Vaxication Pura Vida Style

I have come up with a new fad diet; broccoli and cocaine. One day you eat as much broccoli as you want, the next day you do cocaine. And so on. 

I road tested this diet back in the 1980's, only I did gin instead of broccoli. And I did gin simultaneously with the cocaine. A lot of both. My dietician would have been appalled. The diet worked, I did lose weight. But I gained it right back when I started to eat, you know, food. 

My lovely wife and I were Moderna-sized in March of this year. Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure, sure, sure, whatever.  Vaccine this and holy crap that.  

We were sugar cube kids back in the 1960's, and hey, look Ma, no polio!  

We, um, don't give a lot of credence to dis-informational propaganda, Facebook memes, or internet hyperbole.  Holy cow, the ocean of notions being peddled out there is truly staggering.  What's even more staggering though is the fact that a fairly large amount of people are actually swimming in it.

We also have medical doctors in the family.  We believe in facts and science. It was not a difficult decision for us to make. 

We also get the flu shot annually. I was sick with the flu about six years ago and for one day I don't think I moved at all. Not a blink, not a twitch, not a sigh. Not even a down beat disco move. And that scared the hell out of me.  Not that I couldn't disco, but that I couldn't blink.  I've gotten an annual flu shot ever since and guess what?  No flu.  

I did have mild flu like symptoms after Moderna shot number one. My lovely wife felt fine. The night after Moderna shot number two we both had chills and muscle aches something fierce. But the morning dawned favorably, and except for a day or two of mild fatigue we were fine after that. 

And so it was, near the end of March, fully vaccinated and feeling fine that we decided to book a relaxing, tropical vaxication. Get the heck out of Dodge.  The travel industry was still reeling, there were deals out there. So I started to do my normal travel deal searching routine. 

I mainly use Hotwire.  I sometimes use Priceline.  When looking for a tropical locale, I also check out SouthwestVacations and Riu.com. 

Whoduwhat is Riu? 

Well, they are an all-inclusive resort chain operating all over Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean. My lovely wife and I were first turned on to the chain by some good friends when we went with them to the Riu Palace in Cabo San Lucas back in 2013; Someone Put a Cabo in My Caboodle. 

We enjoyed that experience so much we did it again (by ourselves this time) in 2016 when we returned to Puerto Vallarta for the second time. (We honeymooned there in 1975 for our first marriage. Yeah, there's a story there. Elizabeth Taylor's in it too!) 

The one thing we learned from that trip is that when booking a Riu, always book a Riu PALACE!

Typically there's a couple Riu's at any one location. One's for party animals that don't care what they eat, the palace is for those with a discerning palate.  We discovered this on our Puerto Vallarta trip and will now always book a palace. As it happened on this particular Pura Vida trip, the palace option was only about $15 more per person for the entire week. 

We were looking at a return to Cabo, but then my lovely wife decided she wanted to go someplace new. And lo and behold, the Riu Palace on the Guanacaste coast in Costa Rica came into view. They wanted us there so badly they flew us there for around $600 each round trip. And that included seat upgrades. 

Nobody seemed to care about the fact we'd been vaccinated. The airlines didn't care, they didn't even require a Covid test.  Costa Rica didn't care about those two things either.  But there were a couple hurdles we did have to jump over in order to get into the country during these covid times.

The first thing Costa Rica required was a health insurance policy for a minimum of $50,000 (if bought through an American carrier, only $20,000 if bought through a Costa Rican carrier) for hospitalization.  It also had to allow for a possible extended stay if quarantine was necessary.  

All the US Carriers we looked at were substantially more expensive than the Costa Rican one we chose, Sagicor. That link is in English, and the site is very easy to navigate.  I think we paid about $80.00 each.

Then we had to fill out a health questionnaire online within forty-eight hours before arrival in Costa Rica.  That was real easy too, here's that link to get you going: Travel Costa Rica.  Once completed, their website gave each of us one of them square squiggly things, you know, sorta looks like this: 

That little ditty was going to be more important for entry into Costa Rica than our passport!   Not that actual one there.  That's not going to do anything but verify a sprinkler return to Amazon.  In case you were wondering.  We photocopied each real one and also took a photo with our phones.

