THE LIFE OF PI

  

     

  

     I never had an old dog before. When I grew up we had hounds like Willy, Waldo, Tippy, Peppy, Putney, and Zack. The list was long and their lives were short.

      Back then dogs ran free. Usually they'd either run away or run into cars. I've had mutts to whippets but one dog I never had was an old one... until now.

         "Pi" came to us as a surprise birthday gift. We

had a small pond in our yard. The only thing I wanted was a fish. We went to a pet shop to get one and came home with a dog.  

    We had no choice, the little brown terrier was caged in a temporary adoption center.  Her deep, doleful eyes said, "take me home".

     

    When I started writing this last month she was fourteen and spiraling down, the result of a brain tumor. 

        She left us last week -softly lapping ice cream on the back porch- as a compassionate vet led her through the gates of Heaven.

 

       Most everyone thinks their dog is "the best" and we were no different. Pi was so clever she named herself by imprinting the pi sign on her chest. She knew an incredible number of tricks (4) including "sit" and "shake". 

    

   She loved to travel. Pi got to lick glaciers, admire buffalo and watch balooga whales frolicking in the St. Lawrence Seaway.

 

    She even went to jail, impounded by the Canadian border police so our van could be thoroughly searched for

Summering in southern Utah

contraband (they found illegal fire wood).

 

Dylan with his favorite

      

    As she was the one that stuck around, Pi was the dog our kids knew best. Her gentle, outgoing personality allowed her to make friends easily.

      

     Over the years much of her short chocolate fur turned grey much like the "fur" on my head. She and

I seemed to mirror each each other as the years rolled on.

     Francesca and I loved each step Pi took from puppy hood to the struggles in her declining years.

      

    She sleeps under our grapefruit tree now. We sit with her often. 

     Left with our memories an added treat surprised us. As we packed her things Francesca picked up a throw rug, the one Pi slept on. She sniffed it and smiled. It was still strong with the scent of our little doggy.  

We may never wash it.

    It's one more memory of Pi, the best dog ever.

 

        

DOWN IN THE DUMP

 Ever wonder where your garbage goes?  Twenty-two of us  went on a tour of our local dump today  (hint:  It doesn't get flushed down a giant toilet).

To solve the mystery we boarded The Trash Trolley,a  Disney-esque ride that gave us front row seats to Where it Goes.

Most of it is dumped into the arena-like garbage barn.  After our trash hits the floor bulldozers shoved into the maws of mega-trucks waiting below.

They transfer our refuse to a dump in nearby Union County because,

1) We don't want a mountain of stink,                  

2) They are willing accept our 120 tons of our daily throw-out for a price and, 

3) the 1100 people living next to the dump are state prison inmates. They're used to getting dumped on. 

For the reasons above the place we visited does not consider itself a dump but rather a "temporary holding facility".   Whatever.  At the "Leveda Brown Transfer Station and Recycling Center" people do a great job of sorting our refuse into,

a) The tons of trash that go to Union County.

b) Tires that get ground up into rubbery mulch that will outlive you and your grandchildren.

 

 

 

c) Hazardous waste materials that get re-cycled (you can get free paint there)

Julie scores free water sealer

or incinerated and,

 

d) Recyclable materials that we put into our roadside bins.

 

The hazardous waste manager was truly dedicated and knowledgeable.

 

Our guide points out the recycling barn. The ceilings insulation is ripped up because the raccoons who live there keep trying to eat their rodent roomates.

 

These popular cups, made from compressed styrofoam, can't be recycled

  

 

 

 

  The last facility we passed by was the most interesting as we saw county workers making an honest effort to make much of the crap we toss available for re-use.

Our recyclables are sorted by hand. Everything in this huge pile below gets tossed onto a conveyor belt. The person you see at the top spends her day quickly tossing glass this way,

 

 

plastic that way, paper goes up and and metal, down. There's a fifth troublesome category, the things we put in the bins that can't be recycled.  These include clam-shell containers, plastic bottle tops, and most plastic cups. They're sent back to the garbage barn. 

    Want to work there?  Drivers make $35 p.h. The sorters start at $12 per plus benefits.  To make the sorter's job easier we were reminded to stop putting the "wrong things" in our recycling bins. "If in doubt, throw it out", they say.

The glass gets ground up and put into asphalt. That's why new roadways sparkle.

Buzzards love this place

Yard waste is ground into mulch (free, stop by for a car full!).

 

 

 

 

The plastic, cans, and paper are smashed into these bundles which are available for purchase.

 

  

   We came away with new knowledge about one of the many things we don't want to think about. We can certainly ease the problem by using less plastic, composting un-eaten food, and a myriad of other solutions. 

Ready to organize your own tour?  Alana Carino, county tour coordinator, is waiting to take you call (352-338-3233). It might be a great way to celebrate your next wedding anniversary with friends.