The Pony Cannot Change His Spots

As I mentioned yesterday, The Pony developed a significant rash overnight, after his 8 hours of delivering mail in the rain on Friday. My little warrior went to work, determined to complete his duties.

Okay. I lied yesterday about not subjecting you to pictures. They're coming! BE WARNED! First, you might enjoy this view of The Pony's lunch Friday, so as not to have a rash picture show up in the thumbnail... There will be 4 rashy pictures coming after that, in case you decide to abandon ship.

That's shrimp on a pizza! I would never try such a combination. The Pony likes shrimp. He's eaten shrimp all his life, mostly the fried variety. Never any problems. Anyhoo... the thing with food allergies is, if they don't kill you right away by closing up your throat, a skin rash associated with them usually fades away in six hours. So even though The Pony considered this as something different that day, that might have caused a rash, the timing was not convincing. 

Okay, here comes the photo evidence.

Friday, after a couple hours of work, here's what The Pony's arm looked like:

Not something I'd like to deal with during a full day of work. But The Pony gave it a try, and completed his route. By then, all the convenient care/urgent care facilities were closed. It was not such an emergency to demand an ER visit. The Pony talked to a friend, who suggested an over-the-counter drug like Benadryl, but a non-drowsy variety. So that's what The Pony got.

Sunday morning, The Pony sent a picture during a cold shower. NO! Not like that! Just an arm photo, heh, heh!

Still looked about the same, maybe a little less red. That's the inner arm, where the worst of the problem occurred. 

I think this might be the top part of the arm:

Not quite as bad, but maybe more bumps would erupt from the red area. You never know.

So... The Pony went to the convenient care Sunday morning. Had to wait a couple hours, seeing as how his life was not hanging in the balance, and other people might have had more pressing issues. The NP (I assume) said it could be anything, including a reaction from the wet synthetic clothing rubbing on The Pony's active arm for 8 hours.

The Pony left with a prescription for prednisone, and a steroidal cream, and a note for work in case it wasn't better Monday morning. He put the cream on as soon as he picked it up, and then took a pill with lunch.

About an hour and a half later, this is how his arm looked:

Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I believe it looks a tiny bit "better," in that some of the redness is fading. Hope it clears up pretty soon, because The Pony says it is painful when something touches it.

Poor Pitiful Pony Picks Up A Problem

Sweet Gummi Mary! As if it wasn't hardship enough for The Pony to spend 8 hours delivering mail Friday in a pouring rain at 63 degrees... he awoke with a problem on Saturday morning.

"I'm up. Mildly concerned now that I turned on the light to shower. Big rash on both arms and my thighs."

"Any new meds?"

"It's gotta be from working in the rain since it's only where clothes covered. A lot of inflamed itchy bumps full of clear stuff." 

[I'll spare you the photos!]

"Yeah. Some reaction to wet detergent or fabric softener left in your clothes. Hot water will make it worse, I bet."

"Or just from rubbing the wet fabric on my skin, since it's the inner parts of each arm, not the ones that would've had the wet weight keeping it tight on them. Just was shocking to go to scratch and see this much!"

"Was it your leather-like jacket?"

"Yes, on top, postal windbreaker under. Two layers helps keep things feeling drier."

"Hopefully it will clear up in a couple of days."

By 9:30, the picture showed a little more redness, and perhaps a few more spots. Still just on the inner arm, though.

"I had shrimp pizza for lunch yesterday, but that would've been faster, and not just my arms if I was allergic."

"I'm thinking just from the wet and something in your clothes. You probably got hot with two jackets in the rain."

"Makes sense. Torso doesn't move as much against wet fabric."

"Maybe go to urgent care after work if it gets worse?"

"I think they close at 2:00 on Saturday. It's spreading-ish, but just on arms so like just coming in as I'm moving."

"Yeah, getting hot will do it like in a shower."

"The entire right forearm feels feverish and has a red tinged patch without the raised bits yet, so expecting that to come in. Having ibuprofen to hopefully make it a bit less inflamed, and deal with the itchy pain a bit."