Some of the insurance was moot.  The Riu offered us a free ten day extension if either of us got sick. They also Covid tested us for free for our return flight to the US, which was a requirement by our customs.

Once the details were hammered together, it was time to dream about palm trees swaying, roasting flesh in the hot tropical sun and endless dining on wonderful cuisine.  Which we would not have to prepare at all!

We also began packing, which is an organizational exercise of  the utmost importance for me.  Yes, Adrian Monk is one of my guys.  I even have his bobble head.

I am an early packer.  I have to be.  There's a lot going on that has to fit in that small tiny space that is called a suitcase.  And I don't want to be caught on the other side of the world without proper under garments.

Gone are the days of tossing a t-shirt, boxers, a pair of socks and some no-sweat into a paper bag before running out the door a couple hours before departure.  Hell, I semi-remember a couple out of town weekends where a wallet with cash and cards were all I took.  LOL.  There's some stories there too..if only I could remember.

These days I'll have my suitcase open a couple weeks before travel, especially international, tossing in things here and there as I think about them. 

I also travel with a day pack that always stays with me and carries some very important stuff, like travel docs, reading material and the aunties.  

You know, aunt acid, aunt ihistamine and aunt i-diarrhea pills.  I have found those three items, as well as aspirin and a couple band aids can cover most non-serious urgent needs.  I also carry a small first aid kit that contains enough grit to take care of a few serious situations.  Ex-firefighter, what can I say?

Then I have a big old fat suitcase that gets checked.  I have noticed many of the advance items getting tossed my suitcase way these days generally have to do with me being in my sixties.  And I'm not early sixties anymore.  I'm actually getting close to leaving the mid-sixties even.  At any rate, my advance items include but aren't limited to things like fiber gummies, vitamins, an ace bandage, orthotics, ankle brace, eye glass cleaner.  You know, important old man stuff.  

A tropical vacation is much easier to pack for than say, an adventure excursion to Europe.  Those require good walking shoes, shorts and pants (depending on the time of year), long and short sleeves, coat, sweater, lederhosen and a Saint Bernard with brandy.

Tropical usually doesn't take a lot of room either.  Shorts, button down shirts*, swim suit and a pair of sandals.  Oh, and two freaking pairs of deck shoes.  

Two pairs of decks shoes!  Just who the hell do I think I am?  Imelda Marcos?  I own more shoes now than I ever have in my life.  I used to own like four or five...now I own like five hundred.

Consider this;  I have a pair of flip-flops or crocs by all three exterior house doors.  Because ya know, ya never know if you might have to go a wanderin.

And then I have two pairs of deck shoes.  Hiking boots.  Work boots.  Rain boots.  Snow boots.  High heels. 

Help!  Where does it end? 

*In summer time when the heat is on, I always wear button down, short-sleeve cotton shirts.  I have found t-shirts and polo shirts too hot and confining.  The button down, besides looking a little more stylish, is the absolute coolest shirt one can wear.  In more ways than one.

Just ask me.

Now that we are just about packed, let's go to Costa Rica!

 

 

Rats! (Eratication)

 

For the last couple years I have been dealing with any appalling rat bastard situation up in the chicken coop.  What began as some not quite innocent rodent mischief turned into an all out battle for supremacy lasting way too long.  And costing hundreds of dollars.  And enormous loss of vermin life.

I suppose I have been extremely fortunate up until this onslaught began.  Both the hen house and feed storage area(s) have a concrete foundation.  The structure is pretty darned sound.  You can read about that construction project right here: FantasiaLand.  So it's not like I just had bags of feed laying out in the yard inviting the multitudes of nature.

I have had a single rat to deal with two different times over a seven to eight year period.  I ended up ferreting the first one out and bonking him on the head with a shovel.  

How about that, I ferreted a rat!

The second time I made my ex-son-in-law stomp on him.  It was perfect.  He's a scientist and city dweller and happened to be on the wrong side of the fence when the battle erupted.  I was anticipating the kill and had the shovel, but the rat zigged when he was sposed to zag, and well, fresh city shoes made the hesitant stomp that day.  

For six or seven years I just left the feed in the bags on the concrete floor.  Nice.  Simple.  Easy. Then this onslaught began.  

I do want to caution, if you are an animal rights or rat advocate or somewhat squeamish, I caution you  continuing with this post.  It's gonna get right rat nasty.  

