Peg Kehret Blog

I had a contest on Facebook where I asked people to write the opening line or two for a story. It had to be 25 words or less. I chose one winner, who received an autographed book. Several entries were excellent, and I had a hard time selecting only one.

Here’s the winning entry, from Christina: “I had heard the terrible stories and seen the awful photographs. But my journey into Feline cave revealed more than I was prepared to handle.”

Two entries were eliminated because they exceeded the 25 word limit. One person was disqualified for entering twice. (The rules clearly stated one entry per person.) One otherwise excellent entry got eliminated because the author put in an unnecessary “like.” Another potential winner misspelled irrelevant. Several were cut due to punctuation errors.

However, even after I eliminated all of those, there were many entries in addition to the one I chose that could easily have won. It’s clear that the readers who sign up on my Facebook fan page are also writers. I hope they had as much fun creating their opening lines as I had reading them.

The road in front of my house is being repaved today, so I can’t leave my driveway from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. This has me imagining many what-if situations.

What if I break a leg and the aid car has to park half a mile away? What if the deer walk across the road before it’s set, and get stuck? What if a friend calls in distress, asking for help?  What if a small plane makes a crash-landing in my back yard?  What if there is a death in the family and I must get to the airport? What if Mt. Rainier erupts and I have to evacuate? What if one of my animals has a medical problem and needs to go to the vet?

That last one isn’t so far-fetched. I have already made two trips to the 24-hour emergency veterinary clinic in Sumner this week. On Sat. Anne was here when her dog, Otter, began yipping in pain every so often for no apparent reason. Otter was diagnosed with a pulled muscle in her neck. Pain pills and muscle relaxants solved the problem.

The very next day, I had to take Lucy to the same clinic. We had been outside when she began wheezing and hacking as if she had eaten grass (or ?) and had it stuck in her throat. I had dinner guests but it’s hard to serve a meal and carry on a conversation when a dog is gagging and choking every few minutes so my friends went home and off I went to the emergency vet. These things always seem to happen at a time when my regular veterinary clinic, which is much closer, isn’t open.  Lucy’s being treated with an anti-inflammatory medication and with a liquid that coats and soothes her throat. My regular vet saw her on Monday, and she will be fine.

Two veterinary emergencies in two days were hard on my nerves. I’m glad I was able to get out of my driveway over the weekend.

Several times recently I’ve had someone come up to me and ask if I am Peg Kehret. I don’t do a lot of public appearances any more, so I’m always astonished when someone I don’t know recognizes me. It happened twice this week.

Today I was in a grocery story when a young woman and her mother stopped me. They had heard me talk ten years ago, when Small Steps was the “all city reads” book in Enumclaw WA. I live near Enumclaw, did an evening presentation at the high school, and these women had attended. The younger one said she had been in middle school then. She bought some of my books that night, I signed them, and she still has them. She graduated from college this month as a veterinary technician. She apologized for bothering me, and asked if I would have my picture taken with her, which I did.

I was also stopped in the lobby of Benaroya Hall in Seattle last Sunday when I attended the Bill Cosby show. That time I was recognized by a librarian who was most gracious and offered condolences because she’d read about Carl’s death. She told me how much her son had enjoyed my books when he was growing up, and said her young library patrons still do. She, too, apologized for bothering me.

I assured these lovely women that it was no bother. I enjoyed chatting briefly with them, and I feel honored that they recognized me and have such good feelings about my books.

The last time I checked on the peacock nest, I found a pile of feathers and a few broken egg shells. Stunned, I stared at the empty space and imagined what might have happened. As soon as I called Chris, the peacock’s owner, she went out and did a head count on her birds.  Then she came over, and the first thing she said was, “The peahen is okay. She flew over the fence and she’s home, safe, just missing some feathers.”

After examing the site, Chris had no doubt that the culprit was a raccoon. A coyote, she said, would have killed the bird and left the eggs, but a raccoon always goes for the eggs. While she has had an occasional coyote hanging around her duck pen, I’ve never seen a coyote on my property, although I hear them yipping in the valley behind me. Raccoons are frequent visitors here, despite my efforts to discourage them by covering the bird feeders and taking in Mr. Stray’s cat food at night.

I am disappointed not to get to watch newly hatched baby peacocks. Even more, I feel sorry for the bird who sat so faithfully on her eggs, only to lose them all. I hope she isn’t too traumatized by her ordeal.

The twin fawns are thriving, and make me laugh every morning as they cavort in the field.

