The puppy continues to grow at a heretofore unseen rate.

This morning, she took a calculated risk and tried to wrestle her full-grown brother, Moonshine.

Man, is she bad at math. She has gone back to the minor leagues for a little more seasoning, and is currently playing ‘catch me, catch you’ with her smaller sisters.

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The septic system service company I called this morning uses tango as their hold music.

For some reason, that made me happy.

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25 Boy Scouts, with about the same number of family and guests, when split between two sheet cakes, three fruit trays, two vegetable trays, four sandwich trays, two gallons each of lemonade and iced tea, and a large tray of chicken fingers, leaves one fruit tray, a quarter of a vegetable tray, one quarter of a sheet cake, and three sandwiches as leftovers.

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We are well into the first false fall of the year. We had lows in the 60’s last night, and it was cool enough that I put on a long-sleeved shirt when I had my coffee on the deck this morning. Already, I have witnessed hoodies, sweaters, and lattes in the crowds that meander down my street every morning.

But fear not, dear reader. In a couple of weeks, we shall have the inevitable warm-up. Hordes of sweater-wearing, cappuccino slurping women shall melt into puddles of foundation and silicone on the very sidewalks of Louisville. Only the tags on their hair extensions and the DNA stuck in the glue of their fake eyelashes will mark who they were, causing a backup at the local forensic cosmetology labs.

The more short-sighted of these creatures will instantly revert to bikini tops and ripped jeans. These pour souls will be devestated when the weather flips again, going from sunny and warm to oh-my-Lord-where-did-I-put-that-poofy-parka overnight. The local news will be chock full of breathless reports of half-naked popsicles being found flash frozen to the sidewalks outside of wine bars and tattoo parlors.

In the end, only those who moderate their fashion swings will survive. Soon, it will be true spooky sweater season, when all of those napkins we’ve all be saying are dresses will go either into the closet for the winter or into the landfill for the remainder of the planet’s life.

In the meantime, I shall be sitting on my deck, sipping hot coffee or cold tea, depending on the weather, and enjoying watching the world go by.

Well, hamburger at the butcher shop is now $8 a pound. Steak is between $14 and $18 a pound, while bacon wrapped filets are $10 apiece.

I think we’re going to be eating a lot of chicken and hot dogs for the next few months.

Luckily, my darling wife has been hoarding hams and turkeys when they’ve gone on sale over the past few months. Guess what’s on the menu this weekend?

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While getting the ingredients to make nachos at Kroger today, I noticed that both jalapeno peppers and apple cider were on sale.

The jalapenos got washed, cut, and canned in dill pickle juice. Never made that before, so we’ll see how that turns out.

Two bottles of cider were mixed with some cinnamon and cloves, a little sugar, and several packets of pectin. The results were 12 half-pints of apple jelly and 4 pints of the same. Never made this before, either, so we’ll have to see how it set up after it cools down from the ‘boiling lava’ stage.

Tune in later for more ‘I gotta get cheap food put up now because these prices are merely stupid and will likely go up to immoral later” theater.

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Speaking of Kroger, they had a dozen roses for $8, so I splurged and got two dozen. They make the house look better, and their presense keeps my wife’s delicate hands from doing that whole ‘grasp the husband by the neck until color comes back to your vision’ thing.

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The lawn mower was finally delivered yesterday, running as good as new. I was going to give it a spin last night, but weather intervened. You see, I made the mistake of watering the garden yesterday while I had my coffee, which means that of course we got high winds and driving rain right around dinnertime.

Oh, well, this just gives the grass another day or so to grow.

Now that I think of it, the maple trees are starting to shed leaves. Going to be adding both green and brown to the lawn this week.

It’s all fun and games until you realize that the puppy is chewing on an iPhone.

It’s all fun and games until you realize that the puppy is not, in fact, getting a drink. She is, in fact, dancing with all four paws in the water dish.

It’s all fun and games until you’re folding laundry and start to wonder how you can discreetly get to the ladies clothing store and back before your wife finds out that the puppy has developed a taste for her unmentionables.

It’s all fun and games when your son is taking both college and high school classes, then his mother finds out that fall, Christmas, winter, and spring breaks don’t line up across both schools.

It’s all fun and games for your darling wife to plan a date night, but she is so cryptic about what you’re going to be doing and where you’re going to be going that you start trying to figure out how many guns and blades you can carry and still look nice in a restaurant.

