The Place To Be (Is As Close To Mrs. HM As Possible)

Some people have a knack. An innate sense that may or may not be helpful. Mine is judging people. Yes. I said it. JUDGING! Not to look down my nose from the rarefied air, perched atop my high horse, to make myself feel superior to people. But to determine whether a person is trustworthy, or a sneaky backstabber. Sometimes I can just tell. I suppose all my years of teaching honed my skills in people-reading, proving my initial judgment.

Anyhoo... Farmer H has more than one such knack. We all know that he is especially gifted at missing the grocery-unloading by mere minutes. And at calling me at the worst possible time, almost as if he could see through the phone. But there's another knack. BEING WHERE I WANT TO BE! Sometimes I can barely move, with Farmer H up under my armpit.

Like Monday, when I was ready to leave for town. I was standing behind the short couch, stepping into my shoes, when I heard the kitchen door open. In came Farmer H, to the living room.

"Oh. Are you going to town now?"

"Yep. Just putting on my shoes, and I'm out."

"Okay."

Farmer H turned and walked back through the kitchen. That was odd. Why had he come to the living room? He usually plops down in his recliner, or goes on past me to the bathroom. He had just come in, but now was going out. No mention of why.

I put my ID and debit card in my shirt pocket, put my glasses case in my purse, picked up the scrap of stale bread I give the dogs as I leave, and opened the kitchen door.

"JACK! JACK! You come back here!"

Of course Scarlett and Jack met me at the door, like they always do when they hear it open.

"Hey dogs. Just a minute. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"I'm TRYING to put flea medicine on them dogs!"

"Huh. Right when I'm leaving? You KNEW I was getting ready to go. They come to get their treat."

"I didn't know you give them a treat when you LEAVE! JACK! Get back here!"

"Give him a minute. This is where I give them bread. By the steps. There, Scarlett. Jack! Yours is under Dad's feet."

Jack has no qualms about walking under a metal mesh chair filled with Farmer H. He doesn't even have to hunker down. He ate his treat, then stood at the edge of the side porch, wagging his tail (and body) for me. He is slightly fond of Farmer H, but that little dog has hearts in his eyes for ME.

As I was petting Jack, Farmer H grabbed him by the back skin, and started trying to squeeze that liquid flea medicine between Jack's shoulders. Jack didn't mind at all. I was petting him. 

Scarlett had other ideas. She ADORES Farmer H. She took a leap at his lap. Which pretty much didn't exist, what with Farmer H bent over treating Jack's back.

"SCARLETT! Get down! Get out of here!"

Did that hurt Scarlett's feelings? Not at all. She oblivious to scolding! Kept trying to hop back up on Farmer H.

"Come here, Scarlett. Come on. That's a good girl."

I had to switch my petting to Scarlett. Who jerks her head around a lot, so I patted her neck and shoulder, even grabbing onto her shoulder skin to keep her away from Farmer H and Jack. Of course that's when I found out that Scarlett had already gotten her dose of flea medicine. It got on my hand. My town-going hand. That was going to be on the steering wheel.

I asked Farmer H why he ALWAYS HAD TO BE WHERE I AM! He was kind of snippy with his reply. As if I was making it up!

"I'm SORRY I don't do things by your schedule!"

"That's for sure! I've only been telling you for four weeks that these dogs were scratching, and needed their flea medicine. So you HAVE had four weeks to get it done. It didn't have to be done the exact moment I was heading to town, disrupting our routine. You KNEW I was leaving. You just asked me!"

Farmer H continued his blustering as I made an escape to the garage. Where I was rushed to back out before the dogs came around, and kept the door from closing by running under it as it went down.

At the end of the driveway, I got out my GermX and tried to get that flea medicine off my hand. Essentially washing my hand of Farmer H and his shenanigans.