I See Absolutely No Reason To Tempt Fate Before I Have Even Received My First Retirement Check

A Hillbilly Mom ain't safe on a road full of squatters.

Yesterday, on my way back from picking up my magical elixir at the gas station chicken store, I planned to stop and get the mail. I do it all the time if The Pony isn't with me. I put on T-Hoe's signal, pull over to the edge of the road by Mailbox Row, and get out to reach my arm elbow-deep inside EmBee. I had just put on my signal when I saw it.

A SMALL PICKUP TRUCK PARKED JUST PAST THE FIRST NO-TRESPASSING SIGN, UNDER THE NEXT NO-TRESPASSING SIGN.

"Well," you might wonder, "what was so scary and dramatic to elicit all capitals about a small pickup truck parked on your gravel road?"

THERE WAS A BIG BOXER DOG IN THE BACK!

It was a really big boxer dog! He stood there, looking over the side, with nary a leash or tie-down upon his muscular body. Two dudes were standing beside the truck, talking, paying no attention to that canine behemoth. I don't care how sweet boxer dog owners declare their boxer dogs are.

MRS. HILLBILLY MOM IS NOT GETTING OUT OF HER T-HOE WITHIN SIGHT RANGE OF A REALLY BIG BOXER DOG.

No sirree, Bob! I know I cannot outrun a really big boxer dog. That boxer dog cannot read a no-trespassing sign, and even if he could, he would have no fear of prosecution at a later date. A really big boxer dog has really sharper teeth than Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.

I went on home. If I had a tail, it would have been tucked between my legs. That really big boxer dog followed me with his eyes. I was careful not to lock my gaze into his.

A Hillbilly Mom ain't safe on a road full of squatters.