Necessity Is The Hillbilly Mom Of Invention

Without any prompting, Farmer H brought up the topic of the Devil Dog this weekend.

"That thing came charging at me while I was on the mower. I'll not have a dog run up on my property like it's going to attack me. I'm going to tell Neighbor next time I see him that if that dog comes charging at me again, I'm going to shoot it."

"Well...I don't think I'd do that. You can't just tell a guy you're going to shoot his dog.You'll get locked up."

"Yeah. Maybe I won't say it. But I won't have it coming at me like that."

"Maybe get the paintball gun loaded. That should sting. And it'll leave a mark, and he'll know what's going on."

Uh huh. So Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was the pacifist, discouraging Farmer H from blasting that Devil Dog to not-heaven.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Today The Pony and I came home around 5:00. We made it down the gravel road past the Devil Dog's driveway. I pulled T-Hoe into our driveway, and stopped to let The Pony out to grab the big green trash dumpster. As he took off down the 1/8th mile driveway pulling that dumpster like a rickshaw, I put T-Hoe back into DRIVE to follow.

HERE CAME THE DEVIL DOG! ALL SNARLY AND CHARGE-Y!

It was barking its fool head off and running alongside T-Hoe down our very own driveway! What if it took a chunk out of The Pony, two days before prom? Juno jumped off the front porch and ran out to save us, barking with menace. Ann followed slowly behind. I put my window down and yelled, "GET OUT OF HERE!" Because, you know, dogs understand English.

I've had enough. That Devil Dog grows bolder by the day. My water bottle wasn't loaded. I need a can of something that shoots 20 feet, like wasp killer, but isn't toxic to dogs. Something that is, perhaps, stinky and burny, but not deadly.

Now I'm off to invent just such an item to sell on the counter of my proposed handbasket factory.