Gus is 45 lbs. and stands 21” at his shoulder.  Daisy is 39 lbs. and, though more ‘leggy’, stands 20” tall.  She is more energetic and frolics a bit more but Gus is a close second.  They get along well and play and go on local (property) adventures but, generally speaking, they are ‘chill’.  Easy-going.  Nice manners.  Good temperament.  They are also healthy, strong and learning rapidly.  They pretty much have us trained already!

They are pretty chill until they sense they are headed to the car.  They really do not like the car.  Right now, nobody does.  Our car smells of dog puke.  CUTE dog puke but still, puke by any other name is still puke. 

Actually, Sal is starting to smell a little pukey, too.  To assuage Daisy’s slightly more sensitive stomach, Sal puts Daisy on her lap when we are in the car.  Fifteen minutes into the trip, Sally and Daisy’s breakfast are one.  There’s a shriek, a bit of mild cursing and I pull over.  Sal gets out with her lap dripping with kibble-goo.  Daisy looks woebegone and just lies in what is still on the seat.  Sal gets about half cleaning it all up and about then, Gus adds to the splatter.  There is no shrieking at this point but the mild cursing steps up a notch.  Stinky rags, paper towels and such are being deployed and plastic bags are starting to fill.  But, after ten minutes or so of fussing, we get going again…..and then 20 minutes later, we get to repeat the whole gastric assault thing one more time.  If the trip is longer than 45 minutes, we get it again.  We now travel even less than ever before. 

There was an exception to that the other day but that was because only the boat traveled.  The dogs are acclimating to the boat nicely.  And, anyway, I had the car.  Sal and the pups went on a community hike to a farther-out island.  A hike ‘round these parts’ is really more of a death march, a survival challenge and a not-so-subtle statement of fitness.  Did I mention that I had the car?  I chose the day of the hike to go into Campbell River and grind my face into the revolving fan-blades of doing ICBC paperwork and Motor Vehicle registration.  Plus I needed some parts.  It was hell but it was not the LONG MARCH the community undertook. 

There were twelve adults, a few kids and half a dozen dogs.  Concern for Daisy and Gus’s stamina, abilities and pace was expressed at the start.  Awe and respect were declared when the hike was complete three and bit hours later.  Daisy and Gus (four months old) scrambled up boulders, forded streams and generally acted as capable as any of the other dogs, a bit less than the kids, of course, and a great deal more than the adults.  This was a real hike.  Think: West Coast Trail.  Getting to base camp on Everest would be easier. 

When they thought the day was done and Sal and the dogs collapsed into sleepy bliss at home, I called them on the walkie-talkie.  “Could you come over and get me?”  So, Sal and the pups jumped up and headed over to pick me up.  They still had something in reserve.  But not much.  After a nice doggy dinner (Sal had a human dinner) they conked out.  I am not sure Sal noticed.  Her eyes closed early, too. 

Dogs = puke-cleaning, exercise, feeding, teaching and gobs of attention.  Sal says they are easier to live with than me but I am pretty sure she was kidding.  I mean, I hardly ever puke. 

It seems that people are getting their knickers-in-a-knot over the concept of ‘WOKE’ or, put more understandably: being more aware/alert to injustice in society, especially racism and sexism. Some folks are upset ABOUT instances of racism, sexism, etc. and some are upset about THOSE who are upset. Weird.

We sit on the precipice of environmental annihilation, a life-crippling pandemic and, quite possibly, WW3 and many are actually working fervently to wash everyone else’s mouth with soap. Everybody is becoming a harpy named Karen.

Admittedly, every infraction, violation or unfairness levied against another person primarily because of their skin colour or gender is wrong – on some level – and we should try and fix it. Why not? If it’s obviously race or gender based, it is almost always prejudice, discrimination or bigotry at work. That so-called woke position should be easy enough to support but, it turns out, unsurprisingly, a lot of people resent being told how to feel and be with others. “It’s my first amendment right to be a bigot and it is my second amendment right to wear camouflage, wear my hat backwards and carry a gun!”

I hate to admit it but, as a free-speecher, I kinda agree that good manners and being nice cannot be legislated. Still, I side with the ‘woke’ side on most racist/sexist issues but rarely enough to light my hair on fire.

But, I digress. Back to being or not being woke……the reason ‘wokedness’ is being seen as ‘bad’ by such illuminati as Barbara Kay, Rex Murphy and Jordan Peterson is not so much that they are racists or bigots but rather that they do not want to be censored or ‘cancelled’ for some meaningless slip-of-the-tongue like referring to Chinaman’s Creek by the name it had for decades or calling a flush-on-the-street entryway a man-hole cover when everyone knows women can go into the sewers the same way. WOKE/ANTI-WOKE? It all seems so silly.