By the way, these aren't the kind of rats you want in a cage inside your house.  They aren't the sort you name Ralph and let run around all over little Jimmy's arms and legs.

 "Ohhhh, how adorable."

Nope. These are the bubonic plague sort of rat nasties, the kind you would drop into your pet Anaconda's cage and watch as it's swallowed whole, squealing all the way.

In case you need a few more reasons why you don't want junior playing with these particulars: Seven Rat Facts

It started in winter the normal type way.  A hole appeared in the bottom of a feed bag and I noticed some rice-sized rat poop here and there.  I went on alert, every morning I was up there I'd make an effort to find the rascal.  I had the two times before, why should this time be different?

The hole got bigger, the droppings increased, but I never saw the culprit.  Then one day I moved the meal worm box and a freaking family of five or six scattered.  I bonked one, but the battle had begun.

I had two different kinds of rat poison on hand, they ignored those.  I ultra soaked the feed shack in mint, if the wind was right it smelled like grasshopper pie a mile away.  They stayed.  I tried one of those ultra sound doohickeys, that didn't work either.  I tried one of those electric zappers, baited it with peanut butter.  Got one, that's it.

Early on in the campaign I took away their main feed source.  I bought two new thirty-two gallon plastic garbage cans to house the feed.  But those little delinquents started in immediately, gnawing on the lids, tearing holes all over.  I started covering the gnawed parts with foil.  It was back and forth and a ludicrous hassle.  Finally, after a couple weeks of pure, unadulterated, ridiculous frustration, I switched to metal cans.  And that worked. 

I am now the owner of two nice, new, red, lidless and purposeless garbage cans.  I tried to save twenty bucks and ended up spending forty more.  If you have a rat problem do yourself a favor and start with metal.  You'll end up there anyway.  Those miscreant rodents are relentless.

I really had no idea what I was up against.  I didn't know they multiplied like Mormons.  I had found and killed maybe five or six of them over a couple months, thinking that had to be close to it, but boy howdy, things picked up quick after a physical therapy session.

While I was having my left hamstring worked over, I was lamenting my rapidly becoming out of control situation.  Even though their main feed source was gone, there was still evidence of them everywhere.  It was like the wrecking crew gang from "A Clockwork Orange" came out every night and did their "Singing in the Rain" routine. 

And then my physical therapist suggested using glue traps.  Not the ones for teeny little mice, but the real McCoy, these big guys, 5x10er's.  Baby.

I baited them in each back corner behind the feed cans, and boy howdy, did they work.  But then the severity of my situation really began to add up.  Every morning I would have at least one, sometimes three, in each trap.  From two to six per day.  It was like Rat Christmas every day!

The confirmed kills started to add up.  Twenty. Sixty.  Eighty.

And these glue traps, they're awesomely gruesome.  The cartoon picture above is cute, the real picture is nasty.  I won't go completely Dean Koontz on you but blood, guts and squealing often greeted me every morning.

I also didn't spend a lot of time trying to be humane.  I never invited them over.  I never asked them to be my friend.  I'm pretty sure the chickens didn't either.

I also didn't have time to deal with the little bastards once they were caught, living or dead.  The whole trap with rats got picked up with a shovel and tossed into a brown grocery bag.  If they were living they didn't last long, especially in the heat.  

Yeah, I was merciless by this point.  Besides the extra daily work, the war was getting expensive.  Each glue trap costs about $2.00.  That's close to  $4.00 a day.  For months. 

And boy howdy, smell?  Those dead little bastards smell awful.  Not as bad as seared human flesh, but pretty darn bad. 

 How do I know what seared human flesh smells like?

No, I wasn't around for the Donner Party.  And don't get me going about those idiots.  I actually have a draft going regarding my opinion about that fiasco...we'll see if it makes it to print.

You'd actually have to find one of my old firefighting posts.  I'm sure I mentioned it.  Our engine was first on the scene for a small plane crash one time and all three aboard the plane had perished upon impact.  And then burned beyond recognition after the subsequent explosion and fire.  

I was involved with extrication of the remains.  It was pretty gnarly.  And quite sweet meat pungent.  Those folks ate some sugar!

But I digress.  There was also confirmed evidence those smelly little maleficents had made a Hopi village of caves within the cliff the chickens had created over time.