Now it's 2:14 Saturday as I'm typing. Hope The Pony is doing okay. If I only had my helicopter to drop some cool compresses to him...

The Pony Is Not A Mudder

It's Friday, and we're getting 2 inches of rain from the spiraled-around tail-end of that hurricane, I guess. Our weather is actually backwards, with rain coming out of the southeast. Poor Pony was a bit sad during our morning chat at 6:00 a.m.

"It's going to be ALL DAY. Until about 8:00 tonight. I'm NOT looking forward to it."

"Well, I guess all you can say is that it's better than 110 degree weather."

"Just barely."

"PLEASE be careful. Take it slower. I don't want you to slip again."

"Believe me, if I slip, I hope it's an actual broken ankle this time, with 10 weeks off, rather then having to go to work on a sprain!"

"Don't say that!!! Just take your time. Be extra careful. You DO get paid overtime if it takes longer. It's not like you're working for free."

"Still. It will be miserable."

I did my best to point out even the tiniest bright side to the situation. While in my head, I was actually considering SKIPPING MY SCRATCHERS today! We'll see. The temperature is supposed to stay in the low 60s all day. The rain I can handle. I'll dry out eventually. It's not like I have any vanity. I don't mind looking like a drowned lovely-lady-mulleted rat when I go in the Gas Station Chicken Store. The wind is most troublesome. My balance is not good. Hopefully I won't be blown over. 

Right now, at NOON:03, the rain is pretty regular, and the winds intermittent. I might give it a go in a few hours...

My heart is with The Pony. If my helicopter wasn't up on blocks, I would fly over him all day with a safety line attached, to lift him up if a slip occurs!

The Pinwheel Situation

I tried making my own pinwheels a few days ago, in an attempt to recreate the ones I get at the Country Mart deli.

I used a big flour tortilla. Spread a thin layer of cream cheese on it. Put four slices of wafered Honey Ham on it. Then two slices of provolone cheese. The ham and cheese only covered one half of the tortilla. I started on that side, rolling it up tightly. Then I cut that log into six sections, and set them on their ends in a container to refrigerate overnight.

The next evening, I eagerly took my pinwheels to the table, along with a ramekin of green olives. AND a mini bag of BBQ potato chips. That's what I like at the end, the peeled-off sections of plain tortilla and cream cheese, with the chips.

I proceeded to feast upon those pinwheels. Hmm... not quite the same. As I peeled off the outer layer of the tortilla to save for my chips, the cream cheese flaked away in places. Oh, well. I DO think my cream cheese was past the best-by date, and not the best.

The taste was not quite the same as my storebought pinwheels. These had an almost sour taste. Not the cream cheese, because I had licked the knife after spreading it, and it was fine. So it must have been the provolone cheese. The store version uses Colby Jack, that mottled yellow and white cheese.

Also, my tortilla seemed a little stiff. Not dried-out, but not moister than a normal tortilla, like the store version gets. Granted, the store version includes a bit of lettuce and tomato in the wrap, and mine did not.

Oh, and my mini bag of chips seemed kind of flat, and when I went to open the top, I saw that there was already an opening! Like it didn't get sealed, or had been squooshed and popped open during shipment.

Not a grand pinwheel banquet as I had anticipated. Back to the drawing board.

I bought some Colby Jack cheese. And new cream cheese. I prepared my pinwheels the same way, but I first put down a leaf of romaine lettuce on the cream cheese. Then the Colby Jack. Then the ham. No tomato, because I only had cherry tomatoes, and didn't think I could slice them thin enough. I rolled it tight again. Cut into six sections. Put them in FRIG II overnight.

Last night I tried my second pinwheel experiment. IT WAS DELICIOUS! Tasted exactly the same as the storebought pinwheels. The only difference was the tortilla being very slightly less moist, though it was much better than the first time. I think the lettuce worked its magic. The cheese was perfect. That was the taste I was looking for. Also, my bag of chips was fully sealed this time.

Now I know I can make my own pinwheels!!! Though I'll probably buy them if they're available. It seems like more of a treat that way!

