Sasha’s Back

 

Alpha mom is away at summer camp this week, so it’s me, Sasha, back again to cover for her.

And I’ve been given carte blanche — literally. I can write about anything I want.

She was planning to write about summer camp — it’s a music camp, in the woods somewhere in New Hampshire — and her memories of camp as a kid. But she ran out of time.

It takes her three days to write a single post. Ridiculous, I say.

I know this because I am right next to her every step of the way. That’s how I know how to do this.  I am very observant. And I’ve been watching her for three and a half years now.

Sunday she does the first draft, decides on the images, then sits on it for a day. On Monday, she putters with it, then sends it to Alpha Pop to take a look.  He usually catches something grammatical. Finally, sometime Tuesday, she finishes it up and schedules the post to go live on Wednesday.

Today, I’m going to pump this baby out in an hour.  Ready?

 

This is one of my favorite poses.
This is one of my favorite poses.

 

If you’ve read any of my earlier posts

A Word From Sasha on Nov. 11, 2015 and
A Guest Post from Sasha on May 25, 2016

you’ll recall that I’m a white shepherd. The white is a genetic blessing that not all shepherds get.  The folks at the American Kennel Club say I can’t join their club because of my specialness.  I say, “Woof.”

Yeah.  I am a little full of myself.

I’m six and a half years old, which is about forty five in your years. And I know I’m slowing down a bit.  It bothers Alpha Mom and Pop more than it does me. I don’t really even notice most the time.

Alpha Mom and Alpha Pop left on Sunday for  a music camp in New Hampshire. They’re going to sing, and sleep in cabins, and eat in a dining hall, and sing some more.  Internet is limited.

She says it’ll be just like the summer camps she went to has a kid. Except there’ll be a lot more singing. Choral singing actually. She hopes to write about it next week, when she’s back.

She says she needs to write about happy things, joyous things. Singing makes her happy, joyous even.  And she’s hoping she’ll learn a bit more about making harmony.  She loves singing harmony.

Hmmm, I hope she picks up on that for her next post. There are some  people who go through life singing the melody; and there are others who prefer to sing harmony. Metaphorically, I’m saying.  I’ll mention it to her when she gets back.

I get to stay home with the remaining chickens — yup, she kept seven this year: five Reds, one Araucauna, and one Freedom Ranger.  All hens. Alpha Mom’s thinking she might hang on to them over the winter.  Fresh eggs are good. I like them too, but not as much as the beans I pull out of her garden.  Alpha Pop says she’ll rethink the idea once it starts to get cold.

I get to take care of my Gramma this week.  That means keeping her busy scratching my ears and that spot just above my tail.  Oooh, I do love when she does that.  I’ll probably keep her company when she goes out to harvest the daily blueberry crop. And she’ll need me to show her where all the good raspberries are.

This summer, for some reason, we have blueberries at the same time as our raspberries.  Usually, they are a few weeks apart.  Strawberries come first, in June; then raspberries; then blueberries; and, finally, blackberries.

Alpha Mom freezes them on cookie sheets, then puts them in containers and stores them in the freezer downstairs where I go when the thunderstorms come.

Not that I’m afraid.  Oh no.

I just figure, why take a chance.  So, down I go.  I can tell when those storms are coming too. I hear them. Or is it that I smell them?  I just know when they’re coming.  I’m psychic that way.

Well, that’s all I have to say for now.

Alpha mom said to try and keep it to 500 words.  I did; I tried.

 

I’d really like to know what happens to your house pets when you go away.  Thanks. 

 

6 Responses

  1. Ian Mathie
    | Reply

    A reply from Mungo:

    It depends where he’s going, but as often as possible when my Boss goes away I go with him. That said, not everyone seems to welcome other people’s canines, so occasionally I go to the local Dogs’ Hotel. This is usually when he goes abroad or to the big city – I don’t like smelly, noisy places like that. With all the traffic fumes and everyone in so much of a rush they haven’t the time to pause and sniff the smells, it’s not my sort of place. I’ve never understood how humans can do that, they miss so much and haven’t a clue what’s going on round them.

    Going with him has become a bit more difficult lately because he’s changed his chariot. We used to have a nice old estate car with a low floor in the back that I could just hop into. The new one is higher up and, getting older and stiffer in the joints – well, I’m almost 13 in their years, so about 90 in real time – so it’s not so easy now. Never mind, if I put my front paws up the Boss always lifts the rest of me in. Getting out is not such a problem as gravity helps.

    We still go once a week to the old folks home – actually it’s a sort of nuthouse for those with Alzheimer’s, but these humans like talk round things like that, instead of recognising that their minds go. We go to see Pat, who used to be our neighbour. She’s been there seven years now and it’s sad to see her just sitting, lost in a world of nothing. We used to have such wonderful walks together and her dogs were my bestest friends. They’ve become ancestor dogs now. Pat doesn’t remember me anymore, but I remember her and like to check up on her regularly. Some of the other old biddies seem pleased to see me too, so we generally have a visit filled with cuddles. I may be a big tough Labrador, but I like cuddles.

    For the rest of the summer – not that we’ve had much of one as it’s been dull and grey most days – I have lazed about in the garden, keeping the place free of squirrels and next door’s cats. It’s been a good year for that, so the garden has grown pretty and Mrs Boss says it looks better with a dog sleeping on the lawn.

    Well, enjoy your break Sasha, and I hope your Alphas come back well and happy. I’ve got to go and be ready to woof at the mailman as the post is due to arrive soon. Your Gramma sounds nice.
    Woof.

  2. Kathleen Pooler
    | Reply

    What a treat to hear from you again, Sasha! Alpha Mom will be very proud of you. It sounds like you have a lot to do while she’s gone so have fun!

  3. Merril Smith
    | Reply

    When our girls were younger, they imagined our cats (one for each daughter) had “residence parties” when we were away. If we fake called them, each cat had an answering machine song with a message about coming to their residence party while we were gone. One daughter imagined her cat Michael with a chef’s hat cooking pancakes.
    No doubt these girls are my daughters, is there? 🙂

    Hope you have a wonderful time at camp, and hope Sasha has a wonderful time with his grandma!

  4. Marian Beaman
    | Reply

    Sasha, dear, behave! Don’t act like the crazy pets in “The Secret Life of Pets” in theaters everywhere.

    And you too, Alpha Mom, behave!

  5. Janet Givens
    | Reply

    A quick THANK YOU to everyone who wrote to me while Alpha Mom was gone. She thought it ought to be me to say thank you, while she finishes up the laundry and tackles all the weeding — things I couldn’t do while she was gone. Then, she thought she had a jump on next week’s blog (remember, I told you it takes her like THREE days to write one) — well, she had her notes all done while she was still away at the camp. but she never gave the post a title. So, when she went to open it up and make it into a post, she found it was gone. Poof, (rhythms with “woof”) gone.
    So, she went outside to dig in the dirt and left me to say thank you. THANK YOU (does feel a little deja vu).

    Mungo, I visit people too. It’s fun. I love people. But I shed so much that sometimes they aren’t as happy to see me coming as I expect them to be — even after Alpha Mom has left wads (and wads) of white hair balls all over the front yard.

    Oh, here comes Alpha Mom. I must end this; she said “make it short.”

    Woof.

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