That entire concrete block (with brick on top) supporting that middle post used to be underground.  The chickens have scratched and clawed, hunted and pecked so that the inside of their coop is now level and not sloped.  That action has created about a ten foot long cliff, from one to two feet high.  Within that cliff were rat caves, all over the place.

Being the ex-firefighting pyromaniac that I am, I started playing with these smoke bombs and others like them:

Sometimes a disorientated rat would make it out past the smoke, wherein I would bonk him with a shovel.  Sometimes they would scurry out a top hole to another, giving away one of their secret locations.  

I uncovered a nest one time in the upper echelons of the labyrinth and massacred a family of eight squealing rat babies.  I bonked a few but then let a couple squeal until their close-eyed little fur less rat bodies froze in the cold winter air.  I was hoping their cries for help would summon their parents, wherein I would shatter their skulls with a shovel.  But no, they had apparently fled to save their own vile vermin souls.

Besides, a female rat will produce up to five litters per year under the right rat circumstances. The litter sizes are usually between three and twenty, with an average litter size of seven.  It takes only thirty-five days for a rat to reach sexual maturity from birth.   

Do you think the parents even cared?  They're rat baby making machines.  That's apparently all they do.  That and raid my chicken house every night. 

One time I went ahead and threw little packs of poison into all the caves, shoving them in a few inches and then I concreted up the openings, thinking they couldn't get out and would eventually get hungry enough to eat the poison.  I ended up with about a half dozen rats that made it up to the surface (somehow) to die.  So a few took the bait.  

But the war raged unabated.  Every time I thought I made some head way and maybe subdued their morale, they responded like a school full of kindergartners unleashed at Disneyland.  New rat holes would appear around and under the concreted ones.  And rice sized evidence everywhere every night.

I'd keep bombing, I had to keep up the effort.  Each of those packs range from $6.00-$12.00 depending on the brand (and duration of burn time), and I'd burn a pack every week or so.  That was adding up too.  

There had to be an underground labyrinth that would have made the Viet Cong envious.  I rarely if ever got a surface bound escapee.  And then very so often I'd find a spent smoke bomb carcass that was magically tossed out of the cave in which it was deployed the day before. 

I began to think they were Cheech and Chong acolytes and the smoke bombs were spliffs.

"Heyyyy, thanks Mon," they'd rat mutter, "We've got the munchies now."  

And then go raid my chicken coop. 

Rat poop everywhere, including in the chicken's feed container, which hangs about a foot off the ground.  Did they create a rat ladder up or scurry five feet down a metal cable?  I dunno.  

Either way was an acroratic feat.

After a while, the glue traps started to lose their luster.  The rats were talking to each other.  

"Hey, Marvin.  Stay away from that sticky stuff.  Chloe stepped on that the other night and got stuck.  Never came home.  No bother, I'm sleeping with her cousin now."

Somehow the bait was being taken, but it would take a few days just to catch one.  The catches would either be a youngster that skipped school that day or a fatter one that just couldn't resist the bait.  But the leaders of the pack and the rest of the round table were stayed away.

I took to watching U-tube rat catching videos at night before going to sleep.  No doubt enhancing my rodent killing skills in my dreams.  

I tried a number of their ideas.  None of them worked.  Or maybe worked once. Rats everywhere else seemed really gullible.  Why did I get the ones that went to school?

The glue traps seemed to be the only thing that worked, only now less so.  I also kept smoke bombing the holes with limited success.  The evidence of their infestation kept up its pace.

Tractor Supply was the only local purveyor of smoke bombs, only they ran out.  The bombs even became in short supply at Amazon.  Apparently I wasn't the only one with a rat problem.  That or there's a lot of pyromaniacs out there playing with smoke bombs.

I was beginning to feel rat impotent.  I wasn't putting up any sort of offense.  Or defense.  I was growing  concerned.  I didn't want the infestation to continue unabated.  I had to keep up the effort.  

For a couple weeks I kept after Tractor Supply for smoke bombs, they said they should be restocked any day.  But that day never seemed to come.  So one day I decided I'd try a box of these:

  

The blocks are about 4x6 and peanut flavored.  I broke one apart, put a couple smaller pieces around the feed house and then put a smaller block (about 2x4) up in the companion cage, close to the upper echelons of the rat cave Hopi village.  The chickens are currently locked out of that area, so it was a perfect set-up.

