It’s Not Just the Pros at Baltusrol Dealing with Hazards!

Dawg has this thing where she loves to play hide and seek with her favorite bones or tug toys. The routine is I pick up one of the bully sticks and her ears perk. I put the stick behind my back then pretend to throw it, she looks and waits and then I do throw it and she takes it and runs around in circles in the TV room, me chasing her. It’s her favorite pastime.

Only problem is not all bully sticks are alike to her and she’s very particular about which ones she plays with, which ones she buries outside, and which ones she leaves strewn.

I’d like to enter into evidence Exhibits A, B, C, and D.





I swear Dawg leaves them in these spots just for ME to step on, barefoot, carrying a drink or a cup of coffee. I am sure I saw her smile when I got one now, with a glass of red wine in my hand. You’d think I’d know these spots after all these years and I think I do, until I step on another one.

It’s like how that one stone from the driveway that gets into the kitchen from someone’s shoe manages to be in the exact path of my bare foot. One stone. A sea of floor. My foot finds it. Always.

Anyway, the golf is getting good and it looks like they will be able to finish  without another deluge of rain, the same storm that ravaged historic Ellicott City, Maryland. The photos are shocking.  Wow.

Bonus Sunday Quiz: How did Baltusrol get its name? If you don’t know and have to cheat……here.


9 thoughts on “It’s Not Just the Pros at Baltusrol Dealing with Hazards!

  1. Here I thought I was the only person to step on the one stone. I get the one pit in a bowl of pitted olives, the one clam with sand, the one fortune cookie without a fortune. Nice to have company in the Why Me world.

    I hadn’t heard a thing about the flooding in MD but it beats hearing any more about Trump and Clinton.

    1. I’m in full ignore the political news mode, much to my mother’s regret. She wanted to talk about the guests on Meet the Press. I didn’t see it. It’s really ugly now.

  2. I know the source of the name- a murder victim back in the early 1800’s. Baltus Roll or something similar. He has a mountain named after him, I think.
    do I win a prize?

    1. Ding ding. We have a winner. Impressive you knew that. Prize? My losing PB tickets is all I can offer up. Some lucky son of a gun in NH is saying holy shit over and over.

  3. Haha I remember those Chewies. Even worse is stepping on a wet one😨 Still better than a cat hairball, though!

  4. I watched golf on tv since I was a kid. Went to the US Open and Ryder Cup when they were held in Brookline.
    I had losing tickets for last night too. The numbers looked like kid’s ages and the bonus number was a 5.

    1. I grew up in a golfing family and played golf too, even played a couple of tournaments with my high school boyfriend as my caddie. Weekend dinners was who three putted and who got out of the trap. Both my parents have had a hole in one. I have not. The junior championship was at Wilmington CC in the mid 1960s where we belong and we were a host family to several players, one of whom went on to play in the PGA with moderate success. Paul Purtzer. His brother Tom had more success and together they now run a golf academy in Arizona. Great kids.
      I didn’t linger long enough over the winning PB numbers to get a sense of what they were. 😦

  5. I tried and tried to become somewhat competent at golf but I’m afraid the best thing I can do on the golf course is walk it. Wow, each parent with a hole in one. I’m impressed. If I make par on a hole these days I feel I deserve a claret jug.
    Still waiting for a good downpour here. Rain runs out of steam before it hits my coast. Lawns look like mown hay. On Monday my little town will begin watering restrictions.
    Wishing you the best with the orthopedist tomorrow. Ice, ice and more ice. On your shoulder and in a glass of bourbon if it’s possible to skip pain medication.

  6. Good luck this morning.

    We’re just back from Cape Cod, a week of rain, high humidity, and lots of family crammed into a tiny house. We’re alive to tell the tale.

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