Farmer H Is The New Centipede

A few weeks ago, when Farmer H was having so much trouble with his feet, and had me order some special insoles... he said he also needed new shoes. He has been wearing Skechers for a couple years. He wears one pair until they are almost falling apart. I tell him he should alternate shoes, and that might help his feet feel better. That's what I did while teaching. I'd change to another pair after lunch. I kept them in my cabinet for that very purpose. It felt like I had new feet!

Anyhoo... last time I ordered shoes for Farmer H (he can't find the style he likes around here in the discount shoe stores), I got two pair of the same kind. He has worn out his second pair. Just when I was thinking I'd order his shoes the next day, Farmer H came in from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) carrying two pairs of Skechers. One was white leather with a little blue symbol on the side, kind of like a court shoe. The other was white mesh, more like the black style Farmer H likes, with a running/walking kind of sole. 

"Where'd you get those shoes?"

"They was in some stuff I traded one of my buddies at the lockers."

"They look new."

"They belonged to an old man that died. He didn't wear them much. I don't know if he even wore this one pair at all."

So... I was waiting to see if Farmer H wore those shoes, or still wanted me to order his. He wore the running style a couple days. I don't think he's tried the leather court shoes yet. But he DID ask if I'd ordered his shoes. I told him I'd been waiting, and that I would do it that day.

I searched my email for the confirmation on the last pairs I bought, to get the model number. The company I used to order them from has gone out of business. So I searched Amazon. Found the exact shoe, but in a 10.5 extra-wide instead of the 8.5 extra-wide that Farmer H needs. I found a slightly different color combo in an 8.5, but it was regular width. AND they both shipped from the UK, which would take two weeks. Nope.

I tried the official Skechers website. The only shoe I could find with that model number were WOMEN'S, and they did not look the same. The only thing that came up in my searches was on eBay. The model was one number off. The shoe looked the same, but was in gray, not black. It DID come in 8.5 extra-wide. It was on an eBay Commerce Store website. Said the shoes were new, in the box. 

I figured I should just order one pair, to see if Farmer H likes them. Then I thought how it had taken me an hour and 45 minutes to find this pair, so I might as well get two. I went through all the order stuff, deciding to pay with PayPal. That part went fine, then it sent me back to the eBay store. Which wanted me to prove I wasn't a robot, and click on a picture of a gorilla playing a saxophone. But that wasn't a choice, so I hit NEXT as instructed, and saw a picture of a roaring lion standing by a piano. This time it said to click on all "likenesses" of that photo. So I clicked on four roaring lions. Then it told me to finish my transaction on PayPal.

However... I was back to the order page, where I was not given a chance to SUBMIT or whatever word they use to finish a transaction. I was just trapped on that page. This was getting frustrating! I could have hired a cobbler to construct Farmer H a pair of shoes in this time! I clicked on the PayPal choice again. It took me back to PayPal. Where there was a button to complete my transaction. Which I clicked.

Well. You might have guessed by now. But I got two emails confirming my purchase. I HAD ORDERED FOUR PAIRS OF SHOES!

I don't expect Farmer H to grow three more pairs of feet. I'm hoping he likes these shoes, because he will be wearing them for a couple years! 

If he doesn't like them, there are going to be new shoes in the box for sale at his SUS2.

A Heartbreaking Tale Of Staggering Unusuality

I hesitate to tell this sad tale, but it has been bothering me since yesterday. So now it will bother you, too. Unless you decide to skip it. You still have time. You know it takes me a while to get to the point...

After leaving the Gas Station Chicken Store on Monday afternoon, I was sitting in T-Hoe at the 4-way intersection, waiting to cross over and go to 10Box. I know that the cars across from me, waiting to make their left turn, get the green arrow ahead of my line going straight across. There were five or six cars in that line, waiting for their green arrow. The cross traffic still had the green as we waited.

A blond lady got out of the second car in that left-turn lane, and walked up to the first car, a small SUV! What in the Not-Heaven? I've never seen anybody do this. She tapped on the window. I couldn't tell if the driver put the window down. Blondie was gesturing with both hands, pointing to the back of that SUV, then turning both hands palm up. Like she didn't know what to do.

