Medicated Part Two

This post will make more sense if you read last week's post first. It's ingeniously titled Medicated Part One to distinguish it from this one, Medicated Part Two.

Then we get to the worst part of the day. I was feeling better in the afternoon after a long, damp nap (reference is from last week's post) when I heard sirens in the distance. Why is that important, you ask? Let's back up a bit.

The nice thing about Korean Jindo dogs is that they don't bark much. Caleb would bark to alert me when a person came on our property, but he wouldn't bark at birds, squirrels, or paper bags flying in the wind. Which was good, generally speaking. 

My problem was that on the few occasions he did bark, he only barked when outside. I wanted him to bark when he was inside and someone came to the door (especially while Jay was at the fire station for a 24-hour shift and I was home alone). Caleb's fierce, white-wolf looks didn’t intimidate strangers when he was silently peeking from around the corner. 

Our vet told us we'd done an amazing job with Caleb's rehab so far (a neighbor rescued him and gave him to us several months earlier), but advised us to continue to build his confidence until he felt secure enough to bark while in the house. The vet was an older man with a heavy European accent, and since I'm illogically convinced that a heavy European accent guarantees expertise, I raptly listened.  

While looking for ways to boost Caleb's confidence, I noticed that when he was outside, he howled happily, tail wagging, when he heard firetruck sirens.

 

A light bulb went on (bing!). I figured that if I could encourage him to howl indoors, then he would eventually feel secure enough to bark indoors as well. Brilliant!

So, the next time Caleb was inside and I heard sirens, I cleverly said, "Howl," and gave him a demonstration. He looked perplexed that I was howling in the house, but eventually joined me by making some faint, strange noises, with his forehead puckered. He was possibly asking if I was losing my mind, but I praised his vocal efforts with an enthusiastic, "Good howl!"

When Jay came home from work the next morning, we heard sirens again (no, we don't have an arsonist on our street; we live a couple of miles from the fire station.), so I commanded, "Howl," and we both howled for Caleb. After a few minutes of our idiotic indoor bawling, he finally joined us with a response that sounded like a dying moose.

Most likely it was doggy laughter.  

But I exclaimed, "Good howl!" to encourage him.

 

Back to the worst part of my day...I was feeling better in the afternoon after a long, damp nap (reference is from last week's post) when I heard sirens in the distance. Caleb was outside, and I knew he'd howl when they came closer. Excitedly, I shouted for Jay, who was in the kitchen, to rush outside and join him. 

Jay obligingly ambled out the side door. He's very good to me.

Thinking, I, too, could help, I climbed out of bed and went out on the back deck. I couldn't see Jay, who was around the corner of the house, but when I couldn't hear him, I had an annoying suspicion that he was humoring me by standing there whispering, "Howl. Howl. Ah-rooo. Ah-rooo," under his breath. 

The sirens were lessening, but I smugly decided that I, at least, was dedicated enough to our pup's rehab to continue the exercise. 

I leaned over the deck railing in my powder blue, snowflake pajamas and howled. 

To my joy, Caleb raced from the side of the house, barking! I proudly assumed that he was responding to my feral vocalization, so, although the sirens were long gone, I threw back my head and howled again. 

Nice and long and loud. 

It was a spectacular howl!

As I slowly lowered my head at the end of my award-worthy canine call, I noticed that Caleb had kept running because he was actually barking at the neighbor who lives behind us; she was next to our back fence, partially concealed by the bush she'd been clipping, staring at me in open-mouthed shock. 

She abruptly put her head down and scurried away. 

We don’t know her well, so I desperately wanted to yell to her rapidly retreating back, "I'M MEDICATED. HEAVILY!" 

Verse of the day:  (2 Corinthians 15:13-14) "If it seems we are crazy, it is to bring glory to God. And if we are in our right minds, it is for your benefit. Either way, Christ's love controls us."

Zoe pretending she wants a howling lesson (I wasn't going to lean over the railing this time).

She didn't let out a sound, so I began to suspect she was just egging me on.

Confirmation of the set-up complete when she burst out laughing.
"Humans! Ha! They're so gullible."

Follow up:  I stopped taking that prescription (to the great relief of my husband and several neighbors). So I can no longer use medication as an excuse for my behavior.