Barb, Rex and Jordan make their living by words and so their perspective is, perhaps, a bit more rarefied than others but, in their lack of defense, they get a lotta Bubba support for their anti-woke stance. The Bubbas hate woke libtards with a passion. Same kinda people didn’t like hippies with long hair, don’t like Muslims with hajibs and don’t like well, anyone they can vilify and make an ‘other’.

Frankly, I used to think it was all just a tempest in a big, SILLY teapot. Where REAL prejudice, bigotry, hatred and action-against-others is provably manifest, they are also clearly wrong and probably illegal (unless the cops do it, of course). And where it is NOW perceived insensitive and/or rude to use a historic name like Squaw Valley, Nigger Ridge or Chinaman’s Creek, well, names can be changed. No biggy. I say, ‘change ’em’. The names were arbitrarily chosen anyway. But where Vaughn, Russel and even Kitchener are being criticized because they were named after historic figures who, it turns out, had the common personal flaws of their era (slavery, lice, corruption, etc.) then it is getting pretty weird. Look for a historic political or influential person without major flaws and only Jesus comes to mind.

But, is that all there is to it? Karens preaching to Bubbas on proper etiquette?

Maybe. Maybe not. There is another point of view that I have slowly grasped…consider, for example, that of a single black man who got rousted and hassled by the police well over 100 times over the course of a year when just going to work. He worked at a convenience store. Over his four years working there, Earl Sampson has been stopped and questioned 258 times, searched at least 100 times, arrested 62 times, and jailed 56 times by Miami police – every time while on his way to work, arriving at work or even, unbelievably, while AT work!

So, what has that to do with ‘woke or not?’ It’s all related. Sorta different ends of the same prejudicial spectrum but still related. Because I am white, kind of even look like a bit like a cop (it was the donuts) and act like I own the place, the chances of me getting stopped and hassled over those four years is virtually nil compared to Earl.

So, it seems I actually do have some sort of white privilege. Who knew? Well, that is, if one can say NOT being hassled is a privilege….? Clearly, Earl does not have even my lowly status (po’ white trash). Trust me when I say, Earl is likely a way better employee and a nicer, more pleasant clerk than I would ever be. Hell, there is a very high possibility I might have punched a customer or two in each and every one of those four years! It is in Florida, after all (even now I’d like to go down there and punch DeSantis and Trump). I am not a better man, employee, citizen or person than Earl. I am sure I am way worse.

In that sense, being ‘woke’ really just recognizes that being born any colour but white in this society (first world, North American) is a demerit point in the eyes of the police and, in some cases, with the whole system. Indigenous folks get a lot of that same hassle-crap in Canada. Being woke for me NOW means being aware that I am NOT being hassled because of my skin colour.

*WOKE: the word was borrowed from African American street slang. It has evolved somewhat these past few years to encompass other just causes and movements.

Pups, boats, neighbours, Wwoofers and all things pressing and current.

I need a better boat. NOT a great boat (all fancy and shiny) ’cause I am a local now and real locals drive crap-boats with brand new, more-expensive-than-a-car outboard motors. Locals do not use radar, or sat-nav or even e-charts on their phones. Real locals just ‘feel’ their way up the coast in the fog or the storm or the raging gale. Real locals do not use VHF radio, either. They say they do but they do not. A wire broke or a knob fell off or the fuse blew a few years ago and they just haven’t gotten around to fixing it.

But, anyway, I need something a smidge bigger in the boat department. Ideally, around 18 or 19 feet. Usually, I went bigger on things because well, I, myself, kept enlarging. Ergo bigger shorts, shirts, bigger beds, bigger cars. But, in my old age, I have actually halted corporeal expansion and am likely getting ready to shrink. It’s not my size that needs the size, it is my balance. My balance is no longer excellent. It is no longer good. It is no longer even adequate. I am a bit tippy now. So, as a tippy boater, I need to have a less-tippy boat. I have been looking.

One of my neighbours is a senior-ish, single woman and she has all the challenges of keeping hearth and home together as we all do but, unfortunately, she (like us) was raised urban and she has not developed all the skills and such that are needed. In and of itself, that is not a problem…well, at least not a long-term problem. She has money and she hires people. They come and fix things. It all works. But hiring people is a logistical nightmare. Travel time, pick-up and return trips, parts, materials…..it is a very difficult thing to run an OTG home using hired help if, for no other reason than getting things back in order in a timely manner. Can’t be done. To keep the house going, one really has to know at least level 1 DIY. By her own admission, she is level zero. I am level one. But I am encouraging Sal to get to 2.