The next morning I discovered the smaller pieces in the feed house had been nibbled on.  Then I noticed  the 2x4 block in the companion cage was GONE.  Devoured.  

I was surprised.  I had not seen any sort of poison consumption on that level at all since the war began.   I put an entire 4x6 block in the companion cage.

The next morning I found two to three dead rats on the ground.  I also found the entire 4x6 block had been devoured!  Poof.  Gone!

Holy cow.  Those little bastards were having a heck of a serious feast on the wrong cuisine.  Lucky me.

I put another 4x6er in the same place.  The next morning, the same thing.  Two to three dead rats on the surface, the entire block of poison devoured.  I was guardedly optimistic.  Had I found the holy grail?

Then we went to Costa Rica, and left the fallout to our ace pet and house sitter, Amber of  Pet Plant and Homes. 

Amber picked up a total of eight dead rats on the surface during the week we were gone.  We bagged all the surface dead ones and threw them in the garbage by the way.  I didn't want the potential of any wildlife (or our cats) to ingest a poisoned rat.

In all, maybe twenty to thirty of those vile creatures made it to the surface to die with the last offensive.  I think another several hundred died in their underground bunkers.  Something devoured almost the entire box of poison and it wasn't just thirty rats.

It's been four weeks now and there has been zero evidence of any those nasty scoundrels.  I baited another glue trap two weeks ago, but the bait and trap still sit idle.

I have had several people tell me I'd never get rid of them.  And these were informed people, not the  the UPS guy.  This was a pest control guy and several ranchers.

How many rats did I ultimately kill in this two year battle?  One hundred eight-two confirmed.  But I'm pretty certain a minimum of that number died underground from the poison.  Too much was consumed to only kill thirty.  

I would like to say I have done my part to not create more vermin for the world.  Your welcome

When that teeming ratopolis emerged around my poultry habitat, it was important for me to not let it get out of hand.  Hell, if it got too crowded up there they could have started migrating to the house.

Hopefully with the changes I have made to their potential food sources I can avoid any future infestation.  But if they do come, I am substantially wiser for the next go round of rat eratacation.

"Pura Vida, Resort'n Done Right" coming soon.

 

Please Pass the Dextrose!

I have tried everything, I think, short of amputation to try and relieve the pain I had been experiencing in both my shoulders over the last couple years. I have tried pain relievers, I have tried acupuncture, I have tried physical therapy, I actually had surgery on my left shoulder in late 2018, all to no avail. Then on my last physical therapy appointment I had a few extra seconds to look at a peer periodical with an article touting PRP, or Platelet Rich Plasma. This is a procedure where they draw some blood from you, spin it in a centrifuge thingy and then inject the plasma into the affected joint. And this made me wonder, since I have been an avid blood donor for a couple decades that blood flow to these extremities might be a concern. It then made me wonder if these injuries might have transpired when I was a pint low, with less blood (and oxygen) reaching the area making them more susceptible to injury. I have been met with mixed reviews from the professionals I have asked about this theory. Some said mostly not, a few said, "Eh, maybe." I did not donate blood at all last year, and I have not suffered any further tendon or ligament injury. But I am a firm believer in donating blood, especially after our wonderful daughter almost died in 2019. Yeah, the morning of our son's wedding I was informed that she had just miscarried.  Planned Parenthood also had called stating that it might be an ectopic pregnancy.

I apologise for the previous run-on paragraph from hell which should have been five. The back-end here at blogger has changed it's format a bit, and this post has been in editing mode for months. So somehow a whole bunch of programming gobbligook gets magically inserted here and there and if you fuck with it, run on paragraphs occur. Or possibly worse. I dunno. We'll see.
An ectopic pregnancy occurs when a fertilized egg implants and grows outside the main cavity of the uterus. Pregnancy begins with a fertilized egg. Normally, the fertilized egg attaches to the lining of the uterus.  But apparently sometimes it likes to go a wandering.

An ectopic pregnancy most often occurs in a Fallopian Tube, which carries eggs from the ovaries to the uterus. This type of ectopic pregnancy is called a tubal pregnancy. Sometimes, an ectopic pregnancy occurs in other areas of the body, such as the ovary, abdominal cavity or the lower part of the uterus (cervix), which connects to the vagina.