I thought maybe that lady had run into the back of the SUV, and was wondering about where they could pull over to exchange insurance info. Or maybe she was trying to describe the damage, or no damage. The SUV driver made no move to get out. 

Blondie walked back to the rear of the SUV. She seemed to reach out for something, but I couldn't see. Then the light changed, and the SUV drove forward, and started the left turn. 

NOOOOO! Something flipped out from that SUV! I couldn't tell if it was off the bumper, or had been up on a tire, or in the wheel well. It looked like a little ground squirrel (or chipmunk as some might call it, but we don't here).

Blondie had to hustle back into her car, because it was holding up the line of traffic. All but the last one made it through the light. That little critter just lay there. Not moving. As I went across the intersection, I saw that it was NOT a ground squirrel. It was a little orangy-yellow kitten.

That broke my heart. I'm hoping it was instant. There was no movement at all. I don't know what else Blondie could have done. Or what the other driver could have done. It's a busy time for that intersection. Cars don't all make it through, and traffic gets backed up at the other two lights on the section of road I take home, that passes under the overpass.

I guess if Blondie could have reached it, she could have snatched that kitten off the SUV. But then she might have been stealing someone's pet. 

No answers. Just a sad situation. 

The Hassle Of Canceling

Farmer H and I have come to a monumental decision. We are about to cancel our landline! Which is through the phone company my dad worked for during the majority of his working life. It's the end of an era! Biting the hand that fed me through childhood, and put me through college. Lowering the value of the stock we still hold, left to me by my mom. Can you sense that I'm dragging my feet?

It seems like such a big deal, although my sister the ex-mayor's wife and the then-mayor canceled their landline many years ago, without a second thought. I've liked having our landline as a backup for when our cell phones didn't work well inside the house. They're better now. I have no problems if I sit at the kitchen table. Farmer H sometimes has to go out on the porch because his won't work in his recliner. But it seems to work fine in the basement!

Anyhoo... we've been having a static-y problem with that landline for over a year. Farmer H was too busy to be here and wait for a repairman. He has a gadget that confirmed the problem with the line was OUTSIDE the house. That means the phone company would be responsible for the repairs, and it wouldn't cost us anything.

I had noticed a month or two ago that we were not getting as many scam calls. In fact, we were not getting ANY calls on the landline. The machine said it had 22 messages. So I knew it wasn't full. I just kept putting that info in the back of my mind. Then a couple days ago, I picked up the phone. Static. Not even a dial tone now. I told Farmer H. He said to call for a repairman, that he'd stay home to deal with it. But I said, "Do we really need it?"

Let the record show that Farmer H has been on-board to drop that landline for several years. So he agreed. We DON'T really need it. We've been paying for nothing for a couple months. Before that, we were paying to get scam calls that we couldn't understand, or messages left by doctors and such that also left messages on our cell phones.

When I was looking up the number to call to cancel our landline service, I saw one link that said it could take 2-4 HOURS to cancel service! What in the NOT-HEAVEN? The thing is, with a cell phone from this company, you can call a different number, and follow an automated system, and cancel without even talking to a person. But for a landline, you get routed around to several people as they ask WHY you want to cancel, try to give you a better deal, and basically keep you waiting until you want to hang up before completing your task.

Believe me, I've been through this with our trash service before. And a TV service. It's no walk in the park. It might take me a few days to work up the gumption to make this call...

In Line At The Inconvenience Store

Sometimes, I enter the Gas Station Chicken Store expecting to wait in a long line, only to find that I'm the only customer, despite a multitude of cars outside. Saturday was the opposite. Just a few cars, but a store full of people.

There was a lady at the counter, then two men ahead of me, as well as two women on the aisle by the soda fountain. Fave was working the register. She's unflappable. Just takes them one at a time, not flustered, not rushing.

