Yesterday I came out of the garage with my purse on my arm, my 44 oz Diet Coke in hand. I'd already exited the garage once, to pet the dogs on the side porch, and give them their treat of cat kibble. I went back for my magical elixir, as I always do, with it in my right hand as I crossed the portal. I pushed the door closed behind me, with my left hand. As I always do.
I nearly jumped out of my saggy, age-spotted, bone-dry, old-lady skin. What in the Not-Heaven? My attention had been on the dogs. They were frolicking this time, rather than my Sweet, Sweet Juno creeping in trying to steal the last of Jack's cat kibble. They were over by the steps. Nowhere near the CLANK. I whirled around, expecting that perhaps part of the roof had fallen off.
It was a spade.
I have no idea where that spade came from! I've never seen it before. I pretty much have a mental catalog of the junky items perched around the side porch. NO IDEA. It was not on the shelf next to the roaster pan of cat kibble. I had just treated the dogs from it. I've never seen it laying on that cooler below.
It was as if spades were raining from the sky!
What kind of plague hath Farmer H wrought?