Woody, the feral cat, comes out of hiding part of the time now and either looks out the window, or sits on a cat “tree” that has a bed on top.  He returns to the top of the cupboard to watch me clean his box, sweep the floor, and put out food. Progress is slow, but it’s progress. Sometimes I sit and read in his room, just so he gets used to my presence. I’m doing lots of research for a possible new book.

 The peacock is still sitting on her eggs. We’ve had cold weather and lots of rain, but she is faithful. I go out every evening to check on her, and she’s always on her nest.

My son, Bob, stayed with me for five days while he took a class. It was nice to have some time with him.

Today I signed books at the Washington State Home School convention. I was in the Children’s Bookshop exhibit. I always enjoy chatting with readers and helping them decide which book to read.

I have twin fawns. They’ve been here with their mother every morning for about a week. They’re frisky, jumping all around while the doe grazes.

Tomorrow is a party to celebrate Eric’s high school graduation. On Sunday, I’m going to see Bill Cosby and then to dinner afterward. A busy weekend. Monday it will be back to my usual writing schedule.

My neighbor, Chris, has peacocks. The correct term is peafowl; the males are peacocks and the females are peahens. However, the birds are commonly called peacocks, regardless of their gender, and that seems most natural to me.

A week or so ago, one of the peacocks started coming over the fence onto my property. I saw her several times, walking around, pecking in the tall grass, so I mentioned to Chris that one of her girls has been visiting. Chris immediately suspected that the peacock had been checking out a good spot to make a nest, so she walked into that area to investigate and, sure enough, the bird is nesting at the base of a crooked pine tree, surrounded by tall grass. At first glance, I thought it was a large rock at the bottom of the tree. Chris lifted up the bird and found four eggs.

I’m keeping Lucy away from that area and will stay far enough back myself so that I don’t disturb her. Chris says it takes 28 days for the eggs to hatch, and we think she’s been on them for 4-5 days so far. I hope that in about three weeks, I will see some baby peacocks.

A few days ago, I posted about Eric not being included in his senior yearbook. Here’s an update: the yearbook advisor felt so terrible about the mix-up that he had Eric’s photo and information printed, then copied on to sticky paper and given to every senior, to stick into each yearbook. This was no small task. The school print shop couldn’t handle it, so the teacher went to a commercial print shop to have it done. I know how tired teachers are by the end of the school year, yet this man made a huge extra effort to correct a mistake. Sometimes the most important lessons are taught outside the classroom.

Woody spends most of the day on top of a high cupboard, watching warily whenever I enter the room. He comes down to eat and use the litter box, but never when I am out there. When I talk softly to him, he squints his eyes part-way shut, as if to say, She isn’t really here.  A few times at dusk or early morning, I’ve seen him looking out the window toward the bird feeder. I think he may have seen Mr. Stray one night. I hope so.

I will be patient and hope he will eventually relax enough to be put in a carrier and taken to the vet. Once he’s tested for disease, vaccinated, and neutered, he might make a good barn cat or, if I’m lucky, I’ll find a sanctuary whose feral colony has space for him.

At this point, I’m not hopeful that he’ll become tame enough to be adopted as a house pet but I will try my best. Even though he is anxious now, he’s better off than he was out in the rain with no food.

My grandson, Eric, will graduate from high school on Friday. Today was his last day of class. There’s a bar-b-cue for the seniors tonight and they’re all camping out overnight at the school so that they have ample time to sign each other’s yearbook. Every high school student looks forward to the senior yearbook; all these years later, I can still remember how excited I was to get mine. Eric got his today - and discovered that he is not in it! No senior photo. Not even his name. There’s a “baby ad” that Anne and Kevin purchased, but that’s all.

The school staff was as distressed as we are by this. They even dug back and found the yearbook page proofs, and there’s Eric’s photo and write-up, on the page where they’re supposed to be, but somehow in the final version he got left out. No one knows how it happened.

I’m writing this not to complain about the omission, although my heart ached when I heard about it, but to brag about my grandson. It’s easy to be cheerful when everything goes right; it’s lots harder when things go wrong. Some kids would have cried and sulked and refused to participate in the yearbook-signing event.

Eric is, of course, terribly disappointed, but he’s still going to the bar-b-cue and the camp-out. Instead of writing his messages to his friends and signing his name next to his senior photo, he’s doing it on the page with the baby ad. He is not letting this mix-up, which he can’t do anything about, spoil his last day of high school.

I was already proud of Eric - for graduating and for many other reasons - but I’m especially proud of him today.

Congratulations, Eric!