This morning I went out on the porch to pet Puppy Jack and my sweet, sweet Juno. They love to frolic and ignore me, after the initial lovefest. That's okay. I find them entertaining. They have found a way to play-fight, even with their tremendous size difference.
Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was in no hurry to get up this morning. Farmer H and The Pony are off in Oklahoma again. Yes. I know we just returned four days before their most recent departure. But that's how the Universe works sometimes. Last week for The Pony's orientations camp, the one he chose out of five options...and this week for his enrollment appointment. Again, a date which he chose, planned around Farmer H's overseas excursions.
I went out around 9:30, and sat on the front porch pew enjoying canine company. Several vehicles passed by on the gravel road. My mutts were busy ignoring me. The chickens were crowing all ear-splittingly right beside the porch. And then both dogs sat up from wrestling, and perked up their ears. Juno's feathery-tipped black floppy pair, and Jack's barely flipped brown pointy pair that I fear are destined to poke out like his heeler ancestors.
The dogs sat at the top step, and looked down the gravel road left, the direction traffic entering the compound comes from. "WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!" said Juno. "ARF! ARF! ARF!" squeaked Puppy Jack. And barreling up the driveway came the FedEx man in his white truck. Both dogs ran out to investigate.
And there I sat, in all my glory, in medium-blue pajama pants with a large half-moon, small sunburst pattern, and my yellow-and-white striped cotton oxford shirt. With red Crocs on my bare feet. Hair coiffed by Posturepedic.
The delivery guy was kind of nerdy, with off-brand tennis shoes, kind of a millennial-looking dude, who hauled a giant box of The Pony's recently-ordered dorm bedding up the uneven brick sidewalk.
"Just put it here." I had walked past the steps to meet him. No time to run inside and pretend I wasn't home. The dogs ran back up on the porch, Juno's fur as unkempt as my hair, it being time for a brushing to rid her of her winter undercoat. "These dogs are mouthy, but they don't bite."
"Oh, I know. I've been here before. Wait! That's a new one."
"Yes. He's kind of a heeler/dachshund accident. But we took him in."
"You used to have two big ones. One let me pet it, and the other would run away."
"Yes. That one disappeared the day after our new roof got put on. Never even found the body. She was skittish."
"Come here! Let me pet you!" He tried to entice Jack (I HOPE!), who was having none of it. He's a one-woman dog. Except for The Pony. And sometimes Farmer H, depending on whether it looks like there may be some food involved.
I'm hoping the FedEx dude did not notice my lack of proper foundation garments. He seems to have a good memory. I would rather he forget my mammaries.