Well, got some good news about the lawn mower. The dealer got it fixed faster than expected, and it will be returned on Friday. Looks like committing shovelcide only bent up the blade something fierce, so it was a relatively easy fix.

Grand total for getting it repaired was just north of $600. That’s much less than I thought it would be, and a whole lot less than purchasing the GrassReaper 5000 I was going to replace it with. Hey, if you’re going to make a statement, make a statement. My statement was going to be “I spent your college fund on a new lawnmower with its own sound system and a bigger engine than a 1996 Honda Accord”.

I asked for a written receipt for my payment, because I’ll need it for the tattoo artist I’m taking my youngest son to this weekend. I’m going back and forth on location. Currently, forearm, middle of chest, and forehead are the frontrunners. If I go with forehead, I’ll probably have to pay extra to have it put on in reverse so he can read it when he looks in the mirror.

I shall allow his lady mother a few minutes to plead for his skin before deciding. She has ways of convincing me to let the boy live to see his next sunrise.

I am a tyrant of my word, so the punishment phase of all this ends when the mower is back in the garage. Restitution phase begins immediately thereafter.

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Life with the little fuzzy velocilabrador continues. Her diet is expanding both in volume and variety.

• Puppy food – Good for her, although I’m pretty sure it bypasses her digestive tract and goes directly to her legs. Maggie Mae is going to be tall.
• USB cables, especially those used for Apple products – Not sure why these are so tasty, but she goes through these faster than a pair of wirecutters. I’m discouraging this behavior, both because of her health and the replacement costs.
• Various articles of clothing – Apparently, the smelly, sweaty tee shirt The Young Prince left on the bathroom floor after taking a shower is a particularly tasty treat. Again, discouraging this behavior.
• Dishrags – Kind of puzzled on this one. The soapy taste can’t be very appealing, but she is fascinated with these things.
• Yogurt, cheesecake, and ice cream – These I understand. I just wish she’d have the manners to beg rather than grab them from whatever flat surface they’re sitting on before wolfing them down.
• Tails – Maggie likes to live dangerously, so she makes a habit of creeping up on her brother and sisters and affixing her sharp little teeth on their tails. The older dogs use this occasion to teach the young pup that they are bigger and stronger than she is, and a few “Th-th-the big dog b-b-bit me in the ass!” crying jags have been noted. Unfortunately, she seems to be a slow learner, so I expect this behavior to continue for a bit.

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Speaking of puppies and sunrises, I need to pass on a quick pro tip for the younger readers – When your family has pets, especially puppies, extra especially if those pets are used to being let outside for their morning constitutional, followed by a leisure breakfast, immediately after the morning alarms go off, you darned sure better get your fuzzy butt up the moment your not-so-gentle “Hey, it’s the first day of school. Time to rise and shine!” alarm goes off.

Do not, I say again, do not let the alarm go off for about 5 minutes, slap it repeatedly until it quits making nose, then roll over and go back to sleep. It’s really a bad idea to do this if the noise of the puppy losing her everloving mind because she is hungry and has to pee realy bad was drowning out the incessant beeping. Especially do not do this if you are not as bright as your mother thinks you are and set the alarm for 5 AM, when your school bus won’t roll past until 8 AM.

Not following these words of wisdom makes your rather curmudgeonly gray haired father start to reconsider why he didn’t do the watusi in a Bosnian mine field about 15 years before you were born while he trundles himself out into the back yard, fuzzy pup in his arms, in the dark at 5:07 AM.

Look, I’m not pointing fingers at anyone, but when I shuffle off this mortal coil, I’m pretty sure Blue Bell ice cream will have something to do with it.

Their Banana Fudge variety is delicious. It’s even better with chocolate sauce, sliced banana, and slivered almonds.

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The puppy is approximately 1/3 bigger than she was the day we picked her up.

Luckily for Sophie, she and the puppy have figured out how to wrestle. When Maggie passes Sophie up size-wise, in about 3 to 4 weeks by my calculations, hopefully enough boundaries will have been created to prevent snortal combat from turning into dachshund bowling.

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The mower was picked up by the dealership on Friday. I should know whether or not it can be fixed in a week or so. In the event that it cannot be salvaged, the next mower will be fully selected for my use. The current model is zero-turn, but has a steering wheel. This slows things down a bit, but would be easier for Irish Woman or the Young Prince to use. Any replacement will be a skid steer, and I shall drive it like I stole it.

