Kind of old school circa 2007 real estate discussion where you see, nothing, really, changes.

A long time ago, if a long time is a couple years ago, all I would talk about is how we were buying a ranch. If there was a flat property over 3 acres with some kind of livable teepee or wigwam or single wide on it, anywhere in the county, I'd seen it and could tell you all the stats on the acreage and the neighbors and the drainage and maybe even we'd put an offer in on it or fallen out of escrow on it.

You remember.

Because you would see me and go, "Hey, Laura, how's it going?"

And I'd be all, "OMG, there's this property for sale out on Amesti and it's listed at 829k and it's 4 acres and has this totally livable modular except the drainage is sort of weird and it has this great shed and south facing exposure except the county has this zoning thing on record because of the cows and..."

And you sort of were backing away with a glazed over look in your eye because you did not sign up to have a junior real estate freakazoid as your friend/wife/relative/trainer/etc.

And then blah blah blah economy prices mortgage job freeway etc and let's cut to the chase. I don't have a ranch, don't know if I ever will and that sucks but I am dealing with it just fine. When I typed that I might have gritted my teeth together just a little bit but then I stopped. Got a very decent one to work at now and let's just leave it at that. It may curtail certain things in my life such as the horses and the job and the dogs and the border collie and the agility and the open space and the tractor, but things could be worse. And now I have a sliding glass door out here on the Westside that all the neighbors with their 2 story houses can see me in right now.

That you neighbor? Avert yer damn eyes. Or I'll send out the dogs.

But I still keep an eye peeled. Can't help it and you never know.

So the real estate ads and their copywriting, another story for another day. They still come into my email all the time. That eye peeling thing. I sort of have to share this one. I couldn't have written it better myself:

4 bedroom 3 bath home located on aprox. one acre. Currently red tagged and deemed unsafe to occupy by the County of Santa Cruz due to a major landslide behind the home. Needs new roof, floors, carpet and appliances. Has one insurance claim due to water damage.

I swear on god and dog and the easter bunny that is copied and pasted from the email and I did not make up one single word. Not a syllable or vowel or nothing.

You are wondering, how much? In this day and age of foreclosures and rock bottom prices and short sale and bank owned, how much for this monstrosity that is up in the deep dark mountains, where wet mossy strand clumps wave down from the redwoods, where all the cabins are painted brick red and sometimes have no glass in a window and the huskies kept chained to the trees? Where shuffling Charles Manson haired sex offenders wander the road, walking pitbull crosses on frayed ropes and poisoning cats from the privacy of the dingy travel trailers parked outside your bathroom window?

This one for sale for the rock bottom, low low price of $650,000.

This is Santa Cruz, my friends. You love it or you leave it alone.

In this episode, we are all relieved that we own no firearms.

I'm teaching Gustavo to be a super stealth hunter in his own backyard. Who needs deer hunting when, right here, without leaving our own property, we can stalk all kinds of wildlife. Like the guy who plays the same Radiohead cd over and over and over and over. The guy who talks on his celphone on his deck and takes forever to decide if they are going to meet downtown or at his house. Super old Richard clear his throat, spit and tap tap tap on his old school typerwriter while watching a show about WWII on the History Channel. Turned up for max volume for the super old.

Maybe our yard exactly why we need deer chasing in the forest that we drive to. Just realized was 2 whole years ago we got outbid in the eleventh hour on buying the dream ranch. Which was really just a crappy house on a few acres of flat field with a good well. On the exact road we dreamed of our whole lives, with trail access out to the most beauty of it all and thousands of acres of deer forests. Our biggest reality check of the whole We Are Buying a Ranch phase of our lives. Which has turned into We Are So Living in an 800sf House With No Yard Forever phase of our lives.

Let's just wrap up the whole holiday thing right now.

So I looked it up, and last year I said for Christmas and for my New Years Motto (not sure why I need a motto and can't have a resolution like everyone else. I am so damn difficult) it was going to be to Get My Head Out of My Ass. I think I was pretty successful with that! I think it really meant Stop Being So Obsessed Beyond Nothing Else to Buy a Ranch. So I did stop obsessing, we didn't buy one, but that had more to do with dire financial realities than actually always following a motto. So here comes another year. We still are in our house. And we might still be here next year. And I am going to continue to keep my head up here in the sun where it belongs. Whenever possible.

