Desperate measures

This morning my forearm was so sore there was no question of taking the dog to the park, and this was the absolute last damned straw.  I went to the vet clinic this morning and had a long talk with one of my two favorite vets, and he highly recommended a dog trainer right in town. 

I trust my vets implicitely, and up until now they have been reluctant to recommend any of the con men who claim to be dog trainers around here.  My dog's groomer, a man who worked his way up from nothing to a position of prestige and relative comfort, is unfortunately not the world's greatest judge of character; he gave my name to a "trainer", after asking my permission, who phoned me and simply refused to speak Spanish to me even though I said everything to him in that language.  His English was very good, but everything about the man (and this was only over the phone!) was irritating.  But when he extolled his own virtues and said he'd do the job for only "five hundred bucks!", I told him I wasn't interested; what I really wanted to tell him was that he was a narcissistic jerk, and up his with pineapples. 

But this trainer is like day to the other guy's night: polite, smart, organized and punctual--and this only over the phone!  He said he will call today at three to set a day and time for him to see just how much of a problem the Toots is, although I already made it clear that I just can't get any respect from the mutt.  Whatever happens, it should be interesting and surely an eye-opener. 

So there was no run today, and the weather threatens rain.  Tomorrow I'm taking a grand-daughter to the quinta to ride, and maybe my arm will be better by Friday.  Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we are having French salmon salad and potato-apple pancakes with sour cream.  The peppers yesterday were magnificent.  I haven't been able to use all the points I'm allowed, including the weekly "treat yourself" points, so I am going to give myself a small Coke.  Three points.