Speaking of the Young Prince, the weather gods have smiled upon him this week. It’s been hot and dry, so the grass has grown at a reduced rate.

Unfortunately for him, that doesn’t mean it hasn’t grown at all. Tomorrow and Tuesday, which happen to be the last days of his summer vacation, he shall be using the $30 push mower his mother bought when we moved to mow the entirety of the lawn. It’s not self propelled, and has a rather small footprint, which is why it’s great for doing edges and corners of the yard where the rider doesn’t do well. I’m curious to see how it does on the yard in general.

Out of a concern for his safety and the continuance of his mother’s bloodline, I have encouraged him to get out early and mow as much as he could before Kentucky gets as hot and humid as Satan’s posterior crevice. I hope he takes that advice. Should he fail to do so, he will be laboring under the hot sun all day on Tuesday to complete his task before he has to get ready for school on Wednesday.

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Summer canning season is in full swing.

While Irish Woman and the Young Prince were in Florida, I bought a bushel of Georgia peaches and made a couple batches of peach jam and peach sauce. I picked up a half bushel of local peaches this weekend, so Irish Woman will be canning them this week.

Cucumbers are doing very well this year, so we’ve got several batches of dill pickles, some of them with chilis in them for a little extra kick. Irish Woman has made a batch of bread and butter pickles, and will be trying her hand at sweet pickles in the near future. Since I consider any pickles that require sugar to be an abomination in the eyes of the Lord, I shall not be partaking.

I went out to one of the local farms and got four bushels of canning tomatoes yesterday. So far, I’ve made a batch each of spaghetti and chili sauce. The Young Prince wants to try making pizza sauce, so that will get done when he’s not mowing lawns over the next couple of days. When that’s done, I’ll either make more pre-made sauce or make a batch of crushed tomatoes.

The zucchini is being very prolific this year, so I think I’m going to run what we don’t eat fresh through the food processor and freeze it. Zucchini bread and other treats can be quite tasty, and it’ll give us some free nutrition in the winter.

Life with the new puppy continues.

Moonshine, our 13 year old black lab, seems to have accepted the little one. He’s not overjoyed at the prospect, but she learned that the big black dog is not a chewtoy and he has stopped slamming his paw on the ground and barking when she forgets that he is not a chew toy.

Sophie, the beagle-dachshund mix, is not thrilled about Maggie’s presence in her home, and still growls when Maggie gets in her face. However, as long as the pup leaves her alone, she is happy to leave the pup alone. Basically, she is playing an extended version of “The Floor is Lava” as she hops from one place the pup can’t reach yet to another. Maggie cannot seem to understand this. I mean, she is small and black, Sophie is small and black, so the hostility is confusing.

Ellie, the beagle-lab mix, wants no part of all this. When Maggie tries to follow her, Ellie actively retreats, usually while expressing one form of canine profanity or another. I’ve never heard Ellie growl like this before, but a quick pet on the head and some attention calms her down. However, Ellie now prefers life on the back deck or in the basement where Maggie isn’t allowed. Maggie tries to initiate play with Ellie, but I think this is going to take some time.

I’m trying to train myself to remember that Maggie will not always be small enough to be a lap dog, and if I train her to be a lap dog, I’m going to need a bigger lap. However, there are few things in life more relaxing than having a puppy fall asleep in your arms.

The fuzzy thing appears outwardly and by temperment to be a black lab, but she had one litter mate with a lab body and german shepherd coloring. Another litter mate was a yellow lab with blue eyes like a husky. So, either she’s a complete mutt or her mama had several baby daddies. Only time will tell.

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The weather in Kentucky continues to be as psychotic as it ever was. The past few weeks have been hot and muggy, which is to say it’s been typical for Kentucky in July. Yesterday afternoon, the temperature dropped 20 degrees in 20 minutes, then it rained hard for about 10 minutes, and it’s been quite pleasant ever since.

The weather daemon says that it’s going to be like this for a few days before another heat wave comes in. I’ll just enjoy this while it lasts. I just keep reminding myself that every wake-up is one day closer to fall, Kentucky’s best season.

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A friend recently remarked that one of the reasons he does not do appendix carry is that he does not want to walk around with a pistol pointed at his junk.

After careful consideration, I think I will be trying out appendix carry.

My junk has gotten me into so much trouble over the years that I no longer care about how it would feel about staring down the barrel of a 1911.