So I think this year's motto is going to be Is That Good Customer Service? It is a motto question. That I will try to ask myself before I open my mouth. Are dogs customers? Then before I decide not to train them or to let them run amuck into a homeless camp or throw a rock at them when they are rolling in carcass, I am ask myself my motto. And I will just think of people in general as customers, and then...

OK. I kid you not. Just while I was writing this, there were cat fight sounds outside. So I ignore them because that's what cats do. They kill rats and fight eachother. Good for nothing cats. Finally the dogs are driving me crazy because they want to join the cat fight. So finally I go out there, and there is a nice lady out there. Maybe in church clothes. I walk outside and yell at the cats, "Knock it Off CATS!"

She is out there, looking into our yard, and says, "Oh, is that your cat? It scared me."

I look at her. I am thinking, damn lady in your ugly jacket, why are you afraid of some cats? I am pretty sure that I give her a look while I think this and I pick up a rock and throw it in the general direction of where I hear but don't see cats and yell "KNOCK it OFF!" and I look at her and go "damn cats. there's like 50 cats here and they have to just OWN their spot and fight it out."

She goes, "is your kitty ok? i was so scared."

OK. This was like cat posturing growl sounds. There were no blood and guts and gore noises here. Just some cats growling and making the dogs inside bark. I'm thinking lady, get back in church. The cats are ok. I tell her, "that's what cats do. cat's just fight is all. it's the CAT WAY!" and then I see Peppers run off and I yell at him to run home evil fat old Peppers. I feel compelled to say something like, "See lady, there are like 50 cats around here and each one has to be king of it's yard and they attack eachother all the time and it's just what cats do." Sheriff Ed Tom Bell in pajamas. And then she wished me a happy new years and I said and you too and I went in.

OK. So this wasn't neccessarily BAD customer service. And I woke up really late and haven't finished the coffee. But I think in a better customer service world I am nicer to this lady (is this sort of sounding like what would our precious baby jesus do?) and don't throw rocks at cats or at least don't do it in front of ladies who are scared of your cat (??) and don't wonder things like why the hell are you afraid of cats lady, just be a nice neighbor and fix the cat issue and show the neighbor the cats are all ok and you tell HER to have a happy new years. Sheriff Ed Tom Bell in a cheerful and sunny way.

See, I'm trying here. Maybe I'll watch the Secret DVD again. I think cleaning the house and finishing plastering the office can qualify as customer service. I'm throwing out the See's candy, I'll drive around happy with my new thing in my car that you plug the ipod into, my head is out of my ass, and let's just dive back into the world that isn't holidays right now.

Ew. Are there really scabs in her muffins?

Hey remember the weird realtor who kept telling me the house was not for sale and how it would be for sale for One Point Three Million Sometime in the future? On Wednesday, a new sign went up and yesterday it came up on the mls. For $980,000. Which is basically almost a million and too much for me. Also outside of the Gary Drive Zone. But so very curious, these realtor games. I drove up on the property last night on the way home from work. Because I am a real estate stalker and also just cannot resist doing this to myself. It is sort of like picking off a painful scab. You cannot stop doing it and it hurts but you also cannot stop doing it. Kind of like finishing up the pie.

Today's long day at work ends in showing a pony to a potential buyer that just sounds like a diasaster and plane wreck waiting to happen. I love waiting all day for a nightmarish end of my day. It just makes that day so much more fun. This whole lying, evil Emily Reilly and cohorts and evil, unethical attorneys thing just has me in the black place of all things. I'll just go snap out of that now.

Gustavo, the saga continues.

Hmm...do you think a scrawny little street dog from Mexico with big ears and a long tail wants to do agility? I think we are going to find out soon because Gary took it upon himself to call up the Gustavo dog rescue lady, arrange an appointment to meet with him, and met with him and said he was just the friendliest and cutest little dog for a scrawny and tiny little dog he'd ever seen.

Of course it helped that the dog rescue lady lives up on land bordering Gray Whale Ranch, the most beautiful land in all the land and where we both want to live but will certainly not without a winning lottery ticket. A thing on which we have been spending way too money. Lottery tickets, not land. It is a plan not working for real estate buying at the moment.

So I just need to arrange a meeting to figure out if it is going to work and have my own home evaluated by the dog rescue lady on it's suitablity for Gustavo. Hopefully she isn't worried about the dog pen I mentioned at work for the dogs. At least they get to go to a ranch and hang out all day is how I think, even if it's from a pen. They do come out of the pen to lay in the sun, eat horse hooves, attack gophers, bark at Jacinto, and sit on people's laps on the deck.