An ectopic pregnancy can't proceed normally. The fertilized egg can't survive, and the growing tissue may cause life-threatening bleeding, if left untreated.

She should have gone to the hospital then, but she and me decided we didn't want to put a shroud over the her brother's wedding.  So she was going to stay the course and then go to the hospital first thing in the morning.

The wedding went absolutely fabulously, as did the reception. It was at the after party when she collapsed, her boyfriend and cousin rushing her to the hospital. 

Fate was on her side.  The visiting ER doc at our little country hospital happened to be a crack OB/GYN from San Diego who had experienced ectopic pregnancy fallout before.  Nine units of blood and three units of plasma later my daughter was still alive.  A smaller person would not have survived.

So there's that.  I donate blood to get my BP checked for free.  Plus they're always nice (I think they have to be) and you get free treats.  Who knew the exercise would actually save lives?

As I was still shoulder floundering, my lovely wife turned me on to a local doctor who worked non-surgically with connective tissues.

Great guy, but he does not take insurance, at all.  So after my first $275.00 visit, I decided to talk with my GP about it all.  And he referred me to Mountain View Rehabilitation and Dr. Tracy Hoag 530-477-0893

Can you tell I'm a fan?

On my first visit I was wearing my Gwar t shirt, a group I would hardly go see but whose t shirt I semi-sardonically wear.  (I now request t shirts from our daughter when she goes to a show and we baby-sit.)  Anyway, Dr. Hoag recognized the group/shirt and we cracked up about it all.  If you're not familiar with Gwar, check out the link above.

Anyway, on my first visit (covered entirely by Medicare and the extras part alphabet whatever I now pay extra for) we covered the basics (besides Gwar) and then she did an ultrasound on both shoulders.  From looking at the ultrasound screen and from having me do certain movements she surmized I was having trouble with the supraspinatus tendon in both shoulders.  Since both long head biceps tendons have ruptured, this would mean there's extra pressure on whatever is left.  I guess.

I can semi-understand surmising a diagnosis based on certain movements, but I don't know how anybody can tell anything from an ultrasound screen.  To me it looks like you're searching for a sand dab in the middle of the Sahara Desert, or a frog in a swimming pool full of dill pickles.

On my second visit. per our treatment plan, we began a little Prolotherapy, which is a bit different than Platelet Rich Plasma therapy.  It is also a heck of a lot cheaper and wahlah, it is also covered by Medicare!  Just what is Prolotherapy?  Let's have a look see:

Prolotherapy is an alternative therapy that can help repair ligaments. It’s also known as regenerative injection therapy or proliferation therapy.

This treatment is meant for injured joints and connective tissue. It’s also used to treat some people who have conditions like arthritis, whiplash, and degenerative disc disease. Prolotherapy can treat a number of areas of your body, including your back, neck, knees, shoulders, hips, pelvic floor, and hands.

Prolotherapy is considered safe for most people. However, only smallTrusted Source studies have been conducted about its overall effectiveness.

Prolotherapy typically costs between $400–$1,000, depending on the clinic and the part of the body that’s treated.

Prolotherapy involves watery injections to relieve pain from affected joints. These injections typically contain natural substances like dextrose, saline, and sarapin, in addition to a numbing agent like lidocaine. This treatment is unlike platelet-rich plasma injections, which require stem cells from the person undergoing treatment. It’s also unlike steroid and cortisone injections.

Your doctor will make the injection to a very specific, targeted area in the injury site which triggers your body’s healing response. This leads to the growth of new, healthy ligaments or tendon fibers. As a result, you may experience reduced pain and stiffness and improved strength, function, and mobility of the joint.

Multiple treatments can be used to continue to stimulate growth of new tissues.

I was pretty excited about starting this therapy, very hopeful that it would work.  But thirty days later my shoulders were the same.  When I went in for the second injection, it was decided I would have an MRI done to find out exactly what was going on.  

I was also informed that Ibuprofen could inhibit the effectiveness of the dextrose.  And since Ibu-800's are one of my go-to's for  old man back, I said, "Oh."

