Boss and I took a two-day road trip through the heartland to pick up a puppy in Wisconsin. Though the trip was way too long as far as I’m concerned, it was really a beautiful drive. Well, except for the blowout on the way there, and this on the way back. And yes, we bought cheese.

Lunch in the Boondocks, Iowa.

Meet Buffy the Coyote Slayer, age 8 1/2 weeks. Cute, huh?

Worth two in the bush. Just found her this morning, bopping around outside the barn.

I’m quite sure that if we had any neighbors out here at the farm, they would have heard the screaming. If there’s one thing I’m real good at, it’s screaming. My lungs - despite recurring pneumonia that began when I was a toddler living in the damp and dirty tenement slums of Montreal - are strong, and my voice is loud. I scared the chickens today.

Very much like my experience in January jumping out of a plane at 14,000 feet, today I faced my fears by learning something new. Keep in mind, though, that I come from a land of concrete. I moved from those dirty slum basement apartments to giant hi-rises overlooking the cities of Montreal and Toronto. Grass, to me, is something to be smoked, not mowed. And so today when I hopped on the zero-radius seated mower and began spinning in wild circles, I was petrified. Chickens and propane tanks made for effective slaloms. Hills and ditches had me moaning on the way up and shrieking on the way down. Beth was highly amused, even though it looks like her lawn was mowed by drunken circus monkeys (that’s not far off, really).

Those of you who have lived in the suburbs all your life are laughing right now, and with good reason. It was hilarious to watch, and I even found myself laughing, too. Mostly out of fear! Where I come from, trees have metal grates around the bottom of the trunk, allowing them to be watered through the sidewalks in which they grow. The word “park” generally means a paved space with a few benches and little shade. City people complain of hay fever without every having come into contact with actual hay. So to say that this morning’s wild circles and arcs were a bit scary is an understatement.

Next stop: The tractor!

They’re such good people.

Two days ago when I was out for a jog, a puppy followed me the whole way. She’s about 6 months old, a mutt, and cute as hell. Anyway, we put up posters yesterday at the local store to see if anyone claims her. Still not knowing if she has a good home or not, John (the big teddy bear) took her to the vet this morning for her wonky hip and banged up snout.

Think about that: At their own expense, this puppy is being taken care of, even though she may not wind up staying here at Argghhh! You can tell the character of people by the way they treat helpless animals. The Donovans surely have a place waiting in Heaven.

Update: Damn. Her name is Maggie (we’ve been calling her Piper), and she has a home. Bye baby. You were very sweet. Now, stay away from joggers!

Despite his badass winter sweater, my beloved Chihuahua is no hero. The killing of the coyote yesterday was something he just wasn’t suited to. I’ll let John tell the hilarious tale of Argghhh’s own Killing Fields.

We’re about to see who is made of what, this evening.

Suddenly Gunner pops upright, peering intently at the brush north of the barn - a site of several avian murders. Coming to full alert, he takes off like a flash.

Kiki stands up, her bloodhound nose aquiver.

Bug? Well, Bug… vibrates.

Suddenly wild yipping and barking breaks out from the grass where Gunner sped. Kiki lets out a classic hound-like howl and bounds off into the brush.

Bug vibrates.

The charming and brilliant (his words) John celebrates a birthday today. Beth and I are busy ******** [CLASSIFIED] and ***** ****** [CLASSIFIED] before his return from the office. Go send him some RightGirl lovin’ while we’re busy.

[Not an actual representation of Wendy & Beth - Sadly]

Only two thirds of the way through my first coffee this morning, I was sent on an urgent door-to-door egg delivery mission. Oh well, I needed the walk. My muscles are sore and tight from yesterday, throwing and stacking nearly 100 bales of hay in the main barn near the house. The hay is done! Oh bliss!

I got up yesterday from a much needed afternoon siesta to find John in his John-sized chair, under a heap of kitties, playing with new guns that were delivered in the past few days. Usually, when a man comes home from work and sprawls in a chair with the cats, it’s to read the paper or maybe watch a little TV before dinner. Not John. Playing with the pistols is way cooler. So I sat and watched, getting the skinny on the differences and similarities between three pistols that to my untrained eye looked exactly the same. Methinks I will be well educated by the time I return to the People’s Republic of Torontistan.

Now, for all you blithering anti-gun types, let me put your tiny minds at ease. There are no children in this house. Just responsible adults. Guns are always locked away before people come to call, especially if they are bringing minors with them. Ok? Is that enough fine print for you?

Today is market day. Have I mentioned the fudge I discovered? This does not bode well for the 30-odd pounds I’ve lost in the past few months… There is a lady here in the area who makes goat milk fudge, which is softer and creamier than the regular stuff you are used to. For Kathy, Arnie, Meredith et al, I will be bringing some home with me at the end of August. For the rest of you, place your orders now! Anyway, I’m off to pick more blackberries (would those be African-American berries now? Or even Marion Barries?) for this afternoon’s market. We sold out last week!

I can’t say enough about what a great and patient teacher John Donovan is.

Tammy’s With Fred! My pal Tammy was lucky enough to see Fred Thompson speak in Florida today.

And in other presidential news, Beth got to tour the White House while her husband John was hanging with the Prez.