That lady had an envelope with the slips you use to buy draw tickets. The slips that you fill in the numbers, and insert into the machine to play the numbers you've selected. I would never do this at the counter! I would take such a slip to a lottery machine, and do it myself, so as not to hold up a line.

Oh, and the lady was also having previous tickets checked by Fave. You can do that on a phone app, you know! Or on the scanny-thingy they have on the counter by the door, for customers to use. Just when we though that lady was finished, we found out that she wasn't.

"Oh, I want tickets for these, too." She handed over three of the draw slips from her envelope. "Now, how much is it?"

"Nine dollars."

"Oh. And I had gas."

"Is that a debit or credit card?"

"Debit." She scanned her card. "And give me a number 11 and a number 12. How much is that?"

"Ten dollars."

"Here. Just take this." She handed over a $10 bill. "Oh. And can you give me change? I'm going to a birthday party, and I need change." She pulled out another $10 bill.

"Is a five and five ones okay?"

"Yes. That's fine. Sorry, everyone."

I don't begrudge a woman buying her lottery and asking for change. I just don't like to stand on my knees for that long. The two men paid with debit cards. Then the first lady stepped up with her soda.

"Can you wash my car for me? Ha ha. Not really. I was just wondering what else she was going to ask you for! Can you cook up a pot of pork and beans? I thought it was never going to end!"

She wasn't really being mean. She was just frustrated with the disorganization of that lady, while we were all waiting not-so-patiently. Fave got a chuckle out of that. 

I know people are seething when I ask for my scratchers. But seriously. I know what I want. I pay cash. The card scanners are what take so much time at the Gas Station Chicken Store. And people who keep thinking of something else they want.

The Pony Won't Be Exercising Me On Sunday

The Pony and I were planning our new weekly shopping trip on Sunday, to walk me around the store for exercise. But there's been a snag, revealed by The Pony in a text from work on Saturday afternoon.

"We should probably avoid the shopping trip tomorrow just in case. One of the residents I usually hand mail to since they're outside pretty often has covid, she just told me. Chance is low, but I'm not gambling your health on something with higher odds than the PowerBall! Or your $8600 and my $2400 (without an ID) casino handpay!"

"Okay! Maybe you should start your vitamin tomorrow. Though without a gummi worm, since I can't bring it to you."

The Pony is such a sweetie, worried about my health. Even though these days The Virus is pretty much a cold, and I've allegedly already had it, so have antibodies. The ER said I had it, but my hospital discharge papers gave my diagnosis as "community-acquired pneumonia." Better safe than sorry, though.

I won't be missing out on any exercise. I still have to go buy bananas and Hawaiian bread. 10Box is even bigger than Country Mart. So I'll go from one end to the other.

Goodbye, Wished-For Chips

When 10Box was a Country Mart, I loved getting "pinwheels" from their deli section. I'm sure I've typed their accolades here before. They are a sliced section of a tortilla rolled around cream cheese, ham, beef, cheese, tomato, and lettuce. So tasty! I add some green olives on the side, and unroll parts of the tortilla. So I'm left with lengths of a tortilla spread with cream cheese at the end. I eat that part with an individual bag of BBQ potato chips. The combination is divine!

Anyhoo... it's probably been at least a year since I had my pinwheels. Every now and then, I see them at Country Mart over in Sis-Town. Since I buy the big salads, and the cold fried chicken there, I have not gotten the pinwheels. Sell-By dates must be considered. We eat the big salads one day, then the fried chicken over two days. So that doesn't make time for the pinwheels for me.

Thursday, Farmer H didn't want a big salad or fried chicken. I found a new "boneless" pork rib for him, and got the pinwheels for myself. There was only one left! Oh, how I looked forward to that supper! I had olives left from making the deviled eggs when The Pony came out to grill on Labor Day. And I had a bag of assorted individual chips that included BBQ flavor.

Mmm! I was quite excited when I gathered my supper around 9:00 p.m., after Farmer H had gone to bed, and I had finished watching the season premiere of Jersey Shore Family Vacation. Yes. I love reality TV!