I miss that.

Daylight Nightlight

I've never been a fan of birds, but since Jay had to have backyard chickens, I agreed under three conditions:

1. We'd eat their eggs, not them,
2. I wouldn't have to clean a stinky cage, and
3. that they'd get love and care like our other pets.

Jay built a coop (an enclosed house with roosts for sleep and nests for eggs) on wheels with an attached run called a chicken tractor.
 

The coop (with the wee doorway) is in the back and the run (with the gate) is in the front.
It's not pretty, but we were advised to make our first chicken tractor from scrap.

It doesn't have a floor so the chickens can walk on the lawn, eat weeds and bugs, dig for worms, and "fertilize" the yard. We move the coop to a new spot every other day, and there is nothing to clean because the droppings dry and crumble into the grass. 
 

Caleb watching over "his" biddies

Since the chicken tractor is on wheels, it isn't flush to the ground (like a normal hen house). It's built with warped wood so there are gaps between boards in the coop. When the cold weather began a few months ago, I worried that our chickies would be chilled by icy drafts blowing up their tail feathers while they were trying to sleep.

I suggested we buy our hens little capes for warmth (I'm not crazy. They sell them on Etsy. OK, it's a little crazy that I know that.). But Jay had a rather hostile reaction to the idea. It might have something to do with the fact that Zoe, our Bichon-mix, has accumulated at least nine coats of varying warmth (three of which are shown below), as well as several sweaters. At least she, unlike our poor chickens, was well prepared for inclement weather.

"But, honey," I coaxed, "it would help you tell the biddies apart. I could get a white cape for Blanche, a yellow one for Goldie, a pink one for Rose, and a green one for Henrietta! Of course, they'd need two capes apiece: one to wear and one to launder. And waterproof capes for rainy days and fleece-lined capes for snow..."

Jay was not buying it (or capes). Instead, he lined the coop with cardboard to stop drafts and add insulation. I countered by putting a thermostat inside the coop (it's hard to foil me when I'm on a mission) and found it was still only a few degrees warmer than outside. 

After I woke him several times on cold nights fretting about our girls' comfort, he finally hooked up a heat light to pacify me. We attached it to an outdoor thermostat outlet that turned the bulb on when the temperature dropped to 35 degrees F. 

Coop interior--cardboard over gaps & heat lights by the roost.
(That's Miss Blanche's backside in the doorway.)

Rookies that we are, we used a regular white light bulb instead of a red one (that registers as "night" in coops and submarines). Since chickens habitually enter their coop at dusk and leave it at first dawn, they were incredibly shocked when "sunlight" suddenly flooded the interior of their house around midnight. In a flutter, they raced outside only to discover, in cackling confusion, that it was still night.

Caleb, my service dog, was frantic when he sensed that "his" hens were distressed. Zoe (who was in pajamas) determined there was no food involved in the situation, so she turned her back to us.

Jay was at work (of course), so I had to put on my coat and boots and trudge out in a sleet storm to open the coop door so Caleb could see for himself that his fowls were flustered but fine. Shivering, I calmed the hens down enough to roost, and Caleb reluctantly followed me back into the house.

I toweled the icy rain off of my hair and crawled back in bed. Did I get any sleep?

Of course not.

Every half an hour, the hens looked to see if the sun was shining outside as well as inside. How do I know this? Because they'd argue over whose turn it was to check.

Their squabbling was loud enough to wake Caleb. 

And Caleb would wake me. 

The only thing I could see in the dark yard was the square cutout coop door glowing from the heat light inside the coop. I'd see a silhouette of one of the hens fly down into the doorway. She'd look left, look right, look up, and then she'd fly back to the perch to vociferously discuss her findings with the others: 

"It's still night outside."

"But it's day inside!"

"I know! But it's night outside!"

"But it's day inside. How can it be night outside?"     

"I don't know. But it is night outside."

"But it's day inside!"

"I know! But it's night outside."

Finally, they'd argue themselves into a light slumber. Caleb would settle down, and I'd crawl back in bed. But in a half an hour, one of them would wake up and rouse the others, which would wake Caleb, and he'd whimper and whine (ignoring my "They're fine. Go to sleep") until I'd get up. I'd go to the window and hear the chicken version of:

"It's light. We go outside when it's light."

