Farmer H is from the Bizarro World. He hears my commands, and does the opposite.
Just last evening, I told him to loosen Juno's collar. I have told him this on a regular basis for at least a month. And still, my sweet, sweet Juno cavorts around the acreage with a red collar of come-a-long material, woven nylon, I believe it's called, constricting her Adam's apple. If female dogs have Adam's apples.
So Farmer H comes over to the side porch, site of many a love-fest between Juno and me, where recently she has been receiving special treats of cat kibble. Juno was having none of Farmer H's commands to "Come over here, you stupid dog, so I can help you." He dragged her over to his woven metal porch chair, from which he holds forth on BBQ days with Gassy G. My sweet, sweet Juno crouched down, her feathered tail wagging nervously, the whites of her eyes showing as she implored me: "MAKE IT STOP!" Juno is not one to mince silent words. Nor is she a daddy's girl. It did not help matters that each attempt of Farmer H to loosen her collar resulted in a tightening of the collar.
Never have I seen a man who makes a living maintaining machines so clumsy in the mechanics of a woven nylon dog collar. Farmer H could not figure out the latch. The buckle. The hasp. The thingy that holds the collar closed. Nor the other thingy that loosens the neck noose so the pooch can grow without choking. After much stress to Juno and to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, and a rare visit from The Pony to see what was taking us so long on the porch...Farmer H called for his surgical implements: Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's kitchen shears. He snipped that collar off of my sweet, sweet Juno and declared, "I'll buy her another collar."
Juno bounded the two feet across the porch on her four prancing dog feet. She snuffed up under my chin. She turned her head toward the roasting pan of cat kibble up on the shelf against the outer garage wall. "Turn your head," I told Farmer H. There's no need for you to see this." I grabbed a tiny handful of cat kibble and dropped it on the porch. A miniscule portion, really. Not enough to keep a bird alive. Okay, not enough to keep a big fat turkey alive.
"Huh. She gets enough food eating the hens' eggs all day."
No. She doesn't. She's just filling out. Becoming a young adult. Her figure is changing.