Last night I quizzed a lady that has some teensy little dogs, hers are 8lbs, Gustavo weighs 10lbs. That is one half of Timmy and 2/3 of Otterpop or Ruby. That is little-purse dog size. Hers can still tip the teeter and go around, althought they are slow. That was Gary's only hesitation, that Gustavo might not be, um, intense enough (in real life, MEAN) to do agility. He is too cute and just more like playful than obsessed with attacking the ball or owning the frisbee or chasing things. Doesn't have that competitive edge. The things that make my dogs excell at agility are personality flaws in the real world. But it might be cool to have a nice little friendly dog and see what I can do to get him to go. A new challenge! How to turn a friendly dog mean!

When I mentioned this to my agility colleagues, they were aghast that I was considering another tiny dog. They all thought I was getting a big dog. The kelpie of my dreams. Which I will, but I can't see having a high drive, intense (perhaps, MEAN) big dog in my tiny house, living in a pen all day, with nowhere to practice at home. I can just imagine the problems of evil that come in via kelpie rescue. And potentially losing our beach and field in November. Actually, not potentially-we are losing it in November, but will be figuring out other illegal options such as getting up at 5am to walk the dogs and run them on the bach. I do want a big dog, I love running Hobbes. But it's going to have to hold on a little til one of those lottery tickets wins or I don't know what.

Also because when Gary came back from the dog rescue lady's, he decided for sure he has to stay on the Western Edge of Santa Cruz, where land is at a premium fit for only millionaires. It has been about exactly ONE YEAR since the horrible outbidding of the Perfect Ranch, up the hill from the university in the perfect spot with the perfect parcel and the perfect house. One year since we almost bought the most dream of dream house/ranch potential (ok, it was just 2 giant fields on less than 3 acres but still, it was going to be a ranch for real someday) and we're still stuck here. And Gary is pretty certain there are no dairy farms in Watsonville on his horizon. So I guess all I can do is keep filling the house with the tiny dogs!

Real Conversations thanks to the Fun of Bathroom remodeling The Cheap Way.

This true life conversation takes place while I am on my way to San Jose on my day off to price the toilets over there. Everything is about driving to a place and getting the price then finding out I do not know the answer to the important question, such as "What size is your Rough In?" (a good question for a plumber!) and "What level of flushing do you need?" (a question that refers to the amount of flush power to flush down, um, large objects, down the toilet. Level 5 toilets have the pro size flush but are very expensive! i do not know how big our poops are in comparision to flush levels. I feel so ill informed.). And then driving home because the toilet is not in stock and we do not know the rough in yet or the flush power. This follows a day coming home empty handed from the Berkeley salvage yards, ready to go and learn what other important questions I do not know the answers to ("Do you have your spec drawing?" Ha Ha!) at the stone slab place in Watsonville tomorow since the vanity has been ordered on the internet at 6 am this morning for the sale price!

So this is where I am going, dogs left at home to do what they will with the mailman when he comes, and my cell phone rings on the death freeway:

Team Captain: Hi Del, I am talking on Hwy 17!!! (I say this gleefully, because Hwy 17 is a fast death freeway of windyness through the mountain forests and now I am driving and talking with only one hand! I was once admonished for following too close on Hwy 17 and got a ticket and I almost cried because the ChP guy was so not Erik Estrada and just whipped that ticket out to me licketdy split.)

Good Friend Del: What is this you are saying about a porta potty? (Because I love to email people and tell them about my bathroom remodeling and my porta potty!)

Team Captain: God I hate the porta potty. AUGH, I cannot wait to have a porta potty for my one and only bathroom, conveniently situated at the top of the driveway, if only the 20 foot hose works for the truck and the truck is not too wide to back up my skinny, skinny driveway.

Good Friend Del: You can borrow our toilet!

Team Captain: (Here I am now racking brain and making sure to follow the bright red fast car in front of me around the turn. I am driving over the treacherous and windy Hwy 17 and Del has offered to lend me his toilet. How does this work exactly?)

Team Captain: Yes! Your toilet!

Good Friend Del: Our RV toilet we have up by the pool in the pool house. You can take this one! It gets 100 flushes and...

Team Captain: (Here I am counting how many is 100 flushes...how many times a day do we need to flush the toilet? Does this count the plumber flushing too? And friends that come over? I have never counted this before..)