Anyway, I took my level 1 skills over to her place yesterday and properly diagnosed a mystery electrical problem. But I did not have the level two skills required to fix it. I mention this only because living OTG can be very hard and only skill, knowledge, some money and attitude can keep it all together all the time and, even then, you have to be living in the house a lot of the time as well. She winters in Mexico. Springs are a bounty of surprise for her.

The pups are still good. Definitely showing their different characters more and more. Pretty cute. Daisy gently squeezes in a partly open door and, in so doing touches nothing. Gus stumbles and thuds through the same opening sending the door flying and the house a-shaking. They are very good pups. And…….

……..segue to Wwoofers, of course….Willing Workers On Organic Farms. Wwoof is an organization that joins young people from different countries with farms, rural enterprises, homesteads and even just very rural cabins like ours. They do some chores on the place and the host provides a bed and food. We have had over a dozen (maybe two) and it has always been fun. Sometimes you get a great Wwoofer (Christoff had skills and experience and more energy than a 20-mule team) and other times you get a city tourist-type who likes to go to Starbucks for an adventure but all of them were young and pleasant and we liked having them. After a three year hiatus, we will be hosting a young woman from Germany in June. She’s not huge. She’s too young to be skilled. But that is a good thing when the main chore you have is cleaning. This could work out just fine.

All of that was a long way of saying, ‘we can feel Spring is just around the corner’. It is not looming. Spring is not yet quite ‘in the air’ but flowers are a’popping and life is starting up….it’s subtle at this point but we are now pretty attuned to it. Spring is on the way.

Picking the eve of WW3 to start writing lighter, happy, puppy-based blogs might not be the best of timing but, in for a puppy, in for a few dozen pounds, it seems.

And pounds, they are accumulating. Gus is the size of a sheep! He has to be 34 pounds (we’ll weigh him today). Maybe more. (Official weigh-in just completed. OMG!!! Gus is 40 pounds! Daisy is 35!!!). Daisy is slimmer but a smidge taller. They are growing faster than the price of their food.

Weighing them is already a bit of a challenge now (Sal holding Gus today was a real challenge). Sal gets on the scale and we note her weight (she’s been getting lighter as the puppies work her hard all day) and then she steps on the scale again holding a wriggling, squirming, face-licking, crazy-puppy and I note the combined weight. Weight B subtracted from weight A yields the weight of the livestock.

They sound like livestock on the deck. Like Water Buffalo!

The last time I wrote about the puppies, they were very, very ‘puppy-ish’ but, over the last ten days or so, they have matured somewhat. They are almost housebroken now. No accidents inside anymore but I am not 100% confident yet. They are still just 16 weeks today.

They used to be reluctant to get on the boat and now they are willing – any show of enthusiasm will probably have to wait a while. But they go. They were very leery of the ocean but now they will play and splash up to their knees. That’s good. We kinda need them to like the water.

Sal had to do a hill-climb to check the stream-water the other day and I dropped them all at the beach. They cautiously followed Sal way up the stream and sniffed and stared at everything. But, when it was time to return, they were balancing on fallen logs, leaping in the stream, charging around and even led the way down to the beach. No more caution. No fear coming down. That little foreign exercise (to be inevitably repeated) became integrated into their lives pretty quick. They even re-boarded the boat by leaping in from the beach (not enthusiastically but they did it).

Sal really wants them to socialize. They have already had a couple of play-dates. Ruby Poodle came the other day for play-date #2 and was there yesterday for #3. She’s the tall brown one in the picture. Sal had taken ’em up for the food distribution day (when the water taxi comes in and the locals gather for their deliveries). And Hazel was also there. She’s the Golden Pyrenees/Retriever cross. Biggy Smalls (white one below) was also there. Everyone got along just fine altho Daisy tends to prefer a lap to a leaping. Gus, however, is right in there.

The timing for my writing happy, happy may be a bit off given the state of the world but it is good for us. We really needed a shot of puppy love to shake off our recent winters of discontent that we all faced for the last two or three years. I did, anyway. And Sal has reaffixed her perpetual smile/grin ever since they arrived (unless she is sleeping which is getting earlier and earlier each night). They have been good for us.

That Putin lies is an accepted truth (ironic, eh?). And that Western MSM spews false and ‘Merica-slanted news is also now a widely held belief. We get the propaganda, too. Throw in the mad participants of social media (and I suppose this blog qualifies) and the truth is more than elusive, it is impossible to find. And I think most people feel that way.

But maybe we can still believe our liars more than their liars? I mean, almost everything I have ever known firsthand that made it to the MS media was wrong. Virtually everything had a twist, emphasized the wrong thing, had errors and, in some cases, reported bald-faced lies. Journalists have personal biases, deadlines, editors, advertisers and their own mortgages to worry about and getting the real facts out about Skid Row or my Refugee work or my live-aboard days or even my time with delinquent youth was just NOT that important to them. And, in a way, they were right.. no one remembered the article or interview three days later anyway.

