, and grab a bite to eat.
I did the first two. But Barry telling me Token was missing put lunch to bed. I spent the time I might have been grabbing it, looking to see where/how he'd left.
It's good thing I was too tired to be livid, because I was coldy furious.
The western side of the yard is fenced. The neighbors own the fence. They never repaired the place their dog (now deceased) used to slither into our yard. Token got into their yard on Thursday. No big deal, and I blocked the hole in the fence when I got him back.
But I underestimated his desire to go and find the fox (he knows there is a fox out there, somewhere), and at some point this morning he managed to weasel his way (all 70 lbs of him) into a narrow passage (which he made by forcing the board away from the fence) and then squirming through the, small, hole.
And they put him out of the yard, onto the street. They had to. I saw the fence when I went to get him. It is 6 ft. high, with a flip-latch at 5 ft., and opens, stiffly, to the inside. Token is not one to jump a fence. He goes under things, following his nose (he's an English Foxhound, after all, from a long line of couples). The only way he gets out of their yard is if someone opens the gate.
Needless to say I was a bit distracted doing the write-ups for the NCOERs. Barry went to the pound, and filled out a blue-card, because he wasn't there. When the duty day was done I called Maia (wh hadn't been answering her phone at lunch, and talked to her about it. I felt horrible. Sad, angry, depressed, guilty. Why didn't I put the radio collar back on him? Why didn't I make sure the fence was truly blocked? What if he's been hit by a car, again?
I'd not have minded if they'd called the pound. I'd have been annoyed (in all the years they had a rambling dog, the Animal Control was only called once, and that was when the beast was making three, or four, trips a day into the yard, for a week. They would get upset with us because the dog would come under thier fence, so as to jump ours. He did that after they changed the to the higher fences they now have.
But they didn't, the let Token out.
While we were talking (and Maia was great, she didn't blame me, or say a single harsh thing) she got a call from Animal Control, they had him.
They were able to call because we'd embroidered phone numbers on the collars.
So she called Marcia (Barry being gone, looking at the pound) to tell her where to find the vaccination records. I pulled up, just after she'd put him into the kennel in our room. I talked with them for a few minutes. There were two trucks. To bring us one dog.
Because they'd had to block an onramp to the freeway. He, apparently, had been the subject of several reports, in the course of the day, but they never saw him. A woman, getting on the freeway (210 at Hill, Eastbound, which is to say, on the far side from us. A distance of about 1 1/2 miles, and across three major streets; four lanes and significant traffic; with people doing in excess of 40mph) saw him, stopped, managed to coax him to where she could see him, and called them. Then she kept him in sight until they arrived. I wish I knew who she was.
So I am now in bed, dosed with Flexeril, and getting ready to sleep. Oliver and Token are kennelled (the look on Token's face when he saw the Olli-monster was ecstatic). Maia will be staggering in about 0300, and she thinks I am in Los Alamitos.