Good Friend Del: ...and it can go in the house...

Team Captain: (Here I am thinking how will I put the RV toilet in the house, in the kitchen? Where the dining room table is? What part of the house fits the RV toilet? If you have never been to my house, suffice to say my house is very, very, very small. Indeed, a tiny, tiny, tiny little house. Mouse house. Fox in a box. We bump into each other all over the house without toilets located in the middle of a living room. )

Good Friend Del: ...and it has hardly any odor...

Team Captaine: (Am thinking now about the odors. Perhaps in the garage would be a private place to not create too much odor?)

Team Captaine: Yes! This sounds perfect! Far better than the porta potty! (But really I am thinking about the odors and this toilet now where and how do i get the sewage from the rv toilet to where it goes?)

Good Friend Del: You just hook it up to the toilet to empty it or take it to the Rv place. (He has read my mind of how does a toilet like this work since you are flushing to, where?)

Team Captain: Yes! I will just take it there! (although I am thinking, man, this whole thing just sucks more and more and more every time I turn around it is just SUCKING!) I can just drive it to the RV place and dispose of..the...Waste. (This is just SUCKING. Why, why why is our bathroom so rotten and we don't even want this house, we want a Ranch)

So we arrange to at some point have a toilet rendevous, I will use Vicki's big truck to get the toilet and bring it to my house. Did I mention how much this is sucking? I know I should be very gracious, of which I am, for having friends who will actually lend me their TOILETS. But such things. That I will be using the hardly any odor toilet in my garage or backyard for possibly how long?? I don't even want to think about it. Daniel the plumber and electric guy working without license or permits says 3 weeks. I think that really means 6ish in real world talk but I don't know. I think this is better than a porta potty? Thanks Del!

Speedy kleenex furry ball.

Yesterday, on the way out to running the dogs before work, I stopped off at at a property on Kliewer Lane. It's a paved country road off of Green Valley, right by my barn and at Dee's agility field. It is 12 acres with a "mobile home that needs some work". The property is awesome-all wood, crossed fence farmland with a huge arena now filled with cattle, grape orchard, olive tree orchard, fruit tree orchard and a pond. And actually, 2 mobile homes. One is like a home. One is like maybe filled with cats? And a burned up shed. I would live there in a second though. There's a big eucalyptus grove, and across the street is a giant strawberry farm for pesticide enjoyment. Although the methyl bromide is a gas and supposedly it always stays under the tarps. It could be a yarnpire except only legally 2 houses-1 new house, 1 1200sf unit and could probably get away with one of the mobile homes. So who gets the big house, the small house and who gets the mobile home? Also it is well outside of Gary's commuter zone. But so close to my barn!

I have weird street names issues, I still am not sure if we were actually really supposed to live here because of ths steet name. Walk. Not bad, but not good. Kliewer though. Like sewer but for klingons? Kind of like saying cleaver but you cannot speak because your mouth is gagged? It isn't a good name. So bad things could happen there. With all due respect. If that happens to be your name.

The field I run the dogs at is just a crow's fly stone's throw behind the eucalyptus grove from the 12 acres. It was hot even in the morning, but the dogs were good. I continued my science experiment of what makes OtterPop run fast. I had a little furry ball with me and no frisbee. And sure enough. If I played with her and got her all tugging and riled up, then put the ball down and ran with her, she cantered. Nicely. Not super slow but not fast. If I took that little furry ball with me, and carried it while she ran, nothing else different, she flew. Like a demon possessed by the need for speed. I am thinking I teach her a piece of kleenex is a fun toy and I could run with that in my pocket? Seems like cheating though. No treats, toys or training tools allowed in the ring. When is kleenex just a kleenex and when is it a tool?

Ruby doens't care. You show her a treat, tell her that's for after she goes fast, she is fast. Ruby lives for treats. She'll run for anyone that shows her a little piece of cheese. Unless she's sore. She has been pretty good, but at the end of our session, my legs were tired and she started knocking a few bars. Since both of our birthdays are coming up in a month, I chalk it up to we are both becoming sore and decrepit. I have lots of pain killers now though.

Not always what you thought they might be.

How could I not like my job?

