Dog Days of Summer

A few posts ago did I say something about us having an unseasonably cool summer?
The mercury riseth.

But its okay, we adjust.  Wake up in the pre-dawn hours to get a few things done (like anything requiring the use of the oven) then lay around all afternoon in a heat-induced stupor, alternately dozing and sweating.  This latest heat-wave has coincided nicely with a reading spurt I'm going through.  End result: 11 books, 4 magazines so far.  I made it through the entire Hunger Games trilogy in four days.  Okay, admittedly that was a bit much.

Nearing the end of August, most folks will tell you that summer is winding down but anyone who has ever lived in California knows that in that piece of the globe, things are just starting to get good.  I'm California born and raised so I'm thinking of the heat.  And I'm worried.  But I have to remind myself that we're not in California, there is no early autumn heat wave expected in these parts.  So can I confidently count down the days of brutal temperatures?  I think so.  I hope so.
In the meantime I rely on the fan which serves multiple purposes: to circulate the hot air and to soften the noise of the barking dogs with its low frequency hum.

Humans aren't the only creatures that sleep during the heat of the day.  Dogs do too.  But dogs don't have books to read at night.  They bark.  And bark.  And bark.  Is it the dog version of a 10-keg rager or a white trash street brawl going on out there at 1 o'clock in the morning?  I really don't know.  Does the hedgehog that putters through our garden honestly deserve such a cacophony at 3 a.m?  I think not but then again, I'm not a dog so what do I know?  I don't really care what they do in the darkness so long as they are quiet about it.  But they have another agenda.

During the day I like our dogs.  Azor with his arthritis and grumpy disposition; Grivei who is by far the most attractive of the three but suffers from some sort of canine variety of Asperger's Syndrome and Fetiţa who belongs to the neighbors but she thinks its more fun on our side of the fence. She's a sycophant, that one, but its an acceptable trait in a dog who has been virtually abandoned by her owner.  In general they are sweet animals and although they won't seem to ever sit still enough for a decent photo, we have a good time running around on the hill and sharing bbq.  But they need to be quiet at night.  Because otherwise I'm. going. to. kill. them.

yeah, I know its a crappy picture of dogs.  You don't realize that this is the best of 37 shots.  

Some of you think a certain photographer should take photos of the dogs while they are sleeping during the day to ensure some decent pictures.  A certain photographer thought so too and a certain photographer recently braved the heat and went all the way to the top of the hill but could find no dogs.  They sequester themselves under bushes apparently.  Was I relishing the thought of banging pots and pans and gleefully disturbing their peaceful slumber?  Oh yes, I was. But my evil intentions were thwarted.
So instead my sweaty sojourn garnered me many photos of things looking hot, wilted and baked while I walked around complaining "its really miserable out here!" until some irritated soul leaned out the window and shouted "Yeah, dummy, that's why we're all inside sleeping so shut up!"    
touché monsieur
And now, a few photos of everything looking hot and withered and miserable.

Dawn breaks at 30 C

Some portions of our hill are quite steep.  When it rains the slopes become slippery.  Someone apparently had the idea that pouring cement pieces on the ground would provide traction.  It works really well if your idea of a good time is having your skin ripped off by chucks of gravel as opposed to merely falling in mud.

Okay, it has no bearing on anything but I included it because it irritated me and I'm pretty stinking hot and irritated these days.  So that's what makes it relevant to this post.
Sorry.  The heat has awoken The Irascible Knight formerly known as Leigha and these days I swing wide and often with my sword of sarcasm. When the thermometer climbs no higher than 27 I will return to the more pleasant version of myself and the sword will make only rare and brief appearances.
Ah, let's conclude before we sink further, shall we?
I realize that last week marked the six-month, half-way point in our journey.  It came and went with no comment from me.  Well, we never said we'd be gone exactly a year anyway which is my excuse for not acknowledging the milestone of either the halfway point of our trip nor the 50th posting on this blog.  Really, I never thought I would have the stick-to-it-ivness to keep going this long.  Thank you all for enduring and tuning in although why you do at times remains a mystery.  It's the photos of lattes, isn't it?  I knew it.