One Arm Alan

 

Reach across with left hand, flip 'lever' and pull.

Forty years ago, give or take a few, my friend Dennis and I used to go out drinking almost every night of the week. I don’t think we were alcoholics so much as two guys who enjoyed the atmosphere of a drinking establishment. The fact that I was living above a bar didn’t help. Besides that bar, Dennis and I would often bar hop to different bars up and down Clark Street with dive bars being our favorite. One thing about this pattern was that we would have many bar acquaintances, and to make things easy we would have shortcut names for some of them. This is because we knew multiple guys named Bill, Bob, etc. It wasn’t to be mean, but we had one guy we called ‘Fat’ Bob so that we wouldn’t confuse him with other guys named Bob. Another guy, nice guy, his name was Bill, we called him ‘One Arm’ Billy. Yes, he only had one arm. The only rule was that we never called people these shortcut names to their faces. It was only for the convenience in conversation between Dennis and myself. I suppose my neighbors might have a name they use when they’re referring to me when see me in the neighborhood. “Old guy with the two scruffy dogs. Old guy with the old car. Old guy with hair.” I’m sure they’re all complimentary names.

I was thinking about all this because for the last few weeks I have been ‘One Arm’ Alan. I had shoulder surgery and I am not supposed to use my right arm other than the fingers. For two weeks after surgery I slept in my recliner chair, which was a challenge. It’s a right hand mechanical recliner, so I had to devise a Rube Goldberg sort of way to get it to go down and up. I’ve only been stuck in it a couple of times, and the only way to remove myself from the chair was to slither out. Then there are the two scruffy dogs. For the first week I just opened the back door and encouraged them to poop in the yard. No walkies for them. Second week my neighbor upstairs helped me out by walking Scout while I walked little Daisy. That worked out okay, but I didn’t want to take advantage. The last three days I walked them both, with one arm. It isn’t easy, especially picking up the poop. Which brings up another subject, the bathroom. Doing things in the bathroom that I have always done with my right hand, like shaving, showering, and… umm… ‘cleanup’. I don’t mean cleaning the bathroom, I mean cleaning me. A right handed job I’ve done since I was a freshly potty trained child. It has resulted in some creative moves. I’m no contortionist so it has not been easy. Anyway, the moral of this story is I now have new respect for One Arm Billy. 

Please, Pees Me

 

I’ve had three or more foster dogs over the years. The last one was Daisy. Of all the fosters I had, I decided to keep the most problematic of them. Daisy. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a sweet little dog and she seems to love and trust me. Her only flaw was that she was not completely house broken when I got her. Already ten years old, she had most of it down. She knew that outside was where you pooped and peed. What she didn’t stand for was me not taking her out exactly when the urge hit her, so she’d leave me a reminder on the floor. One day I decided that I would put one of the leftover puppy pee pads from previous foster dogs, on the floor. Sure enough, Daisy used it. She left a little wet circle in the middle of the pad. I praised her for her good aim and gave her a baby carrot as an reward. Bad move, because Daisy is a very smart little dog. She immediately realized that for every pee spot on the pad, she got a carrot as a reward. So now I’ll be sitting in my chair and a very excited Daisy will come prancing into the living room, all proud, expecting that carrot. Instead of excitedly trying to get me to take her out, she just pees on the pad as if it’s an ATM for carrots.

Lately Daisy has added another dimension to peeing on the puppy pee pad. Poop, she poops on the pad. The worst thing about that is, Daisy eats poop. Daisy eats dog poop, Daisy eats bird poop, Daisy eats whatever poop critters leave behind. The only reason I know she poops on the puppy pee pads are the poop stains left behind.  Anyway, it does make it easier on me in the winter or if it’s raining. Let her do her thing on the pad, and give her a carrot.

One more thing. Daisy does not pee, nor poop on the pad if I leave the house. I can be gone for eight hours and when I get home Daisy will not have done it on the puppy pee pad. I’m sure her reasoning is, why waste a good pee if I’m not immediately going to get a carrot reward.

I Eat My Own Face

 

(First of all let me say how happy I am that I figured out how to get back into my blog. During a long period where I was otherwise distracted I did neglect it, but I am back. I don’t write all my passwords down which can be good, and can be bad. This time a good guess fixed things. I still don’t know the password because I didn’t write it down again. I simply won’t ever sign out.)

About two or more weeks ago I bought a nice steak at the Jewel. It had the fifty percent markdown tag on it because it was about to go past its sell date. It’s the only way I ever buy meat, marked down. Seriously, it tasted just as good or better than if I paid the twenty dollars, extremely tender and flavorful. Unfortunately, while I was gnawing down on a mouthful, my mouth got confused. In all the mass of chewed up cow meat, I bit down hard on my inner lip. There was a shot of pain and a loud scream that sent the begging dogs running. They came back quickly though when I spit the meat out and blotted blood from my lip. My dogs don’t care, used meat tastes just great to them. I was looking forward to that meal, planning for it all day. I had mashed potatoes, and corn along with the steak, and a nice wine to wash it down. The pain was so bad I just couldn’t finish dinner. Anyway, after that painful meal I have re-bit the same spot at least fifty times. No matter how slowly I chew, no matter how carefully I chew, I still keep biting my inner lip. I’ve bit it for breakfast while eating my Cheerios. I’ve bit it again while eating a Wolfy’s hotdog. I bit the lip when chewing my melatonin gummy before bed, while eating Jell-o, I even bit it while sucking a smoothie up through a straw. The only thing I can see that will cure my sore lip would possibly be a week long liquid diet, but I’d probably still find a way to injure myself.