"But it was night outside." 

"How can it be day inside and night outside?"

"I don't know, but it was."

"Go check again."

"You go check."

"The early bird gets the worm.'"

"You can have the worm. I'm not budging until I know it's day. Besides, it's Rose's turn to check."

"But I don't want to. You go, Blanche."

"I checked the first time! Henrietta can check." 

"It has to be day. It's light inside."

"Fine. I'll go."

I'd see the silhouette of the next hen poking her head out the doorway, looking left, looking right, then looking up. She'd fly back on the roost, and then I'd hear their strident squawking of "It's still night outside!" "But it's day inside!"  

All. 

Night. 

Long. 

I called Jay in the morning before he left work to tell him that the only way he'd get in the house was if he was carrying a red heat bulb.

I said, "The white light kept your chickens up. The chickens kept Caleb up. Caleb kept me up. But you'll be happy to hear Zoe snored blissfully through the whole thing."

 Louie Belle the cat is now my favorite pet.

Verse of the day: (Psalm 139:12) "To You the night shines as bright as day. Darkness and light are the same to You." 

For another chicken story, see "Hidden Hen Hazards."

Look Bad, Taste Good!

Sadly, our delightful Korean neighbor, Ja-eun, sold her house to move to another state. She stayed with us for a week while she sorted through some boxes she'd stored in our front room. The house was quite busy with people coming and going as she distributed her goods. I mostly stayed out of the way.

One evening, Ja-eun called me into the foyer to introduce me to a couple, Youn and Myeong, and their 8-year-old son Seungmin. Seungmin was incredibly excited to meet Caleb (my medical alert dog) since Jindos are indigenous dogs from the Jindo Island off of South Korea. Ja-eun chatted with the family in Korean while I stood, smiling politely. Finally, she turned to me, laughing, and said, "Oh, boy like dog so much he want come every day play with him."

I chuckled, agreeably, "Oh, that's cute."

Ja-eun continued, "But I tell him 'No! Once a week only!'  Jay work Thursday? They come Thursday 5 o'clock."

Wait. What? She apparently told them the same thing in Korean, and they walked out the door. Well, okay then! 

I thought it was pretty funny until I realized that Ja-eun was leaving on Wednesday.

Me:  Um, Ja-eun, you’re leaving Wednesday. What am I supposed to do with them when they come on Thursday?

She:  Anything okay.

Me:  Do they even speak English? The only Korean words I know are “bulgogi” and “kimchi.”

She:  Is good! Need American friend so can learn English.

Me:  Okaaay. Um, will they be hungry? Am I supposed to serve them dinner? 

She:  Anything okay. 

Me:  What would I make? What do they like? What don’t they eat?

She: Anything okay. 
 
Well, okay then.  Ja-eun left Wednesday, and Thursday, at 5 PM sharp, Myeong (pronounced me-YOUNG—a great name because everyone confesses youth when they call her) showed up with little Seungmin (SING-men) in tow. He ran outside to play with Caleb while Myeong and I attempted conversation. She was shy with her English, so I just babbled nervously, hoping she understood some of it.

Jay was going through a stage where he wanted to learn how to cook, and he was in the kitchen making Stuffed Shells. The third time I heard him mutter (loud enough for me to hear in the den), "There's not enough stuff to stuff these shells with," I knew it was a cry for help. I excused myself and went to check on him. He already had one tray of shells stuffed and in the oven, but there was a pile of empty pasta shells next to a nearly empty bowl of stuffing. 
  
Puzzled, I looked over the recipe and remarked, "Odd. You'd think the 4 cups of ricotta cheese alone would be more than enough to stuff all the shells--even without adding the rest of the ingredients."

Jay responded, "Oooh, the ricotta..." Oops.

I opened the tub of ricotta cheese. Myeong wandered into the kitchen and wanted to taste it. Unsalted skim-milk ricotta is pretty flavorless, and her expression said that only her lovely Korean manners kept her from spitting it across the room.

I pulled the pan of shells out of the oven and scooped out the stuffing. The mozzarella topping was half melted and some of the tomato sauce from the bottom of the pan got mixed in, so after I added the un-stuffed-stuffing to the ricotta cheese, it looked like someone had thrown up in the bowl. Not pretty.  

