The WIND!
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom hates the wind like Lou Grant hates spunk. I'd rather go out for my daily driveway walk at 12 degrees with no wind (last week) than today's 67 degrees with 40 mph gusts. I even wore my fetching new sock cap with the Carhartt logo to keep my hair from whipping my face like a harsh flogging administered to a ne'er-do-well convict with a cat-o-nine-tails at a colonial Australian penal colony. (Heh, heh. I said penal!)
Sweet, Sweet Juno stayed in her house, only coming out at the very end, on my last fifty steps, to partake of the evening snack that she knows follows the walk. Jack joined me from the beginning, all hyped up, jumping at me and rebounding with his stiffened front legs. Over and over. At least when Juno comes out, she keeps him occupied.
I'm glad I wasn't driving a semi. It was hard enough to keep my body on the driveway. I staggered like an inebriated New Year's Eve reveler with an inner ear infection. Traveled from one side of the driveway to the other like Farmer H sweaving to Oklahoma and back.
Which reminds me...I had planned not to walk at all today. I hate the wind THAT MUCH. In fact, I had done my town trip earlier in the day, and settled down in my dark basement lair with a Hardee's chicken bowl and 44 oz Diet Coke, to enjoy my afternoon. Free from the pressing daylight deadline of a walk. Free from the chained-to-the-stove dinner responsibility of feeding Farmer H. He had a meeting after work with a guy they are thinking about hiring for him to train to take his place due to this retirement thing.
BURRR BURRR!
That's the vibration of my cell phone screaming that I have an incoming text.
Huh. Farmer H wanted me to feed his animals because he'd be home late. Huh. The same animals I fed A LOT (meaning often, not excess food that could founder Barry the mini pony) while Farmer H has been on his world tours. And when he was getting home after dark for several weeks. Then he started telling me it was okay, he didn't mind feeding them in the dark. He has the dusk to dawn light. Huh. NOW he wanted me to feed them.
Of course I did. Because they're just dumb animals, not dumb Farmer H. They don't know why they're not being fed. So there I went, out in the gale force winds to give them sustenance. Hoping that a limb didn't come crashing down on my head and kill me...before I had a chance to give Farmer H a piece of my mind when he gets home!
Once I knew I had to leave the comfort of my calm dark basement lair and enter the atmospheric maelstrom, I figured I might as well walk.
Retirement sure is a lot of work when you have a husband.
5 comments:
Arnold's chopper. My chipper. One would take you away, to somewhere where Farmer H isn't. The other could eliminate a problem...
Poor Mrs. Hillbilly Mom!!
Sioux,
Be careful of leaving evidence. You don't want to be charged as an accomplice or accessory. Though if you were an accessory, I picture you as a Croc.
***
fishducky,
I KNOW! I'm so pitiful. So put-upon. Always Farmer H, and now Mother Nature as well.
Retired People Problems!
That wind was killer! Picked little Eddie right up and blew him around! He kept looking behind his little self to see if Toni Louise was trying to propel him to parts unknown. I do all the animal feeding and watering here.
Kathy,
It WAS! Poor little Eddie! I struggled to stay upright. I can imagine a tiny puppy being buffeted across the yard.
I'm guessing that HeWho doesn't have a turkey and two guineas and a few remaining chickens and a goat and a mini pony (YET) that depend on him. I don't mind feeding the dogs and cats, because their food is right here by the house. I don't even mind the others so much, as long as I know in the morning that it will be expected of me in the evening. AND as long as I get some appreciation!
That darn goat is all grown up now. He's very friendly. I reached over the fence (actually, he put his hooves up on the top of the fence, and his head sticks over now) to pet him, and he TRIED TO BITE ME! Not in a vicious way. But still, he tried to nip! That is bad manners, even for a goat. None of the others ever did that. We used to have 11 goats at one time. Thank the Gummi Mary, Farmer H traded some for the mini pony, sold a few, and the older ones passed away (one with Farmer H's incompetent help).
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