Man hath no love like a labrador puppy watching a man cook bacon.

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You may think you’ve worked hard in your life, even in hot, muggy conditions.

You may even think you’ve done a good job keeping your home clean.

All of this is shown to be incorrect when cleaning out your garage in July.

Also, I am going to demand an independent investigation into how we accumulated so much crap.

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Man hath no love like a labrador puppy watching a man eat noodles for lunch.

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The Young Prince is applying for part time jobs now. This will teach him time management, responsibility, and prioritization of priorities.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to get a refresher on the number and type of freaky people live in our area. When Girlie Bear worked at an ice cream parlor in high school, I found out that the meth heads all emerged from their lairs to howl at the stop light at midnight every Friday and Saturday night.

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Man hath no love like a labrador puppy watching a man heat up spicy chicken legs for dinner.

Somehow, the Facebook algorithm decided that I needed exposure to ‘prepper’ content and advertising. Most of it is pretty basic stuff, some is useful, some of it is borderline psychotic. So it’s all par for the course.

One ad that keeps popping up is for a gas mask, carrier, and replacement filter package. From the picture (I DID NOT click on that), it looks like a low-res version of a military protective mask.

The latest version of the ad touts it as the “Ultimate CBRN protection package!!!111!!!”.

I want to state for the record that I am proud of myself for not commenting on the ad and telling them that their idea of CBRN is bad, and they should feel bad. I refrained not because I know that I will be harassed and belittled in the comments. I did it because the less I interact with this drivel, the less of this drivel I will be firehosed with.

The package they advertised for the low, low price of just shy of a house payment did not include the following:

• Hood. You know, the heavy plastic canvas thingie you pull over your neck and shoulders to keep things that you really don’t want on your skin off of your skin.
• Gloves – See hood above, except visualize a part of your body with a huge number of nerve endings being dipped into something that dissolves hands or eats nerve endings.
• Chemical Suit – If you’ve ever worn MOPP gear, you know it’s hot, cumbersome, and uncomfortable. If you paid attention in training, especially if that included those films from the 1950’s (you know, the ones with the sheep, goats, and cattle that all of a sudden decided to do some disco dance and Mongolian throat singing before taking a restless nap), then those extra layers between you and whatever you got slimed with is worth it.
• Decontamination kit – I’ll admit that this one is kind of a geeky kind of thing, but a little plastic or metal box full of charcoal pads and strong cleaning wipes is kind of essential for CBRN. I won’t go into gross details, but if you have to put on that nice black plastic mask you just bought in a hurry, you’re probably going to want to get something icky off your skin.
• I’m going to leave the autoinjectors off of this list. I actually appreciate someone being responsible enough to not advertise 2 PAM Chloride and atropine to a population that makes a fetish out of “Hey guys, I have four Zin’s in three orifices, I pounded three energy drinks that are considered a war crime by the ICC, and now we’re going to juggle supercharged chainsaws” videos.

Basically, what the ad is selling is a gas mask, which is probably good enough for riot gas or OC. It’s not “CBRN DEFENSE!!!!ELEVEN!!!” It’s a, hopefully, upgraded version of the breathing protection mask you can get at Home Depot for 1/3 the cost, with a pair of goggles molded in.

But it probably looks really cool when you’re making a video or showing the dudes when they come over to talk about how they will ‘grant passage’ to the hot girls when they become warlords of the post-collapse wasteland.

OK, grumpy old dude rant over. I’m going back to watching videos of Gen Z hipsters talk about how their organic herb garden will cure the Vietnamese black crotch rot they’ll all get when society collapses and they can’t get DoorDash anymore.

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I’m really not a manly man, and I’m really not a dude who has to do manly things to feel manly and show folks how manly I am, but there’s just something really satisfying about going to the hardware store and buying a really nice plunge router.

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Maybe it’s a little passive agressive (OK, it’s a lot passive aggressive) but I’ve made a hobby of making little daily height markers on the kitchen window to mark the growth of the two tendrils of ivy that are growing up that side of the house. You know, those two tendrils that I told the Young Prince to dig up and get rid of last week? It’s kind of like what I used to do on the kitchen doorway when Girlie Bear was little.

I’d say the odds are even that either the ivy grows above the window before it gets taken care of, or Irish Woman and I have a ‘discussion’ about the Young Prince and his dedication to assigned tasks in the near future.