The other morning I went outside and saw a brown blob near the door so went for a closer look and saw it was a bat.  Frieda tried to sniff it, but I said “Leave it!” and she listened, so we came into the house as I pondered what to do about the bat.  I was reluctant to try to pick it up with the shovel in case it wasn’t really dead.

I did some watering and came in for a break and so Frieda took the opportunity to be picked up and put on my lap where she likes to bite my nose and chin.  She has a long pointy nose and she likes to poke it into eyes and use her tongue to enter mouths as quick as a wink.

I put her down after a few minutes of this assault, and idly looked out the kitchen window expecting to see the bat, but it was gone.  I then freaked as I wondered if Frieda had eaten it, then spread her rabies-filled filth over my face.

It didn’t take me long to blame George the cat for bringing this bat as he’s a voracious hunter, and is covered in sores and scabs all spring and summer long from his battles with cats and birds.  I Googled rabies, and thought maybe the cat should be vaccinated.

I e mailed the vet who replied any pet that came into contact with the bat should be vaccinated, but I replied I didn’t know which pet, if any came in contact.  I also said I didn’t know for sure if it was eaten by a bird, or if it wasn’t really dead and flew away.

After that I went into a frenzy of yes, the cat’s going to get vaccinated and no, that’s too toxic for the cat.  So I decided my best course of action would be research.  Luckily at my age I have amassed a small team of professionals at my disposal.

In total I canvassed two pharmacists, one RN, two chiropractors, a Reiki master and a retired GP.  All felt the odds of rabies was quite low, and so after two days of wrestling with my conscience, I did nothing at all.  To date, we’re all still alive, no one foaming at the mouth.

Although I might have to amend that somewhat, given the rabid response I’ve had toward the City of Kelowna.  We were on the South East Kelowna Irrigation District for decades, but now have been taken over by the City, and in their first year of trying to manage this area, we were given no notice or explanation and put on one day a week water restrictions.

I attended the council meeting on Monday, and you’ll have to excuse me but the only apt term I can find to describe it would be a shit show.  The mayor and council happily take the word of their manager and not a soul says to this person, “But with 86 million dollars, if nothing else, surely you could’ve afforded better communication with the residents.” But no.

And so what does one do in this dire situation?  I got a recommendation for a well driller, and in about two months I’m going to have my very own well.  If you knew the quandary I was in about the bat, and then the water restrictions, I think you’d be very happy and proud to know I’ve made it through both still sane.

Tonight I’m off to a birthday party for lil’ol’ me at my friend Petra’s in Westbank, then on Saturday mom’s having a party out on her lovely deck for me, and then Sunday there’s a family gathering over here at my house to celebrate my momentous birth.

It just happened that way, and especially since its not an important number it seems unnecessary, but I’ll take it.  You know how I love to have the opportunity to cater an event, so Saturday I’ll be making dinner for twelve, and Sunday it’s for eight people.

Most people laugh nervously when I tell them I’m cooking for my birthday, but they don’t know how much joy it is for me to browse the web for interesting recipes.  Our pal Jim’s coming from Vancouver on Friday and I’m going to try out buffalo chicken wing lasagna on us.

Poor Louie still has to stay in Kelowna with Frieda when I go to Osoyoos as the latter animal’s just too dirty for mom’s wall to wall carpets.  I don’t think it hurts them as Nicky and his missus are downstairs, and they’re in their own environment so they just have to chill out until I return.

I was within a hair’s breadth of hiring a dog behaviourist for Frieda, as she made no connection between going to the bathroom outside or inside.  I fully recognize this isn’t her fault, given she was tossed into a kennel situation at maybe eight or ten weeks of age.

The person I bought her from breeds miniature dachshunds and was going to use Frieda for that purpose, but she turned out to be the wrong size for the breeder.  Or so the story goes.  In any case, she was never taught a thing, and so it’s been an uphill battle.  Finally, after three months, she’s slowly turning the corner and learning something.

Unfortunately she’s a very small animal, no bigger than a cat, and black, so she’s hard to see at night.  Though not for an owl or hawk, I imagine.

Margaret and I were out and about for a staycation, and went to Vernon to have lunch at Sparkling Hill Resort which is a beautiful setting.  Nice food, but we were the only guests in the dining room, which would make it quite hard to break even with three staff in front and at least that many cooking in the back.

We also had a nice outing to the south, stopping at Zia’s Stonehouse Restaurant in Summerland for lunch, then onto the Naramata bench for wine tastings at Lang and Black Widow wineries.  The weather was lovely for it, sunny and warm.

I took Nicky’s missus for lunch at the Eldorado and we sat lakeside which is so lovely.  Then a couple of days ago I met Kathy at Smack Dab for their Happy Hour.  I was thrilled to find a two-ounce cocktail for $8.00.

And so the life of the retired person in the Age of Covid continues pretty much as before.  Only now I dye my own hair, and trust me when it says to discard the mixture as it will explode, it will!  Who knew?