Things we can count on . . . .

Just when I was getting excited yesterday afternoon that green patches in the lawn had doubled in size from the day before, the latest winter storm is covering up all that progress. We can count on such setbacks in North Idaho. I actually spent a few minutes walking around the perimeter of those lawn patches, feeling triumphant and pleased that the additional at-home walking space required no snow shoes or hip boots.

I moved from the lawn through a stretch of muddy driveway to the road. Knowing Bill and Kiwi were down in the woods and that Annie Dog was fast asleep on the garage couch, I figured I could sneak a little walk down the road to admire the latest addition of boards to our barnyard pasture. We now have two levels of boards on almost three sides. One section can't be finished because of a missing post. It will be weeks before the ground dries sufficiently to pack the post enough for it to support those 2 by 8 by 12-foot boards.

I admired the pasture from afar and made it almost to Merserve's property line when a neighbor stopped his pickup to say hi. Just as we began the conversation, which included the announcement that he and his wife are now parents of a baby girl, Annie Dog came moseying down the road. Her appearance ended the visit and the hopes of going any further.

Any time I decide to go for a walk, I can always count on Annie Dog coming out to the road within seconds. Any time anyone dares to pass by on foot, bike or horse, Annie Dog will go to the road to woof, woof, woof at them. Annie's an old dog, and one doesn't teach her any new tricks like, "Stay. . . go home . . . get off the road, there are cars coming . . . ." Old dogs just don't listen, and like a lot of older humans, they turn on their selective hearing any time they're doing as they damn well please.

Annie's idea of doing as she damn well pleases includes winding her way at a snail's pace down the road or across the road. Who cares if cars are coming? Who cares if someone from the house is yelling, "Come back, Annie!" So, going for a walk with Annie anywhere in the vicinity must be limited to Lovestead property. Even then, she moseys through the fence to the next-door neighbor's place. I can count on Annie just I can count on the weather in late February dashing any hopes of enjoying early springtime frolicks.

In this life, there seem to be lots of things we can count on to cause annoyances.

For example, yesterday I decided to nail up some of those fence boards. Even though I'm accustomed to lifting 90-pound bales onto the backs of pick-ups, I find those fence boards heavy and hard to manage. Putting up boards on a fence is fairly easy when two people are involved. Solo fence building is a totally different story. I can always count on dozens of things to go wrong. Yesterday was no exception.

I'm not wearing my wedding ring this morning because I have a meatloaf finger. Because it's hard to get ahold of those boards in the pile, I had to take my gloves off and stuff them in my pocket. I separated a board from the pile and was moving it, when the whole damn board fell to the ground almost crushing my toes but completely rearranging a thin stick with a sharp edge which had been resting on the stack. While in transit, the sharp stick edge dug into my finger.

Nothing happened for a moment, but then the blood started. I had to leave my job before even starting and go into medical mode. By the time I reached the house, the blood was coming fast enough that I had to cup my other hand under it to avoid messing up the floor. The skin did look like gristle above my ring where the sharp ends had pierced two spots. It still hurts, but I wasn't going to let a little injury stop my project. So, a band aide is protecting it from further aggravation, I hope.

Back to the boards. When working on fence, one can always count on horses hovering and hoping to help. Their form of help usually involves knocking the hammer, which has just been set on a post to the ground, into the middle of a pile of their green muck. That occurs with frequency.

I thought I'd solved the other given that goes with solo board nailing----that would be nailing one end into the post far enough to allow an eyeball look, only to have the other fall to the ground. This process repeats itself several times and is sprinkled with expletives, but I saw Stan Meserve in the grocery store before starting yesterday's fencing project. He said to use some baling twine to hold up the other end.

That sounded like a good idea. Stan and Geneva were even driving by from their weekly trip to Yoke's when I came out of the barn with my piece of twine, destined to solve all fence-nailing woes. Well, I learned early on that it's a good idea to tie the board securely before trusting it to hang up there on one end while nailing the other. It hurts when that board hits your foot and then lands in the February horse slop. And, you can count on saying more things that you shouldn't when you have a dirty board and a hurting foot.

I won't talk about how we can also count on nails to bend halfway through the board. That has something to do with not knowing how to put the drill bits in the drill after Bill has put it away from team fencing projects. I'm certainly not gonna call the office and ask how to insert those bits, so I tough it out by just pounding those nails as best I can. As best I can sometimes turns out to be a big ugly mess with a nail end sticking out where it's not supposed to be sticking out or a nail head and half the body flattened against the board.

Just another day in the "you can count on it" department at the Lovestead. And, now that I've got this written, those green patches of hopeful spring are almost white. I think we can count on this for at least the next six weeks. And, it will be a while before I can count on all my fingers---meatloaf-ring finger included---the number of boards needed to complete the winter fencing project.

Where's that Annie Dog?