Anyhoo... I had my pinwheels on a paper plate. My green olives in a ramekin. And the individual bag of BBQ potato chips in a small styrofoam bowl. They were on the kitchen peninsula. I set my plate over to the table beside HIPPIE. Then the ramekin of olives. I picked up the foam bowl of BBQ chips, and DROPPED IT! 

What in the Not-Heaven? It's not like that was a heavy bowl! Or that I couldn't get a good grip. I have no idea how that bowl fell out of my hands. But it was tragic! I stood there, not believing what had transpired. Sweet Gummi Mary! I had been anticipating this meal for hours. Now my chips were trash!

I went to the laundry room and got the broom/dustpan combo. Swept up my chips. Dumped them in the wastebasket, not even considering that the dogs might have enjoyed them. I swear, I almost wept. Just one more thing to delay my supper gratification.

Lucky for me, there was another individual bag of BBQ chips in the multi-bag pack in the pantry. I put it into the same foam bowl, and CAREFULLY set it over on the table. 

Yes. That meal was delicious. I will look again for pinwheels when I go to Country Mart (for exercise!) on Sunday with The Pony. You can bet I will be especially careful with my chips, should I be lucky enough to get more pinwheels.

Farmer H's Questionable Hygiene Practices Continue

I might have mentioned how I bought the FULL-SIZE Bounty paper towels by mistake. And how I cut them in half, and lay them on the cutting block, as if we had the select-a-size roll. I might also have mentioned how Farmer H washes his hands in the sink. And uses a FULL-SIZE paper towel to dry them, rather than one of the cut paper towels I have waiting for him. It's plenty big enough to dry hands.

Anyhoo... last week, I caught Farmer H washing his hands in the kitchen sink again. Then I turned to see him drying his hands on a FULL-SIZE paper towel. It's a losing battle, really. When I was working around the cutting block later, I saw that Farmer H had left his mark on the roll of paper towels.

"All you had to do was pick up one of the paper towels I had laying there! But no, you had to get a BIG paper towel, and contaminate the whole roll!!! I've told you forever not to put your wet hand on the roll of paper towels. Now every one of them has your dirt on the edge. What's the purpose of even washing your hands if you don't get them clean???"

Seriously. I'm tired of this slovenly behavior from Farmer H. At least I was watching when he got his crispy fried onions for his salad. I made sure he didn't reach his hand in the bag.

Let's Revisit That CUP Of Dog Food Issue

Welp! A discussion of dog food portions is never an easy task when the other discusser is Farmer H. I mentioned the problem again on Wednesday morning at 5:50, with Farmer H on the long couch before leaving to do whatever he does all day.

"You are over-feeding the dogs again! You're giving them WAY more than a cup! I took a picture of their food bowls yesterday when I left for town."

"That was TWO DAYS WORTH! They didn't eat it the day before, so I put it on top."

"Which means they're FULL! They're not hungry! You are feeding them too much!"

"No I'm not."

"That's at least three actual cups in each bowl. Probably more. They might have eaten a little off the top."

"They didn't eat until I got home. They was eatin' it last night when I came in."

"So they went a whole day, then half of another, since they usually eat at 6:00 when you leave. They're not hungry because they're full from too much food. They only need about a cup a day. Maybe another half for Scarlett, since she's bigger. It probably says that on the bag, how much to feed by weight."

"I DO measure it, HM!"

"Not with a measuring cup! You said you have a dipping cup."

"I use a PITCHER, HM!"

"Well, no wonder they're getting too much food!"

"It has markings on it. Measurements."

"Something is definitely off. Bring it in! I'm going to fill an actual measuring cup with water, and pour it in your 'pitcher,' and we'll SEE how much you SHOULD be giving them!"

"Fine! But I'm not over-feeding them. They just wasn't hungry yet."

I seriously doubt that Farmer H will bring in his PITCHER to check the measurements. And who puts MORE dog food on top of dog food already in the bowl? What kind of dog-fattening psycho DOES that??? You either leave the food for them to eat when they're hungry, or you dump it off the porch and give them fresh food.

Meanwhile, Jack and Scarlett each need a personal trainer...