So I stopped eating IBU-8's and then a week or two after the second injection I thought I felt maybe I was getting a little more pain free movement within my shoulders.  By the time I went in for my third injection I could do circular movements with both arms pretty much PAIN FREE.

I might be able to golf again.  Maybe even toss a ball around.  It's. Been.i>YEARS! 

Oh, and by the way, the MRI listed full-thickness tears in both my supraspinatus tendons, among a couple other less painful items in both shoulders.

Dr. Hoag was dead on with her diagnosis without having the aid of an MRI.  She is the real deal.  

Apparently there are not a lot of doctors out there offering this kind of therapy and having insurance pay.  Most of them are cash only, and with each injection running somewhere between $200-$500 that can add up.  I have not paid a dime, except for insurance premiums.

If you are suffering from any kind of joint pain I highly recommend looking into Prolotherapy.  If you are local, I highly recommend Mountain View Rehabilitation. Dr. Hoag has unfortunately left, but I am now seeing one of the main dudes, Dr. Joel Richnak. He's a whiz at non-surgical orthopedics. It took him a visit or two to catch up with me. I went in to see him about a trigger finger, but both shoulders, my right ankle, and left thigh/hamstring also needed attention. We're now on track and hopefully, hopefully I can start swinging a golf club again. And I will also be back here at the keyboard a little more often. The crowd-funding for our invention did not go as planned, so we are back peddling a bit and are now looking at simply marketing the patent(s). And then maybe go golfing. Look for Pura Vida-Resort'n Done Right shortly!

Gum Karma

You know you're Gettin Old when you start getting solicitations from the Trident Society, offering cremation, "the sensible choice", in the mail.  During a pandemic no less. 

I recollected to my lovely wife the other day a week or so ago that I have not stepped in any gum for quite a while, probably ever since I started practicing good gum karma.

What is good gum karma?  Not spitting it out any place where it might easily get stepped on.  Parking lots and sidewalks come to mind.  Theater floors aren't really good either.  Nor is your toilet seat.

The freeway or a highway are good places.  I mean, if someone is out there running around in the middle of the freeway gum will be the least of their concerns.  Hell, if enough people started tossing out their gum on the highways here in California it might help fill some of the potholes in the asphalt.

So just what is that nifty contraption I mentioned in my last post?

  Here's a sneak picture:

Anyone that has some experience with processing cannabis will have an idea of what's going on.  Or not.  No one's ever seen this thing.  Yeah howdy holy shit it's a motorized scissor cleaner!

If you've never trimmed or processed cannabis you won't understand, but if you have, hold on.  We hope to be on the market within six months.  Yeah, even in the middle of a pandemic.

We figure a couple things are certain.  Folks are going to want their diversions while being locked down, and cannabis is a pretty good diversion.  To get those pretty manicured flowers it takes a bit of scissor work, and that work typically gums up scissors something awful.  Enter the De-resinator, the very first automatic scissor cleaner.

I'm not going to go into the full sales schpiel here, but there's nothing on the market anywhere near this thing and we're pretty confident the demand will be strong.  Dirty scissors currently involve a messy and time consuming procedure to clean.  Our machine will do it in seconds.

That means the grower and processor can get more weed out to you in a more expeditious manner.  Your welcome. 

Look Out Joe, We're Getting Exotic

I hear tell Joe Exotic has a couple large predatory cats prowling around his property.  Big deal.  So do we.  This here is Frank Frankerson.

Don't let his laid back demeanor fool you.  He's a natural born killer.  Of ants, lizards, mice and things.  When he's not lounging of course, which does happen to be most of the time.

And the killer on the left below, Daisy, while she looks quite innocent in her baby pix, has turned into the ferocious beast you see in the second photo. 

She routinely brings us birds and voles and other, larger vermin than Frank does.  She has also ferociously defended her turf against a couple wanna be visiting cats.  Don't let her cute face fool you,  she really is a bad ass.

And of course we have a rooster and a number of hens, hence the name of the blog.  So we got us a fine little menagerie going on here on our little slice of heaven.

I know, I know.  A lot of folks have domestic and barnyard animals.  A couple cats, a couple dogs, a couple hundred chickens.  Cows.  Pigs.  Goats.  Hamsters..

But we accidentally acquired something here recently that I think will set us apart from being a plain old country menagerie.  Something that just about puts us on par with Joe Exotic.