But I am inclined to believe our guys a bit more than their guys. Call me a dupe, but I do. I know that they are sloppy, they adhere to tight schedules, small facts are NOT that crucial to the story and all the excuses they may have but I KNOW they do report on topical events that I know happened. I mean, the western media is mostly based on some kind of reality. I mean: January 6th really happened. The Dumb Convoy really happened. Russia, China and many others just make crap up to suit them. And they kill anyone who disputes it. That has to say something for the veracity of our media. No?

Anyway, the upshot of all that is most people just shrug now and say, “Aww, it’s all BS. Them. Us. All lies!” and, because of that, they do not have to give it another thought. It is weirdly counter-intuitive to think that a large part of lying is not so much the actual dissembling of any one event or fact but rather the more subtle effect of making people disengage from seeking the truth.

So much BS spewed from Trump that, at one point, I just shrugged and mumbled ‘same ol’, same ol’ and went about my business. The guy’s lies had the unexpected affect on me of just NOT paying attention anymore. I became enured to Trump. Habituated. And, in that way, accepting. And, in that way too, he just dug a bit deeper into the collective psyche.

More succinctly put: the errors and even the lies are not as vulnerable-making as the ambivalence, boredom and fatigue it all generates. The real evil is apathy and that is what fake news (whether it is extreme like Putin or ‘normal’ like CBC and friends). It’s all like a disease, really. It is hard to stay healthy and engaged when you finally conclude that you know nothing and and can do nothing. Apathy spreads. And, in that way, Putin and Trump win.

I have a lot of Chinese friends. I read some Asian news sources. I hear stuff, see the pictures, read the articles. Sometimes those stories concern me so I contact my friends. “Oh, Dave, do not worry. Mother China is great, doing a really good job. There is nothing of concern here. You are reading ‘westernized’ Asian news. They lie. It’s all good here.”

Which seems harmless enough….until they add: “It really ticks me off how the world hates China and the USA wants to go to war with us. Why would they want that? Why do gweilo hate Asian people? The Hong Kong Democracy movement was because of all US-based infiltrators.”

And so Chinese propaganda managed to make ‘irritation-with-the-west’ out of that student-led demonstration. They blamed the ‘Merican CIA. I dunno….maybe…but, honestly? To my mind that was a home-grown movement and blaming the CIA is a huge stretch. Sadly, the secondary effect is also there: “I never watch western news anymore. All anti-China lies!”

Apathy, disengagement……

And so it goes. So, what have I concluded? Basically the same as everyone else but as soon as I noticed that the secondary effect was affecting me, too, and that I was reading less and believing less, I realized that I was thinking less and falling victim a second time. I have to keep at it. I have to read everything I can. I need to talk and think about it. I want folks who live in other countries to tell me what they think (and what they are TOLD to think). To do otherwise is to set yourself up for the slaughter.

Yesterday Sal and I finished the interior of the little ‘overflow’ shed we built to accommodate the tools and materials that we don’t use very often. The @real workshop got too crowded and so ‘little shed’ was born.

Little shed is, well, little and only 8’x12′ with all the walls sporting shelves. It is, in effect, a closet. And, as anyone with any sense has guessed, it is already chock full and building another little shed is looming large in my plans. How dopey is that?

Part of the reason for keeping it small was the site chosen – just off the main deck. It could have been twice as large, I suppose, but this shed was undertaken when lumber prices were at historic highs and Sally’s willingness to assist was at an all-time low. Under such gloomy conditions, it seemed best to keep it small. But that was still dopey. Now it is small and full.

Bottom line: if you ever build a shed, build it three times larger than you think. Maybe four. The more stuff you do, the more stuff you have. The more stuff you have, the more room you need in which to store it. That is really quite a simple and straight forward concept that seems to keep eluding me. I will likely pass on without enough space in which to store my dead body.

Which reminds me….weirdly, ghoulishly, a macabre idea has recently slipped into my ‘little grey cells’……probably as a result of needing and building small sheds, I hope. I am thinking of building my own coffin. Calm down. It is not like there is a rush on it. I am still fine, thank you. But, I know that coffins cost a lot of money for basically glitzy crap-on-particle board. I think I can do as good a job as that done by Imperial Casket (the biggy in the wood-box business). OK, I can do it a few times until I get the hang of it (so to speak) and THEN I can do as good a job, I am sure. You know, save everyone having to shop later, kinda thing?

I was thinking about it the other day and wondering about the cost of materials and so I thought to make a smaller one first…..“Hey, Sal! Mind if I measure you up for a coffin?”

