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October 2012: “Going To The Dawgs!”
It's over.
No, I'm not talking about the end of the Mayan calendar. I'm talking about the end of my "Life of Riley" life. The end of my halcyon days and undaunted nights. To put it bluntly, the end of my slackerhood.
I mean it.
Following Bobo's passing—he of the boundless enthusiasm—things here at Casa Ingaso had become increasingly idyllic. Don't get me wrong, I loved the little guy, but I soon came to appreciate the lack of commotion his absence afforded.
Mama-jama has always been a pussy cat. Roxie and Tipper...well, they are pussy cats. And the four of us were just coasting through life without a care or nary a kerfuffle. If anyone rocked the boat, it was Roxie, who is rightly called a rapscallion on a continuing basis, although in a nice way.
So, you ask, what's got my panties in a twist? What's the burr up my butt, the bee in my bonnet, the turd in my punch bowl? A puppy. Actually, he was a puppy, but he's a small horse now, larger than Mama-jama.
We call him Ribo, as in a Repeat Bobo, or Reebo, but with a Spanish spelling that is pronounced the same way. (In Spanish, "i" sounds like "eeeeeeeee"--the sound I made when he chewed up my TV Ears.)
[Click the photo for a larger version...]
Not only is Ribo's coloring similar to Bobo's, but a lot of his mannerisms, too, including the Crazy Bobo run up and down the terrace or 'round in circles when there's room. Unfortunately, however, he's like Bobo on steroids. If he's awake, he's a concern, especially when he goes nuts. Then, nothing stops him from wreaking havoc...
Here, I'll start a Ribo gallery and continue our conversation in the captions. Click on this.
While we're talking about critters, let's check in on the other four-legged residents of Casa Ingaso, and how they're dealing with the Ribo invasion.
Actually, they try to maintain a distance from Ribo, because he's such an agressive hound. And that's why you won't see any pictures of inter-species interaction. I imagine that will eventually come, but during the time period of these photos no one was playing nice...yet.
Just click on the photo to start, and remember that the link on the last picture will bring you back here.
Our next gallery is just stuff that's been happening around the hacienda, a melange of photos that accumulated over the last six months. There were a bunch, but I was kind enough to cull them down to a precious few.
"You're welcome!"
Once again, instructions are the same, and the result of perusing our images will also be the same: a return to my mesmerizing prose...
"Hey! I heard that!"
During the rainy season our flora goes through an amazing growth cycle. So, for all you plant lovers out there, this next gallery shows how Ingaso's plants are doing this year.
Usually, when I put this gallery together, I'm reminded of what Ingaso looked like when we first moved in: bleak. Our yards were nothing but red-clay dirt intermingled with construction detritus. It was butt ugly.
Now, the difference is mind-boggling. Click on the photo.
In July, an old friend visited, Barb from Canada—we attended her Lethbridge wedding way back in 1983. During her visit, however, I didn't see much of her, because she and TC kept going places.
First, they went on this year's plant-buying excursion to Volcan; afterward stopping off to spend a few days at Villa Marina. And it wasn't long after that when they left again for a short stay in Panama City, before Barb caught her plane home. Just the way I like 'em: short and sweet!
Click the photo...
Next, after only a few short days back at Ingaso, TC left, one more time, for a West Coast jaunt to visit family and friends. She wined and dined her way through the coast of excess, while I suffered through the rings of Dante's inferno...plus a few rings of my own.
Click the photo to visit TC's Shutterfly gallery. When the Shutterfly page opens, click on the "View Album" button.
Close the Shutterfly page to get back here...
Congratulations, assuming you are still with us, that's one more Casa Ingaso update you've managed to muddle through. There should be medals awarded for you few, you unfortunate few, you band of losers...
Not to worry, you'll have lots of time to recovery before I do another one, and maybe then you will remember the agony of the prose and the victory of trashing that notification email. It's possible...
“ˇNos vemos luego, Vecinos!”
[click here for our next update...]