When it comes to timing, Farmer H is a virtual United States Naval Observatory Master Clock. He is very precise in his movements and communications. All without conscious effort on his part.
A few days ago, I tried to call Farmer H to ask if my dogs were okay. They were conspicuously absent from the porch area when I left for town, and also when I came home. Those mutts love their cat kibble. It's not like them to miss a treat. Besides, Copper Jack was there. And he's not even our dog. With Farmer H's penchant for locking my Sweet, Sweet Juno in the BARn, and (formerly Puppy) Jack in the garage...I felt it necessary to jog his memory as to their whereabouts.
Of course my call was not answered. However...
As I was gingerly one-shoed jolting my sore ankle down the 13 stairs to my dark basement lair, holding onto the stair rails as far as I could, a tray of lunch pinwheels in my free hand, a double Devil's Playground bag filled with two bubba cups full of ice bookending a full 44 oz Diet Coke draped along the forearm...my cell phone started ringing in my shirt pocket.
Well. That is just the most inopportune time ever to call Mrs. HM. No way could I let go of the rail, nor set down my cargo, just to answer a call I was sure was from Farmer H. I know his talent for calling at the worst time ever.
Before I was even to the 13th step, the house phone started ringing. I had to put on my other shoe and shuffle off to the lair and lay my burden down in order to answer before it went to the answering machine. Of course it was Farmer H, returning my call. He'd been on the tractor, unable to hear the phone, but somehow able to know that I called and call me back the instant I picked up my lunch tray. And the disloyal flea-bags had been with him all day.
Saturday, as I was leaving Orb K, I observed Farmer H walking across the parking lot in front of T-Hoe, having just put Orb K gas in his Trailblazer. I've told him not to buy gas there, due to his auction buddy getting water in his tank (and Orb K not following through on their promise to pay for the repairs of his vehicle and teens of others). Yet there he was, crossing from the pumps into the store.
When I was almost to the mailboxes, I called Farmer H. To tell him there was a dead deer in the ditch near there. You can never be too careful when you live in a deer crossing area. Farmer H said he'd look out, and that he was on his way. Which meant he couldn't be more than 5 minutes behind me, as it's a 10-minute trip to town, and I wasn't quite home.
I took my time tooling up the gravel road. Finished listening to a song once I parked in the garage. Got out to give the dogs their cat kibble. Petted them. I was sure Farmer H should be there any instant to help me carry in three bags of groceries from Save A Lot. But of course he was not.
Farmer H showed up when I was taking items out of the first bag, stashing them in FRIG II's freezer. Because he has impeccable timing like that. Always appearing RIGHT AFTER the work has been done.
You could set your watch by him.