Really……I should have brought her along more slowly but, instead, I just blurted it out. I really wish I could describe the look she gave me. Sally’s willingness to assist me with anything plummeted to a deeper low. I may have to do this on my own. It did not help that I added as a retort to that ‘look’, “Hey! I already know how tall you are and I know how much you weigh. I was just thinking custom-fit, ya know?”

Given all that, it is much more sensible that I build my own first. There is likely more of a personal need now.

In my continuing effort to keep things light even on the eve of a possible THIRD WORLD WAR, I am going to do a ‘dog-and-puppy’ show for a paragraph or two. The next bit is about Gus and Daisy and then a bit about the GIANT DOOFUS we have as a prime minister. But first the dogs.

Gus and Daisy are now 15 weeks old. They are handful of fun, energy, poop and learning. Armfuls, actually. Gus is about 33 pounds and, by the time I finish this sentence, he could be 34. Daisy is lighter and a more ‘feminine’ 28 or 29 pounds but she is growing equally as fast. They are healthy and very, very good.

Both dogs know their names. They do not always do as you request but at least they look at you when called. It used to be that calling ‘Gus!’ would get two heads lifting, calling ‘Daisy’ would achieve the same results. They seemed to think they were either/or. But lately, only the dog called looks up. That’s progress. Sal says, “That’s a better response than I get from you!”

But puppydom is kinda getting to us. A bit. Sal does more work, of course, but I am the Alpha Male after all, and I relish the role of white, male privilege I enjoy over puppies and squirrels. Dogs still respect men. What a breath of fresh air! Mind you, respect does not translate into obedience but we are working on it.

At 9:00 pm when the dogs go one last time to empty their bladders, Sal’s usually effective efforts to get them off their cushions and outside into the icy North winds, often are met with resistance. They are sleepy and lumpy at that time. She’ll then pick one up and take it outside as it slumps heavily in her arms and then, when she turns to get the other, the first one instantly finds enough energy to run back into the house. Because of my immensity and generally grouchy demeanor, they just come when I take them. Last night was an easy walk-in-the-dark to the mossy backyard and they both came perfectly but, of course, did not pee. Like I said, respect doesn’t necessarily translate into obedience or results. Still, they are only 15 weeks old. They are doing very well.

And now to those not doing as well as our Bernedoodle pups. Our top Doofus, Trudeau, made a point of stating that ‘we cannot risk going to war with Russia’. Of course, he was referring to NATO going to war because Canada cannot risk going to war with the Maldives. We keep our submarines dry and our helicopters on the ground! We sink warships to make artificial reefs and we can’t seem to buy fighter planes despite shopping for something like 30 years.

And the stupid part is not that we do not want to get into WW3 – that part is smart. But, when you state your own limitations, your resolve to NOT engage, that only encourages an aggressor. The one thing Putin had to worry about was somehow drawing NATO into the fight but Trudeau, bless his drama-teacher heart, had to make it clear that Putin could have his way with any non-NATO country and we would all stand by. No wonder Sweden and Finland decided to immediately apply to NATO for membership. Trudeau just gave tacit permission for Putin’s aggression anywhere NOT NATO. What a dickhead!

And this is not just my take. Volodymyr Zelenskyy, the Ukrainian president voiced the same feelings. “If you (NATO) do not declare the air above Ukraine as a no-fly zone, you are, effectively, giving Putin permission to kill us!”

Bullies will be bullies. We all know that. And contrary to popular belief, bullies ain’t weak or cowardly. Bullies usually bring some ‘tough’ to the table. The only thing that deters bullies in the least is to present a possible resistance and a possible resistance that is ready to be implemented imminently. In other words, bullies measure the air, the vibes and, if they only see fear, they are emboldened. If they sense even possible resistance, they have some doubts. Doubts cause hesitation. Hesitation is rooted in fear, their fear. Put more simply, when facing a bully, surrendering-in-advance is not advised. Surrendering out loud, in public, in front of the bully is just plain stupid.

Ukraine will likely fall. And the world, NATO, the EU, USA, G-7 and FOX News and Facebook will talk. And talk and talk and talk. And maybe talking is all we can do. We have leaders like Trudeau, after all. But the bully will have been successful and the bully will be emboldened. We can expect to see the bully to show up again.

I am inclined to say a few words about the Russian invasion of Ukraine but, to be honest, I don’t have much to say. It is not a complex topic – Putin wants empire. Ukraine doesn’t want to be part of it. Bad vs good. Megalomaniac bullies against plucky homeland defenders. Classic human conflict. It’s so bloody weird, dysfunctional, evil and wrong that even the entire world sees it that way. Mind you, it is the Ukrainians actually fighting it but we all see it as they do.