There were other near ranches before we moved out here. We almost moved to a different ranch last December. There were some weird issues we just couldn't make come out, and we decided it just wasn't right. And didn't move. Which I just found out was a good thing, as one of the owners is off to jail. He is an ex cop who became a horse shoer because he was fired for accepting bribes and helping out the Korean Sex Slave industry of Sunnyvale! They had mysteriously bought that very expensive ranch the year before (likely with the bribery cash!) and to make a long story short, he is off to jail. Very happy we didn't move there.

What is super creepy is that he was a super nice guy that I truly liked and trusted.

Last night, we went to a party for a reunion of what I was led to believe would be genuine hippies from the '70's. They all lived in a house on Portola when they were young and free lovin' and had beards and flowy clothes. Now they are all in their 50's and have jobs like Commercial Roofer, Accountant, Contractor, Fourth Grade Teacher, Sushi Chef. Their kids were all there that were naked in the old photos, and were nice and cool young people in college, but with unfortunate hippie names. The ex-hippie's house we were at was this stunning, 2 story, expensive finish, exquisite taste craftsman style showpiece (it was the house of the contractor ex-hippy). They all came in very nice cars.

One of the ladies had very fancy jeans and heels and perfect makeup and I think, implants. Expensive blonde hair. In her old picture, she had long braids and a vw bug and a patchwork dress and was sitting in a meadow that was their backyard at Portola. She reminded me of a barn mom that might nickel and dime over costs of things.

But they were all super nice. Likely not trafficing in sex slaves. I had been kind of nervous out to go to the party, since I've never been to a party of genuine hippies. They talked about their dogs and favorite type of barbeque. Two of them will be coming over to check out the roof project that sends contractors screaming because they were so nice and not afraid and do roofing and contractoring.

There were a few that still looked like hippies, and didn't come in nice cars. The guy with no teeth and the Grateful Dead shirt and beard didn't make a lot of sense the whole time I talked to him. He also wanted a ride out to Watsonville at 10pm since somehow he had gotten to the party with no car. The sushi chef had a beret and a weird flowery shirt but very expensive shoes. Later Gary told me he was an heir to something. He tried to have a jam session with the Professional Musician, but he couldn't remember any songs and kept messing up.

Greg Derrett hand, Susan Garrett skort.

I drove up Mt. Madonna road, not to the cabin, since that would be more of a weekend day long journey, but to the property just up the road, $834,900 for the 5 acres and a modular. It is a fairly nice modular, and the property is awesome, up on the hill. But let's be realistic. That is a big amount of money for what is still just a very fancy mobile home on 5 acres of fields. And this one is way far out of Gary's driving range, although it is 3 minutes from my barn. Would be a great horse property with just adding a mere additional $250,000 in improvements to it like fencing, grading, arena and barn. What a deal.

I am fat and the dogs are hyper and untrained andgetting fat, too. Otterpop was already leaping around the house from furniture to furniture at top speed at 7am this morning. It's like having a little wind up bat leaping around as background noise while you drink coffee. And literally my pants do not fit. If it's not one thing with me, it's another. I am pretty sure that complaining is not positive thinking and will not get me into my size 6 pants and will not get the dogs winning their divisions and will not buy me a ranch but my back hurts! So back or no back we will run a little while on the beach this morning.

Another agility-less weekend. They are having a Greg Derrett seminar at Power Paws, but it was too pricey for me and likely will be too hot. While just attending that wouldn't get me winning without practicing, I would have likely learned better skills and more cool things to teach the agility students. But there are just too many bills piling up in other places, just the audit fee was $75.

Greg Derrett is the British god of front crossing agility. He makes videos with his perfect border collies and marriend a beautiful American agility competitor who is also named Laura. Bringing up the outside hand/shoulder as a mini RFP to indicate taking the inside, not outside obstacle, is known (at least by me) as Greg Derrett hand. I probably use closest to his handling style than anything else because he is very popular in the Bay Area and the teachers around here all subscribe to him, as well as Susan Garrett, who is Canadian and not related but also a big huge deal and they are good friends, Derrett and Garret.

I did take a Susan Garrett seminar and I actually learned a lot, more about general training of dogs than anything exactly agility related. I also learned I am a very different type of person than her and am very ok with that. I also learned if I had skinnier legs I want to wear a little tennis outfit for agility. I also always wanted Ruby to place higher than her dog, DeCaff in the 16" and we never did, and now Ruby is a 12" dog and we won't have a chance again til DeCaff moves down to 12" someday if she gets old and decrepid like Ruby did. I think I even wrote that down as a goal at one point. Kick DeCaff's ass in Grand Prix.