Hats on to the Dacha!

Marsh and I went up to Orcas for just the day today--he will have to be exhausted tomorrow because he did all the driving, and he came and went from Maple Valley--let alone the work--and we finished the roof on the cottage and cleared almost all of the slowly deteriorating contractor bags off our land.  We left the one way to the north in the copse, because it was after 3:30 when we finally got to the trash stage, and the transfer station was only open until 4pm.

I tried to get the dogs to stay in the dacha while we threw out 5 years' worth of garbage and noxious weeds (which was no more than 10 bags, in actuality, and an old, ant-infested sleeping pad), but Spackle absolutely would not come.  He went and hid under the picnic table and instead of obeying me, proceeded to shake.  I quickly gave up and loaded dogs into truck, and off we went.
The facility is actually very close, and we were done and back on the land before 4.  The dogs got back out of the truck and I took myself off to the outhouse where I met Spackle, who was lying in the shade next to the rain barrell and the empty water bowl.

Oops.

The poor dog--both poor dogs--were DYING of thirst.  OF COURSE Spackle wouldn't have wanted to be left in the dacha--if all the people went away, he was going to shrivel down to a really, really hairy raisin.  The thought of that had, naturally, scared the bejeezus out of him.

Dogs were duly watered, and treats were later served out inside the dread building itself.  Spackle did come in for his treat (ha ha--his concealed a pill), but bee-lined it back out of there before any doors could be closed on him.

Both dogs ultimately seemed to enjoy their days, and Marsh and I enjoyed ours.  On the drive home, Spackle curled up into an aging oval so that Hoover could lie in his much more flexible tight circle and peace reigned.

Pictures of the latest stage are posted.