This morning I was puttering around in the kitchen, purposefully not washing dishes, frying some bacon to use later in Farmer H's snacks for the Super Bowl. The Pony wanted some bacon for breakfast, since apparently on weekends he cannot find his way to the pantry to reach into a box of Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies to find sustenance.
As I fried, I heard a birdsong. I thought it was a birdsong. But then again, it might have been one of Farmer H's fowl talkin' turkey. The have been ranging around out back lately. So when The Pony came to the kitchen for his breakfast that had been neither heated in the oven nor warmed in the microwave, I said, "Hear that?"
"Uh huh."
"Is that Dad's turkey? I know he makes that gobbling sound, but he also makes that clicking noise. You and Dad talk to him all the time. Is this one of his noises?"
"Don't think so. It's probably that bird sitting right there on the rail."
I turned (a bit too quickly with my sore neck) and saw a flutter of wings as the serenader took off.
"It was blue, sitting right there on the rail looking in the window. I can't believe you didn't know that's what was singing. Not the turkey!"
Okay. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom will never be able to star in commercials as Captain Obvious. Perhaps she could start her own ad campaign as Captain Oblivious.
3 comments:
You were too occupied with the frying of the bacon. So, the mother is expected to bring home the bacon, cook it up and attend to all the warbling that goes on outside?
Is a mother's work EVER done?
It would appear that the Pony is getting a little smug of late. He might be frying his own bacon if he keeps this up.
Sioux,
You ain't a-woofin'! I'm shocked, SHOCKED, that nobody asked me to bring that rail bird into the Mansion, fry it up in the pan, and make fowl bacon out of it.
*****
Kathy,
He's feeling his oats a bit more every day. No way would I allow The Pony to fry his own bacon! Even though we have a fire tag, I do not make a habit of tempting fate.
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