Meet Liberace, Libby, or Mr. Lovely as he is called from time to time.

This is him on our front deck on the morning he arrived.

I took the picture through the screen door because I didn't know if he was an attack peacock or not.  We have since discovered he is not.

So who's missing a peacock?  What's going on?

My lovely wife got in touch with a neighbor across the street who always has a finger on our neighborhood's pulse.  And she said there's a flock of them that live by the creek way back behind her property.  You know, Yondersville.  But apparently there's been a mountain lion with her cub that have been prowling recently, and that could be why Liberace has migrated our way.

He's been here over two weeks now.  He overnight's up on the roof.  I can't think of a safer place to overnight if you're trying to stay out of a mountain lion's mouth.

We've fed him a bit of cat food and chicken food, but he's mainly foraging and eating bugs, which I'm totally OK with.  And apparently peacocks are really good at killing snakes, so in rattlesnake territory they're probably not a bad idea to have around.  If one doesn't adopt you (like Liberace did us) than you could expect to pay $50 to 75 for an India Blue chick.

He hasn't been hard on any of the plants either, like chickens can be.  He strolls gracefully through the planted areas, selectively hunting and pecking.  Chickens are excavators, they'll scratch and tear up small plants and ground covers to make sure they're getting every last morsel of any given square foot.

Or maybe they just excavate for fun.  Here's what they've done to Fantasia Land over the years.  The actual surface level of the dirt used to be at the top of the gravel in both pictures.  The concrete was poured into an eighteen inch deep trench securing the chicken wire so that no varmints could dig underneath.  The chickens have dropped the surface level by twelve to eighteen inches.

I had to shore up the pier there several years ago. They had completely unearthed the original post and concrete.  Framed a three bag square piling.  It'll hold up the Golden Gate Bridge now.

Liberace does poop on the deck, so I started pretending the house is a boat that has a poop deck. 

Just what is a poop deck on a boat, anyway, you might be thinking?  Cause, you know, it sounds like it as the potential to be really awful.

I'll save you the trouble, a poop deck is: "the after most and highest deck of a ship, especially in a sailing ship where it typically forms the roof of a cabin in the stern."

Why do they call it a poop deck?  The name originates from the French word for stern, la poupe.

I'm thinkin it's just a place to park your pooper.. 

Peacocks have a reputation for being loud and obnoxious, but Liberace really isn't a big talker.  The first time I heard him was when he decided he was going to try and get in the chicken coop.  He flapped up to the top of the fence but was immediately shocked by the hot electric wire.  He veered off quickly, and then walked around and squawked a bit.  I imagine he was swearing in peacock tongue.

And then he's been a little vocal from time to time during the night.  He has a couple different squawks, one of them sounds eerily like a large cat.  And the other is a "honk" that sounds like a goose.  But we're used to roosters crowing at all hours of the day and night, we hardly even hear Liberace.

We have done some reading, and there are mixed reviews about him hanging out with our chickens.  There is the potential he could introduce disease, and because of his size he could be a bit of a bully to them.  But he has managed to get in the coop four times now and has always been quite docile and polite.  The chickens are a little freaked out, but there has not been any sort of a scene.

He's a pretty smart bird.  I let him out of the coop twice, and then the other night I happened to see how he is entering. He goes around back, hops up on the hen house roof, hops over the electric wire, then finds a wide enough place between the clothesline hung to keep hawks out and hops right down.  I have no idea how he gets out, but he was out this morning.

I do think our flock is one of the reasons he ended up this way, that and high altitude roof safety.  He goes up around the coop a couple times a day, and so far had ended up inside the coop the last four days. But now that I know he can also get out I'm not as concerned.

He seems like he's been around humans.  We can usually get within a couple feet of him before he gets a little skittish, and he will also seek us out if he hears us outside.  And he's got a couple hang out spots, one on the front poop deck and one on the back poop deck.

We have no idea how long he's going to hang around, but we're certainly not going to chase him away.   It's kinda fun to look out in the yard and see a peacock wandering around, and he doesn't seem to be upsetting the balance and harmony around here.  Who knows, when mating season comes around this fall maybe he'll attract a mate and we'll start a flock of  peacocks. 

Then we'll really be exotic.  And loud, probably.