dogs

Stop looking, actually. He’s right here. (And that’s Mr., not Captain, thanks.) Carol was at a dog show yesterday and I blasted out 4600 new words on Chapter 6, so it was not an especially romantic day, but that’s OK; we have built romance into the very fabric of our lives together, and in a sense we do a low-key, distributed Valentine’s Day 24/7. It’s not a giddy, infatuated romance–though we rediscover a little of that now and then—but rather the steady heat that comes of knowing one another unselfishly and deeply for a great many years. (For us, that would be closing in very quickly on 40.)

So Carol surprised me with a somewhat unusual Valentine’s Day present yesterday: A Colorado rib-eye steak cut in the shape of a heart. The steak came from Ranch Foods Direct, a Colorado Springs packing operation that buys local beef and buffalo and sells it both wholesale and at a couple of their own shops. We buy a lot of their meat, as it’s antibiotic and hormone-free, mostly grass-fed, and doesn’t travel very far to reach us. If you’re local, I do recommend them.

Knuckle-dragging, knob-headed Neanderthal that I am, I’ve been improving my health in recent months by eating less grain and more meat. The caveman diet has raised my general energy level (I don’t remember the last time I wrote 4600 words in one day!) and dropped my weight to 148, from 155 a year ago. I’d eat less sugar too, except that I haven’t eaten significant quantities of sugar in years. (I have dessert about three or four times a month, and then only after a big meal.)

Once Carol unveiled the steak, QBit couldn’t keep his eyes off it, and he followed me around the house as I looked for a suitable place for the inevitable photo opportunity. The weather should be good tomorrow. It may get up to 50, and be sunny, and we’re going to grill it out on the back deck. QBit and Aero will both get a little bit. Neanderthals had dogs, and still do. Neanderthals didn’t write computer books—and their dogs weighed a little more than fifteen pounds—but Tuesday was Darwin’s birthday. Here’s to evolution!

There's an odd human tendency to expect the worst in the absense of sufficient data. One of my readers wrote to me in a panic regarding my sadness of yesterday, saying: “Tell me you're not separating from Carol!”

People, get a grip. Carol's mom had a medical emergency and Carol is in Chicago looking after her. Our relationship has never been stronger. Carol's mom means a lot to me. I was still getting over the last vestiges of a very bad cold. I'm having my jawbone drilled for a dental implant tomorrow morning at 8 ayem sharp. My dinner exploded. You'd probably be a little down too.

As for dinner: I was being a bachelor, and I emptied a can of Bumble Bee canned salmon into a Corelle bowl to heat it up. I grill fresh salmon a lot, and I have reheated the leftovers in the microwave many times. Alas, canned salmon is packed in brine. Brine is a good conductor, and brine and microwaves have fun together. As best I can tell, a brine pocket somewhere inside that pinkish lump boiled and blew off the microwave lid and itself out of the bowl and all over the inside of the oven. I salvaged enough for dinner and for today's lunch, but that left me wiping out the oven for most of half an hour last night. I'm annoyed because it was a science experiment, and I'm supposed to understand a thing or two about microwave physics.

And my dogs. Well. QBit and Aero were playing tag all over the upper level right before dinner. They chase one another around at flank speed, leaning into the turns, yapping and growling and evidently having a fine time. I had gone to the powder room down the hall to get rid of some well-used diet root beer, and while the process was underway, the two of them barrelled unexpectedly into the room. QBit ran behind me and dove under the toilet tank. Aero, in hot pursuit, hopped up on his hind legs and put his front legs on the rim of the bowl. I half expected him to attempt a leap over the bowl on top of QBit, and tried to dodge. The rest I leave to your imagination. And now, whether I'm home alone or not, I close the door.

As for the election, I don't have much to say. It turned out almost exactly as I had expected, and I don't see any serious damage. Hey, we survived Bill Clinton. We survived GW Bush. Hell, we survived Herbert Hoover and Woodrow Wilson, compared to whom even GW is Gabriel the Archangel. We will survive Obama, to whom I wish all the best, and to whom (if they existed) I would send a case of Tut-B-Gone mummy foggers to deal with the lobbyists now lining up outside his door. Our problem is not now and will not be Obama. The problem is the parasites that gather about high office.

As for my Outrageous Proposition (see my entry for October 30, 2008) I think it went pretty well. Thanks to all who followed the rules and shared their thoughts, and I apologize for not participating more vigorously myself. Headcolds don't schedule their appearances in advance, and this one really took it out of me. But I encourage everybody to go back and read the comments. Aren't those better than raging rants? Isn't life just, well, better without anger?

I will be drugged tomorrow and may not post. After that, the cone of silence once more descends over politics. Like canned salmon, a little goes a long way. (Especially when you heat it up too much!)