Myeong took one look at the vile mixture and earnestly informed me, “We eat home.  We not eat here. No. Eat. Here.”  Korean food is supposed to look beautiful as well as taste good, so I understood her reaction.

“You don’t have to eat this,” I assured her as I re-stuffed shells. “You no eat--is okay. Jay and me eat. Food for Jay and me.” Although, the way it was looking, I wasn’t sure I wanted it either.

She responded with something indecipherable that I assumed was about dinner. 

But then she walked out the front door. 

And drove away. 

Well, okay then.  

I looked into the backyard. “Um, Jay, she left. And, um, her kid is still here.” 

“What!” Jay looked out the window, panicked.

“I have no idea what she said. Maybe I agreed to babysit or something."

We called Seungmin in.

Me (trying to sound casual to not cause alarm):  Honey, your mom just left. Do you know where she went?

He (entirely unconcerned):  No.

Me:  Do you know when she'll be back?

He:  No. 

Me:  Do you think she went to pick up your dad from work?

He:  Maybe.

Me:  Do you know where your dad works?

He:  No. 

Me:  Do you know where you live?

He:  No.

Me:  Do you know your mom’s cell phone number?

He:  No.

Me:  OK. Go play.

Seungmin skipped back outside while Jay paced the floor, fretting, “Did we just agree to adopt their kid? What do we do if she doesn’t come back? We don’t even know their last name!” 
 
I thought this was the most interesting thing to happen all week and cheerfully steamed broccoli and threw some garlic bread in the oven. After about 45 minutes, Seungmin and I were too hungry to wait any longer and dug in. Jay was too agitated to even take a bite, although the Stuffed Shells actually were quite tasty.

Myeong finally returned with Youn, much to Jay’s relief. He offered Myeong some Stuffed Shells, which she emphatically declined. Youn was exhausted from working a 12-hour day and starving. He looked askance at the pasta, but since Seungmin hadn't turned green or passed out, he allowed Jay to put some shells on his plate.
 
Youn put the first bite in his mouth and exclaimed, with undisguised shock, "Oooh, is good! Look very bad, but taste is good!"

After watching Seungmin and Youn eat with enthusiasm, Myeong finally cut one shell in half and placed the lonely half-bite in the middle of her plate. 

A dinner serving of Stuffed Shells, in Myeong's opinion

Bracing herself, she tried it. “Oooh, is good! Look very bad, but taste is good!”   

They asked for second and third helpings, repeating their favorite phrase (sounding utterly amazed) literally every few bites. Seungmin’s mouth was never empty enough to comment.

We'd baked sugar cookies from frozen dough during the meal. When we offered our guests the cooled sugar cookies, they kept saying, "Is not cook. Is not done," and we kept answering, "They're sugar cookies. They don't get brown. Is done."

Jay had run through a gamut of emotions in the past two hours, so he handed Youn a cookie and uncharacteristically commanded, "Eat!"

Dubiously, Youn took a bite and exclaimed, "Oooh, is cook. Look very bad, but is good!"

Shortly afterwards, they left. As they were going out the door, we heard, “Okay, see Thursday. Five o’clock!” Well, okay then. Ja-eun instructed us to meet once a week, and apparently that's what was going to happen.  

I decided to continue our trend of serving unsightly meals. We made casserole the next week, spaghetti with meat sauce the week after, and then pizza, and so on. You know exactly what they said after tasting each one!

Verse of the day:  (Romans 12:13) "Share with the Lord's people who are in need. Practice hospitality." Some of us need more practice than others.
________________________________________

Follow up:  On their second visit, Seungmin shyly said that he didn't have any relatives in the USA and asked if he could call us Aunt Pamela and Uncle Jay. That warmed my heart, but I was completely hooked when he offered to give Caleb a bath. He's been our honorary nephew ever since. They've been coming to our house for seven years and counting, even though we haven't served a pretty meal yet!

For another Korean story, see "House Guest Hash (Not a Recipe)."

Jay (happy to discover a source of free labor),
Seungmin (too young to know that washing a dog is a chore), and
Caleb (miserably wondering what he did to deserve such punishment)