A Cup In Farmer H's World

You may recall that I complained (how uncharacteristic of Mrs. HM!) to Farmer H about the dogs getting fat because he is giving them too much food. Of course Farmer H dodged responsibility, claiming that he only gives them each A CUP of dog food every morning at 6:00 a.m.

Well. Farmer H apparently has a different concept of "a cup" than Mrs. HM, and the standard of measurements. He might be referring to a container which he keeps in the dog food trash can where he stores their food, to keep out any garage intruders like mice and possums. 

Anyhoo... I took a picture when I left for town on Monday, of the still-full dog dishes. You'd think that dogs would eat when fed at 6:00 a.m. But perhaps they DID, and this is still what was left in their bowls around 2:00 p.m.

 

That's dainty lady Scarlett, who just a few seconds before was munching on the contents of Jack's food bowl. His bowl is smaller than Scarlett's, because Jack is a smaller dog. LOOK AT THAT PILE OF FOOD! There's no way that my little Jack needs that much daily food to survive! And it looks untouched.

There's my little Jack, at least looking embarrassed by his girth and ample rumpus, standing at Scarlett's bowl to get even with her for taking a bite out of his food dish. Again, that's way too much food for Scarlett, even though she's a hyper, active dog. They must really be feeling sated to leave their food bowls so full all day. The birds and squirrels and probably the wild cat must love this buffet.

That looks like AT LEAST three measuring cups of food in those dishes, but probably more. I don't know how Farmer H can't understand this "measuring" concept.

The Pony Cannot Swallow A Horse Pill

In talking with The Pony a couple weeks ago, I offered to get him a vitamin to take through the winter months. Hopefully to thwart any virus he might be exposed to at work, and keep him from being ill and having to use his sick days.

I've been taking a "vitamin" for several years now. It has vitamin C, vitamin D, Zinc, and Quercetin. Supposedly the Quercetin allows the Zinc to get into the cells, and slow the replication of a virus. It doesn't prevent colds, but slows down the beginning stages so the body's immunity can fight it off.

Anyhoo... during my unfortunate HospitValzation back in January/February 2022, I was taking this vitamin, and asked for it to be brought in by Farmer H. My doctor gave it approval, and it was provided to me with my regular meds. On the day I was being released, I asked my nurse to get the bottle for me to take home. I also asked

"Do you think this has helped me get over The Virus?" [That was my diagnosis at the ER, though my discharge papers from the hospital listed my illness as Community-Acquired Pneumonia.]

"Yes! And also, you might try Elderberry. It's good for the immune system." Said my nurse Alex, the second Nurse Alex I'd had in two days.

Anyhoo... The Pony had told me before that he cannot take that vitamin I offered, because it's too big. Yes. It is a large capsule, but easier than getting each of those four ingredients separately. A couple months ago, I saw that the place where I order my giant horse pill of a vitamin had a GUMMI variety! And the gummies also included ELDERBERRY. So I ordered some.

The Pony said he would give the gummi vitamins a try. I had not yet opened up my order that had arrived, but finally got out a bottle to take to The Pony when I visited on Sunday.

Welp! Of all the bad luck! The flavor of those gummi vitamins is STRAWBERRY! The Pony hates strawberry! He still says he will give that vitamin a try. Hopefully, he can at least hold his nose, and chase it with something more flavorful.

Gassing Up The Pony

The Pony needs fuel to complete the daily 11-mile walking route. I picked him up on Sunday afternoon for our planned "shopping trip" which was a thinly-disguised effort to give me a workout in the grocery store. It went well. The Pony bought some foodstuffs, and I felt energized walking around the store pushing my cart/walker. It was a good knee day.

Anyhoo... I had gone an hour earlier than our usual meeting time, because The Pony had plans for supper. I mistakenly thought The Pony was cooking, but found out the plans involved meeting a friend at a Mexican restaurant.

"It's a new place out on the highway. I was actually there last night, too. One of my friends is going through a breakup, so I took her out to dinner."

That's our Pony! A really good egg, there to comfort a friend during hard times.

