Gummi Bear

"Women and cats will do as they please and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea."
Robert A. Heinlein

Good news for Gummi Bear yesterday.  Turns out the hacking cough that wakes Rose and I at 4:00 a.m. and causes Rose to gaze at me even more dolefully than usual is not caused by a tumor.  It is not the product of a cancerous mass pressing on Gummi Bear's trachea.  Had it been, it would have meant down with a lethal dose, rather than up for adoption, the latter a likely end since Gummi Bear is otherwise cute and eager and will make some housebound soul a fine, if larcenous, companion.
Gummi Bear is the default name for the dog I wanted to name macebell after it, and not a macebell, showed up on my 51st birthday.  I did not really expect a macebell.  Nor did I expect (another sign I have learned nothing in the past 20 years) an old stray dog with rotten teeth which C picked up off the street.  The dog was taken to the Marin Humane society the next day, where they promptly shaved it and pulled all its teeth, save the two front lower.  The stray dog has spent the last month trying to figure out how to arrange its lips when it shuts its mouth, which is not often as it barks and howls a lot.  It is silent only when asleep or when sneaking around on the table stealing food, at which it is adept.  Since it has not settled on a consistent lie for its lips over the recently toothless gums, Gummi's countenance is random collection of odd cheerful sneers accompanied by a constantly wagging tail.

But we are quite happy for Gummi Bear.  Yesterday afternoon, Brigid and I were discussing what we would do if the hack was caused by a cancerous mass.  We both reached the same conclusion quickly: the dog goes down, stat.  Her saying, "Dad, I don't want to live with that dog waiting for it to die."  Read:  "Father, could you please intercede and get that dog out of here so the kitchen and family room are NOT turned into some drama filled canine death row.  Would you please just man the fuck up ?"
I have been promised Gummi Bear's happy departure by Tuesday.  Stay tuned, or don't.

Saturday, three mile marsh walk in the am.  PM like,
15/15 Max V02, 16kg, 7 rep pace, x 50.
Sunday, walk, then into sf for ct class.  She calls out 50 swings to start and I pretty much immediately rip callouses on both hands after prior day's snatch fest.  We do a lot of non-swing work which is a relief and we hit floor presses which are good, she presses me to the 28 which is great and all in all it is a good time notwithstanding the fact that I can't grip a bell for shit.  It'll be the last class for three weeks and I already know I'll miss ct's genial drill instructor style and fine mix of micro and macro movement and considerable raw intelligence.
Monday, smoking Pradeep class late, waiting in the absurdly long line to start he clasps my hand warmly and expresses his sincere thanks for me coming to his class.  Namaste, to you too my friend.
Tuesday, hit gym late.
5 burpees to double 24kg suitcase deads, three pushups each
10 24kg GS
Presses,
5+5 16kg, 3+3 24kg. 1+1x2 32kg
5+5 single leg deads 24kg to 8 double 32 sumo deads
3x
TRX to let hands heal, 10 row to 10w to 10+10 low to high woodchoppers
3x
Wednesday, 4 miles

Thursday, three mile marsh walk with Rose and Brigid.  Day spent in divorce court where very stupid lawyer spends five hours trying to elicit privileged testimony from my lawyer client.  98% of my objections were sustained and the first dumb question after lunch has me bitching to the judge who admonishes counsel to get on with it and stop wasting everyone's time.  Counsel only spends two hours after that, much of which is consumed by the judge's academic soliloquies on why he is in fact going to sustain my objections.  Respondent's counsel and I are incredulous; this is Alice in Wonderland, never has anyone consumed so much time just to agree with me upon the obvious.  We finally escape at 3:30, five monosyllabic answers in hours on the stand.  I stagger in at 4:30, pleased that I'll get a Rose walk in before running off to Ian's BTS.  The kitchen looks like a bomb went off, no one has rinsed or put away a dish in 24 hours and I nearly blow a fucking gasket.  Brigid quickly volunteers to come with me and clean up after and we adjourn to the calming influence of marsh and retriever and make our pact re Gummi Bear's fate should the news be bad.
Today.  Marin Superior all morning, then to wf and Traders Joe's parking lot working and wrapping up week.
It's fucking hot in Novato.  Indian Summer here is not like sf; it is not a time for hanging on Baker beach or Crissy field or Bean Hollow south; it is just plain hot.  I wait until the backyard is out of direct sun and try to hit it.  Goes hard like this:
20/20 x 8, 10 pushup pace
20 tactical lunges, 20kg
1-5+1-5 press ladders, 24kg
10 bootstrap squats, 20kg
3x, save just 10 push-ups circuits 2,3 to get to 100.  This is harder than I expected, the weather enervating and have not eaten or drank enough.  Grind through and press sets get better.
30/30 20 24 kg swings x 10 to finish.

I bbq steak late.  Family (sort of) dinner and I take Ian to do night marsh walk.  Conspiring with Brigid, she hides in back cause he won't go if she will; he is surprised when she pops up and quickly clearly he could care less.  We spill into the marsh at 9:45 under a bright moon.  Ian is shining, listening to Tales From a Topographic Ocean and chattering on.  Rose races in and out of eye and earshot overjoyed at her good fortune.  Brigid quiet, tired, along for the trip.  It is a beautiful night; this is as good as it gets and could not love it more.