The Adventures of Geo Beane: Day 15 of Renovations

Today Humphrey did something unconscionable.

First, he took us on a whirlwind tour of the house in progress. It was looking Palatial-- a veritable Versailles by doghouse or any common standards.

Holding me tight under his armpit, he told me, "No," this; and "No," that; and "Dangerous," was the word used to describe everything "you see here... Beanie."

"Geo. This house right now is a Giant Boobie Trap. Got it? No safe spaces. Nails. Spikes. Dust. Fiber Particles. Wet Paint. Varnish. Do you Hear Me??"

And then, he plopped me into a plastic trash bag, with three openings (for forearms, and head).

"A smock, Beanieboo."

wrrugh?

And he tied me to the front stoop baluster. Tied Me to the Front Stoop!

"Mrs. B. is on a trip to DC to protest Prime Minister Narenda Modi's visit to Washington-- So."

So, this? Humphrey waved his hand gesturing at the rug that was partially curling and pulling up off the front steps.

Well, except for the indignity of the unnecessary leash, which I understand is for the limitations of Humphrey's humanoid peace of mind, I liked the task before me.

"The carpeting has to go, Geo. It's a safety hazard and an eye sore." And off he disappeared into the Danger Zone inside, waving to me with his index finger from the rectangular window.

So I had at it, with tooth and claw. "Grrrh... Rrwahh!!" Till I had shred as much as one small Pomeranian can.

My Humphrey was delighted with these efforts.

"Well done, Beans!! Look at you, so industrious and clever a girl. I could hardly budge that rugging myself. You've made short work of it."

In truth, I had fun. I imagined the gray fur as an imaginary sparring partner, as stand in for Gunther. I tackled my Fears, and I won.

"I wish I could take you back in for a looksee, Geo B, but we'll have to wait," said Humphrey hauling several 3' long rolls of cut old carpet into the car, and then dusting off the muscles of his upper arms.

"We struck gold again!" he said shutting the trunk and opening up the side door. He ducked back into the kitchen. It took a moment, and presumably he returned from upstairs, with two large garbage bags packed full of shredded under carpet (the stuff beneath the wall-to-wall carpet that is made of many fragments of fabric and fiber compresses in to half inch padding).

"The floor in the bedrooms is ochre colored!! I won't need to stain it at all. With the coats of varnish, it will look as golden as the downstairs floors."

"Aarf!! arff!!" I cheered.

"Whatever was originally down before the carpet left residual traces of yellow foam. Potentially hazardous as is, Beans, for the respiratory but once I seal it in, it will be a beautiful relic of history. The place is starting to look like a N.Y. C. loft.

With that he disappeared and promptly reappeared with two more big bags of the torn fibers, and stuffed them into the back seat of the SUV. My gray rug scraps he clumped into his hands and took directly to our outdoor trash bin. Then he ran in again and reemerged with thin but long spikey looking stick weapons. Nails sticking out from both sides.

"Furring strips, Geo. For holding the carpet at the edge of the walls."

Finally, he released my leash and pulled the smocking off me. I wanted to lick his hands in gratitude, but he held me off---

"Beans, NO-- dust particles. Who knows what kind of lead and asbestos in a house 123 years old. "

We went home to brush and shower.