We support them in the comment sections of YOU TUBE.

We are doing more, of course, but short of US cruise missiles, drones and Apache Attack helicopters it is a smidge too little. If ever there was a rock and a hard place for the American war machine, this is it. If they go in, they risk escalating the Ukrainian War to WW3. If the do not go in, they risk standing by while Russia does another Rwanda. Guys like me who have an opinion on everything kinda have to shut the hell up. The numbers are too big to opine lightly over.

And that is the one point that I was gonna try and make. War is different now. So is the reporting of it. It used to be intrepid reporters in the trenches with the soldiers. Then it became ’embedded’ reporters in the media tent of the armies. Then it resolved into the gaggle of reporters at the bar in the nearest American style hotel. And the cost of reporting went down until we all relied on AP and Reuters to deliver the story for larger distribution by way of affiliated news channels. Enter the Internet and trolls. We entered the era of ‘fake news’ not so much because it was ALL actually fake but rather because it was so packaged and edited and timed-to-the-max so as to make the most from advertising, it felt ‘not accurate’. The News sold out. The trolls stepped in.

And then along came Trump and he was easy and often perversely fun to cover and so an industry of trolls, pundits and beltway reporters was born. Talking heads opinionating and, basically, gossiping on air over every idiotic thing he and his cronies did made for good ratings, easy reporting and big profits. Happy days were here again.

But so was YOUTUBE. All of a sudden Joe Blow in Kokomo was instantly on the scene (probably of yet another black guy getting beaten and shot by the local police or something equally racist, sexist or stupid) with his phone and Joe Blow was televising that story on his own channel! Once again the news industry was facing a challenge – this time by the billions of amateurs with phones. Seemed like half were lying Russians. By the time the BIG MSM got the story through their piping system, JOE BLOW had 100,000 subscribers. ABC, NBC, even the NYT and WAPO were ‘old’ news – at least a few days late. The BIG news guys are only BIG in the BIG cities. Russian trolls seemed to fill the air of the ignorant masses.

And therein lies the point. The Ukrainian defense and the Russian attack is being reported by Joe Blowensky and his phone standing ‘live’ in front of his house showing tanks go by. This is a war being fought live and on the battle lines in front of the eyes of the world. This ‘news feed’ is filtered by Joe’s limitations but not edited so much. It feels more real. And the trolls are relatively quiet. (They are still putting up fake news using old news clips but their influence is diminished by the @REALJoeBlowensky.)

Putin didn’t expect that. He expected at the very least troll-fueled confusion. They say the first casualty of war is truth and he counted on that. That may no longer be the case. There must be close to 8 billion phones out there. Jus’ sayin’…..

PS…I had a thought after posting this blog and I hate myself for thinking like this but I have to say it. NOT assisting Ukraine might (probably) be construed by the USA as the best of both worlds. The US does not like or trust Russia under Putin (Trump and friends, of course, being the exception). But they couldn’t invade or even put in sanctions…until now. They like this turn of events. Plus they got some fancy new boats. But, if they assist Ukraine directly with missiles and troops, they risk a major pan-world conflagration with WW3. So, what is the next best? Well, the next best is the same that Putin wanted for them – civil war. The Ukrainian population conquered will always be in revolt. Ukraine vanquished will become resident revolutionaries. Russia will be disabled from inner turmoil. A crippled but alive and angry Ukraine serves America’s interests. I do not like thinking that way but Putin thought that way and acted on it by installing Trump. Biden may just be thinking ‘turnabout is fair play’.

Speaking of which…..

I purchased an electric winch from China. Not, perhaps, my best decision. The winch looks good. It’s strong, well-built and has a few bells and whistles that I like (remote control, etc.) and it will be much more powerful than my gas-powered winch once I get it installed. Had the winch been made in Canada, it would have been twice as much money. Of course, neither Canada nor the US makes this winch anyway. But the instructions are in Chinese and are, to me, indecipherable. Not a clue. So, I contacted my Mandarin-speaking guy and said, “If you can’t write up the instructions in English, could you at least tell me your wiring diagram and what the colours of your wires mean?” (My guy writes adequate Chinglish.)

By way of illustration: there is no logical place to attach the 12 gauge (3 wire) cable that is needed to carry the 240v 20 amp power from the genset to the motor. No holes in cases, no terminals, nothing. The plugs they sent are Asian plugs attached to 20 gauge wires (not power wires) and they also need cutting off and ‘our’ plugs put on. None of that should be a challenge but it is. I am somewhat electrically challenged despite muddling through for 18 years. So, I wrote back and good ol’ CSales10 (nice guy) in China responded with a nice picture showing where all the wires go……sadly…..it was of a different winch. Mine (the one he sold to me) is another model. And so the saga of dealing with Chinese industrial staff will slog on for awhile.

