Good News—Bad News!

First, the good news. This morning as I was finishing up my sixth mile the phone rang—it was Nancy! Not me, but the Nancy who adopted Toby Keith from us yesterday, so I muted the sound and shut Leslie up, answered the phone and continued walking with the video. "Nancy, this is Nancy," she said. "I had to call you to tell you about what an incredibly great dog Toby is!" Her words made me smile, as I started race walking in circles around the big room while holding the phone up to my ear.

"I know," I huffed. "He is a great dog. I love Tober so much—he is close to my heart and..."

"Me, too! His manners are impeccable. He sits and waits at the door for me to let him go outside and our caretaker is in love with him! In fact, I know he wants me to give Toby to him, but I won't. I can't. This beautiful dog has stolen my heart. He is truly a magnificent dog! I've never had such a great dog."

"I know," I said breathing heavily into the phone, hoping that Nancy wouldn't think I was some kind of a weirdo. "How'd he get along with your old Blue Heeler?" I asked, crossing my fingers, as I spoke the words.

"OMG! Smokey growled at him when they first met, to let him know that he was number one, and Toby was number two and Toby did nothing—like he didn't seem to care. They are now best friends and inseparable. They are sitting together on the porch as I speak. This dog is awesome!"

"I know," I said, sounding like I was on the verge of having an asthma attack, even though I don't have asthma, as I finished the sixth mile and turned off the workout video.

"Oh, let me tell you what he did last night!" Nancy said, as I took a sip of water and started making choking sounds, because I swallowed the wrong way. "Are you okay?"

After a short coughing spell I gasped, "Yes, I think so. I just swallowed some water the..."

"Well that's good that you're okay," Toby's best friend said, as I wiped away the tears forming in my eyes, caused by another one of my almost near death (choking) experiences. As Toto stared at me with concern in his eyes—Nancy went on to say, "When I got in bed last night Toby came over and sat down beside me on the floor and looked at me. I invited him to sleep on the bed and he jumped up on the bed and laid down beside me with his head resting on my pillow! I couldn't believe it! He slept there all night! I cannot thank you enough for telling me about Toby and letting me adopt him. I promise you, that I will give him the greatest life that he deserves. Thank you, so much!"

Once again, I wiped away the tears, but this time they were tears of happiness for Toby. "No. Thank you, Nancy for adopting Toby. I cannot thank you enough. You have truly just made my day..."

After our conversation ended, as I was putting the phone back into its cradle Tony walked inside the trailer. "Nance, I need for you to call—what's wrong, babe? Why are you crying? Tell me." After I told him he smiled, gave me a hug and then he went back outside to work.

Now for the bad news. I've got to keep it short because it is raining and starting to thunder outside. I'm sad to say that Trace Adkins, my new, used overhead projector that I was going to use to do portraits, has left the building (trailer) and he is now on his way back to New York City and it isn't his fault.

Unfortunately, the company sent me the wrong projector. I had purchased model 9550 and when I started messing with Trace I realized that he was a model number much lower—9100—and could not perform like the newer model with all of its bells and whistles. So this afternoon T. helped me put Trace Adkins back into his box and we drove him to the UPS Store in Kerrville and bid him farewell and a safe trip.

As I sit now and stare at the twenty-eight dollar plastic bag from the craft store, sitting on the kitchen table, filled with assorted sketch pads, pencils, the must-have ARTGUM eraser and the professional pencil sharpener, that I bought a few days ago for my new hobby—I am not sure what to do, because maybe it is an omen that this is not the right hobby for me after all. I know that it said that 'no skill is required' and all, "Which makes it the perfect hobby for you," Tony declared, reassuringly to make me feel better, as he loaded Trace into the back seat of Buttermilk, but I don't know. I've got to think about it some more. Sweet dreams, Toby!

P.S. I just went to the sink to wash a few glasses and screamed when I saw this drowned, five inch long Scorpion in the dish water! Tone came running and removed him and placed him in the trash can. Yikes! Maybe it is another omen. Come on Fall!

Y'all have a great evening!