I always see news reports of the traffic jams in California and sigh. While I grew up in New Jersey and saw my fair share of highway clusterf*cks, I have to admit the traffic issues in rural Maine are much more pleasant to deal with. Like this one we came upon the other day…
.
.
Someone got loose and decided the grass was indeed greener on the other side of the fence.
.
.
While it wasn’t a heavily traveled area, that section of road was a straightaway and people tend to fly by. Not wanting to see a large pile of hamburger on our return trip, we tried to coax the soon to be road block back into the field.
.
.
That did not go well so we knocked on the farmhouse door. No one was home, so we tried a neighbor.
.
.
No luck there either, so we tried again to convince the bovine to rejoin the herd.
.
.
Ever try to argue with a cow?
.
.
We lost the battle, but left a note on the farmer’s door.
The road was happily pot roast free when we came back from our appointment so that’s a good sign.
My Facebook and Apple News algorithms are always coming up with ridiculous products they think I need to purchase.
I’m passing on all three of these.
.
.
#1…. Swimsuit season is not approaching quickly in Maine, unless you count the Polar Bear plunge in February and I’ve never be crazy enough to do that.
#2…. My derrière is awake as it’s ever going to get. No caffeinated butt cream required. 
.
.
No.
Just… no.
While I spoil Lord Dudley Mountcatten far more than my husband thinks I should, even I have limits.
.
.
Do I want to carry around a 28 ounce gelatinous pouch of my own urine? I most assuredly do not.
Also, I spent my teenage years on an island in Maine where there were no public restrooms. I’m completely familiar with pissing in the woods if necessary.
Dudley does well on his harness/leash and knows his limitations, which in actuality is 30 feet. His chest to my wrist. His Lordship chooses the direction and we walk, stroll, sit and occasionally sprint. What we don’t do is climb trees.
.
.
Until the other day when he sat at the base of the Bradford pear watching a bird one minute….
.
.
And jumped onto the bark the next. Problem is, his lordship does not have any tree climbing experience and literally just hung there.
.
.
He scooched a little farther up, with me trying hard not to laugh …
.
.
And finally made it up on a lower branch. Which is when he looked at me as if to say, what the Hell do I do now?
One aborted climb later..
.
.
It was over before it really begun.
.
.
I give him an A for effort, but a D for technique.
.
Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.