As one of our locals put it, “Well, at least they are not shooting at us and dropping bombs!”

I do not feel as if my day (or any day out here) is the same or ever boring in the least. I am much more driven by interest for the most part and, if my interest wanes, I simply go off and do something else. There is always something else. I am always busy. Mind you, I am half as busy as Sal. She is literally the Energizer Bunny. The woman never stops until she sleeps and then she sleeps like the dead.

I say this as an opening because one reader wanted to know what a typical OTG day is like. And so I thought about it and surprisingly, the most honest answer is that there really is no typical day. Every day is different. Over the course of a few years, there are patterns and repetitions of course, there are repeat chores and some obligations, there are some habits and behaviours that emerge as ‘typical’ but even they are not bound to any schedule. I build crap, fix crap, invent and experiment with crap but that is totally sporadic and almost kinda whimsically spontaneous at times.

I just built a small mushroom barn, for instance. Just a 2 x 3 x 6 frame covered in plastic housing some mushroom spore-plug impregnated logs I put in. I am hoping for Shiitakes. No biggy but something different from my previous 18 years. And I can be doing something like that all the time…..

I also just received a new electric winch that I bought to replace the gas-powered one I have been using. That decision required a ‘refresh’ of the old Wacker Nueson genset brought over years ago for that very purpose. And I have to weld up some brackets. Etc., etc., etc. That’s a slow ongoing project but it will get done.

And Sal’s outboard is also in that slo-mo chore line-up but that one is 90% done. And then I will install a newer and better water/fuel filter system on both boats. The filters have already been ordered.

But, if I continued in this vein, the blog would go on and on and on……and still go on.

Plus…….I have some ‘old work’ that comes back now and again – always in weird ways. Old clients, new problems, new clients, old problems. It is my old history coming back to haunt me now and again.

Sal and I generally wake up around 8:00. That has been as early as 6:00, often 7:00 lately because of the pups. They live by the sun and so we are pleased for heavy cloud cover and pouring rain – we get to sleep later. Then it is an hour of puppy love in all it’s magnificent peein’, pooin’, feedin’ and playing glory. We get in a shower, daily ablutions and start the fire and put on some water for tea/coffee and, by then, the first hour or so has already passed.

From then until 11:00 or even twelve, it is email, news feeds and internet crap that takes up our time.

Then it is ‘the chore-for-the-day’ that gets our attention. Usually for no more than four hours. That can literally be anything from logs to gardening, from repairs and maintenance to guests and visitors. Those hours could also be put to building something, but it is dog training and exercising these days. There is always some boat chore that needs attention – at least once per week. The other day, we had a tree fall on a neighbours house and they were not there so we took it down, chopped it up and put it on their wood pile. Oddly, a fallen tree is not all that unusual. I would say that at least once, but usually twice a year we have an unexpected windfall and the subsequent chore of dealing with it.

And do not forget, over the course of the year we also have to collect and process 600 lineal feet of logs for our firewood.

By four, four-thirty, the dogs and I are thinking about dinner, Sal is still busy ‘doin’ one of her thangs’ (she occasionally works at the post office, organizes and manages the local home care team, participates in the Book Club, president of the quilting guild and is involved in the community food getting and distribution) but at 5:00 her wine alarm goes off and then all hell breaks loose for the next bit. I am pouring wine, fixing dog dinner, helping with the people dinner and generally we are all ‘involved’ in dinner-making for about two hours (wine, prep, wine, cooking, wine, serving, cleaning up, doing the dishes, poopin’ the dogs). By 7 o’clock we are basically done for the day. A blog may also have been squeezed in, a few phone calls, laundry sometimes, food-shed organizing, workshop tidying, maybe a nap, too, is squeezed in.

And there is more, of course. No point in listing it all. But that should paint a picture for ya, John.

Is it productive? Yeah, in a personal, hands-on kinda way. Having gas piped in for heat, having electricity from the grid, elevators to carry you up and down, frequent vehicle use and lots and lots of services to ease one’s burden in the city makes urban life seem easier but, for some reason, I do not recall it that way. NOT having to fix things, build things, grow things, gather things, carry things and deal with everything yourself SOUNDS like more ease but, generally speaking, it doesn’t feel that way. This lifestyle feels like being more alive.

Of course, that ‘alive’ feeling is largely just due to being outside, having puppies and gardens, riding in small boats on the ocean, living with Sal and taking life-as-it-comes. And Mother Nature makes for very good company, too. We do not miss commuting, traffic, TV, appointments, schedules, radio, line-ups, purchasing, accumulating, bureaucracy, too-many-rules and all the urban constraints one tiny bit.

