Why Thursday Sucked Ever So Badly

There are few things like the persistent dirge of a chronic, resistant infection to draw down your usual tenacity and taint your world view, I suppose. I will finally admit it. In my case, I am approaching the anniversary of what I call my 'Curse of the Pueblitos'. It occurred about a year ago while exploring an ancient pueblito ruin with Virgil's wife. I nearly poked out my eye on a surviving wooden roof pole (these folks believed in LOW architecture) and I developed a rather tenacious case of staphylococcus as a result. When I mentioned this to the neighboring ranch matron, she replied in her raspy voice "Yeah, I know what you mean, it's almost like someone didn't want you there. It always happened to me, too." This curse has gone from topical to systemic, back and forth several times by now with the help of marginally effective antibiotics, but nothing eradicated the problem completely and so I still await an appointment with an ENT who will hopefully drive this malevolent beast from its likely stronghold within my sinuses. Yes, I admit it, I am a little worn, and discouraged by now with the chronic fevers and acute pains lighting up half a dozen teeth like abscesses, an imaginary ice pick up my nose and a feeling like someone is prying out my eyeball while sitting on the previously broken part of my skull. It often puts me off any desire to write updates. But on with Thursday's events:

Mark left for town just after dawn with the Honda 3000EU generator. The dealer would do a valve adjustment, compression test, etc. and hopefully it would come home with him that night if all looked reasonable. These various 'by appointment' necessities have totally skewed our plan to only go to town twice a month. Oh ... and Mark's cell phone decided to no longer take a recharge so he would have to spend additional hours in line at the cell phone store to explore any remedial options there. What equipment failure or unplanned misery next, I wondered. What new boil to be inflicted upon Job today?

With no new Mark-driven projects at hand (my own drive has succumbed to this infection), I decided to take the pack for a walk. The kitty boys had been giving me 'the look' for several days but the chiggers had been keeping me out of the high grass lately. I donned the tall rubber boots and we headed up the mesa face, a party of five (obviously the two dogs weren't going to miss a hike to parts unknown). The sun was already warming the air and the two cats darted from the shade of one tree or rock to the next as I plodded along, intently surveying the latest blooms of the plants and being careful not to step on any. With this focus, I tend to cover a lot of ground before I know it. Our progress was interrupted by the necessary but unsuccessful chases of small striped lizards every so often by dogs, cats and tour leader or my coming across a new plant. At one point, Ming the black cat stopped to survey some creature's mark against a small bush. His ears went sideways, he stuck out his tongue and embarked on a series of quick, sharp pants. Then he took off at a determined trot, back to where we had come from. I presumed that he had found the marking of a bobcat and wanted nothing further to do with it. I quickly gathered up the other three beasts and headed out and eventually Ming changed his mind, followed and caught up. Shortly ahead of us lay a much less treacherous path back down to the canyon and we were soon all descended and crashing through the sage and grasses towards the road.

I had not previously noticed the heat but, out here in the open now, my companions were panting wildly with tongues hanging well out of their mouths so I sped up the pace down the parched road. Beautiful Dave the cat worried me the most. With his epicurean belly, he was now complaining vocally like the chubby kid on a Boy Scout trek. I stooped down and picked him up into my arms as the rest followed closely. The Rat seemed a hundred miles off in the distance still when Ming veered off the road and disappeared, his plaintive calls dropping further and further behind us. I decided to get Dave and the dogs to shelter and run back for Ming. Dave began to squirm in my arms as we approached the barn so I let him back down to the ground and he made a dash under the old cattle loading chute. I presumed he would collapse to rest, given his condition. Right at that moment, Ming had decided to catch up so I hurried on to the rat where he could collapse on the cool tile floors inside.

When I arrived back at the old chute, Dave was no where to be found. My heart sank, knowing that cats in dire conditions like to run off and hide to die. No response to my various best kitty calls. I looked in the tall grass, I looked in the barn full of piled junk. I would repeat this process of scouring the entire homestead several more times in the next hour, a sense of desperation and loss escalating with each new failed attempt.

Although the heat was now getting to me, I decided to scale back up the mesa for a bird's eye view of the homestead. I breathlessly sat down in the shade at the rim with the two dogs flanking me. From up here, perhaps I might catch any movement below. And I called and I called but only silence answered. And it was here, from my lofty ledge, that I could bury my face in my hands and wail uncontrollably at the prospects of losing my favorite little friend and blame myself for leading them so far from home in this oven of a place.

This is already a considerable amount of writing for the events of just one day so I will leave off here now and hopefully resume the tale tomorrow. I am depleted for the moment.

Not to worry about Dave, it eventually worked out.