Little Spanky was here for a visit.  He has completely recovered from his bout with Parvo, and is growing like a weed.  He still lands in my lap like a little rocket.  He’s beginning to understand that a Border collie’s natural habitat . . .

. . . is the back of a truck.  Of course, it has to be stationary, and he has to use the hitch as a ladder, but he’s in there trying.

Another daylily has bloomed.  Apparently it’s quite difficult to breed a true white daylily, but this one is as close as they have come.  Its name is Gentle Shepherd (how nice), and it has a reputation as a shy bloomer.

But maybe it’s worth it.

I got a request!  A request for pictures of Cider as a youngster.  I wish I had gotten pictures of her as a round cuddly puppy, but the earliest I have are these at three or four months.  I used these captions in my scrapbook . . .

Won’t you play with me?

See, here’s my toy.

It’s a lot of fun, see?

Well, at least we made it outside.

Ohboyohboyohboy!

How could you make a little dog work so hard?

In some ways, she hasn’t changed much!

It looked like we were going to get through June without any hundred degree days, but no such luck.  It’s ninety at ten o’clock, headed for 105.  It was 101 yesteday, with the same predicted for tomorrow.  That would make it our first official Heat Wave.

The swamp cooler doesn’t cope well with temperatures much over 102, so it’s going to be nasty even in the house.  I’ll shut down the computer at noon, as I usually do on the hottest summer days.

Everyone stay cool out there!

There was one more picture from the series yesterday I wanted to post.  It shows Andrew, his father David, and me.  David and I are swimming our dogs.  I had a shaggy little sheepdog mix called Poppy at the time, and she was very reluctant to try swimming.  Finally I hauled her out to the middle of the river on a lead, and she discovered that a) she could swim after all, and b) it was fun!  But that’s not the point.

Andrew is twenty, so this was eighteen or nineteen years ago.  It was full summer, obviously, but the trees in the background are bare because the big island had just burned.  There have been a lot of fires there over the years.

Now, here’s the exact same spot today.  I’ve used this picture (with circled duck) before, but it’s a good perspective.

You wouldn’t have guessed it, would you?  For years, the city graded the river bottom to allow free flow.  Then there were a couple of high water years, and the trees got started.  After a while, the river bed became an Official Wetland, and not to be disturbed.

The good thing, of course, is that it allows a lot more wildlife to thrive.  The bad part?  The flow is impeded, so there are a lot more still places for mosquito larvae to thrive.  And a real flood would be a disaster.

I’ve written about this change before, but these pictures sure point it up.  Time will tell if the change is a good thing, or a bad one.

In the same drawer with the picture from yesterday, I found some old shots of grandson Andrew as a toddler.

At my age, you live to embarrass your descendants.

Isn’t he adorable, with his chubby arms and little potbelly?

Or how about this one.

I’m sure that’s just mud on his bottom.

Oh, well — what goes around comes around.  Here’s a recent picture of Andrew and me.  Somehow, the potbelly seems to have transferred over to me . . . which accounts for my pained expression.

I guess that’s justice.

I was going through my old (pre-digital) photos and came across this picture.  My sister sent it some time ago.  It’s our parents, who’ve been gone a long time now; and they are very young.

This would have been taken sometime in the forties.  I remember the dress Mom is wearing well.  It hung at the back of her closet for many years.  It was a soft greyed aqua, spangled with little silver metal stars.  It must have looked lovely with her fair Irish skin, deep brown eyes, and curly, dark auburn hair. (Which none of us inherited — darn it!)  Only my brother Bruce had brown eyes and hair.  The rest of us had versions of our father’s ash-blonde hair, darkening with age, and blue to gray eyes.

I’m sure we’ve all had that odd feeling that comes of looking at our parents’ pictures, when they are frozen in time so much younger than we are now.  Did people come up with the old saying, “Time flies,” because it escapes us like a bird in flight, never to return?

My friend Ferrabie is here today to clean up and keep us in line.  No time for blogging!

The “Blushing Valentine” daylily had its first bloom today — always an Event.  Can you see why?

I was looking at Craigslist today and noticed a Ford 9N tractor for sale.  Knowing the 8Ns and 9Ns are Billy’s favorite thing, I printed up the ad for him.  By the end of the day, we’ll probably own Ford Number 10.  As he told the man selling it on the phone, we couldn’t stay in business without these versatile old tractors.  They’ve got Character!

Not me; I’m no fisherperson.  A man came in yesterday and asked permission to park and fish in our stretch of the river.  That’s fine with us, as long as he didn’t park in the middle of the road.  He didn’t stay long, an hour at most, but he went home with a nice bluegill.  Billy said it was eight or nine inches long.  That’s a good size for a bluegill, and they’re known for being a tasty fish.  The river’s down quite a bit, so I imagine he would have done better a few days ago.  I wish I’d gotten a picture of his fish, though.

I did get some pictures of my Hazer Sawyer daylily, which just started blooming.  It’s a prolific bloomer.

It’s close to being a spider type, with narrow petals.

As often happens, my favorite picture is the backlit one.

When this daylily was bought, it was clearly labeled, “Hazer Sawyer”.  I sometimes wonder if there’s not a Hazel Sawyer somewhere wondering what happened to her daylily.  Fame (of sorts) denied by a misprint . . .

Old friend and ex-boarder Lori dropped by yesterday.  Lori lives in Tehachapi now.  She is an endurance rider, and had just finished a seventeen-mile conditioning ride with her horse Dealer.   Her other horse is called Gambler, and now she has a Dealer — and he came with that name.  Maybe she should call the next one Ante Up.

Anyway, here are Lori and Dealer.

Most endurance horses — those who race fifty or a hundred miles — are Arabs or part Arabs, and Dealer is no exception.

He has an typical Arab head; dished face and small, delicate muzzle.

And, like most Arabs, he’s very intelligent.  He’ll follow Lori all over at a trot, with no halter . . .

. . . and open and close the gate for her, with his nose. 

It was good to see her again, and made me wistful for the old days, when I would go on long conditioning rides with her.  I’m sure not up to it now. 

But I’m down fifteen pounds now.  Maybe someday soon, I’ll get back in the saddle . . . and fit.