And I do not miss many of the people, either.

We call ’em Gus and Daisy but, of course, they do not answer. We may as well call ’em Ishmael (from Moby Dick). They ignore us about 1/3 of the time. And they do the opposite of what we say another third. But we are communicating pretty well about 1/3 of the time, too (Sal and I are much the same). But such is the attitude of a 14 week old puppy whose entire focus in life is eating, sleeping, frolicking, pooping and licking Sal’s face (kinda like me now that I think about it).

Gus is a pretty easy going dog. Chill. He is sorta thug-like, tho. A little broader and denser in all aspects, he tends to thud as he walks. Mind you, the little tyke is already 30 pounds! Daisy is much more of a lady and has a bit more Poodle in her genes. She tends to lift her feet higher and ‘step lightly’. She’s slimmer. She’s pretty. And she knows it.

The two siblings came from a litter of 11 puppies. Gus was the largest and Daisy was the runt. Today that runt is 26 pounds and gamboling over our rocky, moss-covered granite like a mountain goat. And good ol’ Gus just plods along behind her…..then they wrestle and tumble…. A month ago, they did not know how to deal with stairs. Today they bounce up and down the stairs well and have even added mountain climbing to their repertoire (fitting for BMD’s). It is steep around here. But they are handling it.

They are Bernedoodles, a cross between a Standard Poodle (top weight of males is 70 pounds) and a Bernese Mountain dog (top weight about 110 pounds). We are hoping they eventually total no more than 160 pounds of dog but it could be more. They came here a month ago at 14 and 17 pounds and have almost doubled in size. They are growing like weeds.

“What the hell, Dave? Are you mad? Two puppies! You are too old to have puppies. Hell, you are too old to even start a long novel!”

Yeah. You are right. This may be a Covid symptom. Long Covid. But, well, it felt like it was time. We lost Meg and Fid a few years back and it has taken awhile to heal from that. We may never completely get over them. But these guys also speed the healing…they seem to bring their fast metabolism to our very own grieving system. I am happier. And Sal is ecstatic. They are already well entrenched in the #2 position in the family. Sal is #1, then the two pups tied for silver, then (because there are two) the bronze medal is not awarded to third. Then we have any stray dog, friend, relative or even a nice stranger for the #4 position. I just cracked the top ten a few years back and just being on the top ten list is good enough for me. No complaints.

They came from a Bernese mother who resides in Qualicum. She had eleven puppies but only 8 nipples so she was busier than a short-staffed waitress in a popular greasy spoon at lunch time. And it was always lunchtime! Father was a rolling stone…but an obviously charming stone with great hair (think the canine version of Ted Danson). He gave them the hypo allergenic hair that doesn’t seem to shed even a little bit. Ol’ Gus has the same basic hair but it is a bit different than Daisy’s. Hers is shiny, silky, soft and could be featured in a shampoo ad. Gus is a bit thicker-haired (duh – everything about Gus is thicker) and it is not as shiny. They are both black and currently resemble Meg our past PWD. But they will be bigger than Meg and Daisy, at least, will have longer legs.

Sal has carried the load more than I have but we are both quite involved with them. Gus seems to prefer my company and Sal and Daisy already form the arf-arf sisterhood. But, overall, we all work like a non-oiled, rusty machine with broken parts – not quite yet a swiss watch. We’ll get there.

They are puppies and do not like cars. Motion sickness. Both pups puked three times coming up from Qualicum a month ago. Both pups puked three more times going into see the vet the other day (a check-up and shots) and both pups puked two times coming home. So, it is improving. The back seat in the old Pathfinder, on the other hand, is getting abused and more than a bit stinky.

They are not keen yet on the boat either. We need to lure then near the boat with treats and then strike like a rattler, grab ’em and then I hand ’em to Sal on the boat. That will work until they are heavier. Already Sal is sagging with Gus in her arms. The good news is that they are now sticking their heads up as we scoot along in the boat looking at the scenery whiz by. That bracing fresh-air ride will be the enduring lure for them we hope.

There is more, of course, much more….puppies are a source of never-ending chat amongst the locals whenever we meet up. Everyone loves puppies. But most people only get one. That may seem sensible but we find that two puppies (or even two older dogs) are happier if they have their own ‘buddy’ and do not have to rely on two old people for all their fun. Gus and Daisy love each other and get along all the time. We all love each other and we all get along all the time. It is just that Dave and Sal need a great deal more sleep and, of course, are busy sometimes with non-puppy oriented things. When that occurs, the pups just go off and play by themselves. I then nap. And Sal gets on with other things.

It all might work out……fingers crossed.