18 April 2009

Escape from the Termites, or the time Team Small Dog went on vacation to Del's house.


Art is this nice guy in a fresh pressed white suit that plays golf with other guys in the termite industry. He's the one I picked to pump my house full of toxic Vikane gas starting Monday to kill the termites that are eating up my old, wooden house. I liked Art. Of all the guys that showed up to tell me about my termites and their toxic or non toxic poisons that will kill them or maybe kill them or maybe not, he was the one I trusted most to seal up my house in a festive, stripey circus tent and pump in the deadly gas.

So yesterday morning, before work, we pretended we were going on vacation and tossed some dog beds and clothes and cameras in the car. If by vacation, you mean sleeping over at Del and Gary's house where the coyotes roam and the tractors come to dig and all the sick pets get shots and pills and compresses and antibiotics and little socks wrapped on their arms to hold the absess at bay. While they go on their vacation, away from their house. See, for Del and his Gary, I am a housesitter. For me and my Gary, Del's house is a vacation spot conveniently located only 20 minutes to my work, and place for us to escape the deadly gas next week.

If by house, you mean Sunset Magazine. A modest, Asian inspired mini estate with pool and hot tub in the hills of Aptos. Garden tours come here. It's minimal. There are niches with backlit objects de'arte. There is NO DIRT anywhere. I am afraid of the oven and forget even attempting the entertainment system. My mission is to keep the pets alive, don't forget to water, and Chano comes to do the lawns on Tuesday. And no dog running on the expansive wood floors. Except we already have an unfortunate dog love affair between Gustavo and Sidney of the big dog, floor scratching toe nails.

It didn't seem like it would be that hard at the time. Right now though, I need to go hunt down the 600 year old diabetic cat whose needs her insulin shot every 12 hours, then go find Gustavo who I can hear monkey screaming off in the distance somewhere, maybe roaming the lower pasture barking at the treeline. He may be gone now, down the road. Dunno.

1 comment:

Mary Schultz said...

You cannot just end there.