Anyhoo... later that evening, The Pony sent me a picture of his meal:

According to The Pony, it's a burrito, with tilapia, beans, rice, and some salsa. I don't see all that in the picture. Perhaps that's the contents of the burrito. Though I've never heard of fish in a burrito.

Anyhoo... I'm happy that The Pony had time to kick up his heels before returning to the grindstone.

The Pony Has Good Intentions

I'm meeting The Pony on Sunday to collect the monthly house payment. Generally, I stop by and The Pony comes out to T-Hoe with the checkbook, and I give him some treats I might have picked up since the last time we were together. Sorry, Pony! No treats this time! Just a bottle of wine Farmer H got somewhere, and a new pair of shoes, and some gummi vitamins to get you through the winter cold season.

Anyhoo... sometimes we get to talking while sitting there. I prefer to not get out and navigate the steps into Pony's house. This time, The Pony suggested we could go to a store, like we did a few months ago after depositing the QuickFlip check in the bank.

Heh, heh! The Pony is trying to exercise me! Like on the sitcom King of Queens, with Leah Remini and Kevin James, where they pay a dog-walker friend to "walk" her elderly father who lives with them. To be fair, I have been cutting back, and have lost 44 pounds. Still, my knees give me trouble, and I can't just go out and walk around the porch and in the driveway like years past. I'm afraid I might fall. My balance is not good, and just a bump from Scarlett could topple me over. But in a store, I have the cart to use as a walker! Something to help with my balance.

Anyhoo... we are planning a trip just down the street to Country Mart. The Pony has some shopping to do, and I can pick up a few things I didn't get on Thursday.

The Pony has even volunteered to spearhead my return to the Devil's Playground! I haven't been there since THE VIRUS, when they made people go through the cattle chutes to enter through only one door, and follow arrows on the aisles to make them one-way. That rankled me, and I haven't been back. But The Pony says he will trot to get me a cart to push as I walk in. I might actually give it a try one day. 

I'm not getting any younger, but I WOULD like to be able to get around better. I am loathe to use a cane for everyday activities, because I fear that once I start, it will become permanent.

Mrs. HM Gets Caught In Her Own Wicked Web

Friday afternoon, I was texting The Pony, and had made a call to Farmer H concerning our Double Hovel Flip House(s). Upon trying a second call to Farmer H fifteen minutes later, I was shunted to voicemail. Nope. It's not like he listens to his voicemail. So I sent a text. Then The Pony sent me another one. Then I got a call through to Farmer H again. You know where this is leading, right?

"Dad went by and left a note for the realtor. OH NO!"

"You sent that to me not Pony"

"Oops! Now I have to type more!"

Heh, heh! It's not that my message was so terribly bad. At least The Pony's response, when I finally sent my text to the right person, was:

"I love him, but...wow he can be a bit frustrating/like a dumbass sometimes. Like, please do not antagonize the woman selling the house."

Poor Farmer H. Much-maligned, but with a track record for inviting it.

Three-Ring Circus At The Grocery Store

Don't waste your money on entertainment! All you have to do is go to the grocery store. Where you will certainly spend more of that hard-earned money than you used to. 

I went to Country Mart on my errand day Thursday. I was so lucky to get the closest handicap parking space, and find a cart waiting for me when I stepped out of T-Hoe. That was about the end of my luck. As I wheeled my cart/walker in through the front double doors, making a right turn for the lottery machines first... I heard a guy talking behind me.

"Come on! I know you. You need to go to the bathroom. Not in the store!"

A quick glance revealed a guy in camo fatigue pants, and a sleeveless black t-shirt. He had a white pit-bull-looking dog on a leash. They went out. But not for good! As I shopped, I encountered them no less than five times! The guy gave the dog a long lead on his leash. The dog was well-behaved. I don't begrudge a person having a support dog in a store. They don't make me fear for my life.

The guy was talking to the dog the whole time. Not commands, just commentary. Which I suppose was comforting for the dog. "No. She don't want none of that. Mind your manners." Stuff like that. I was tempted to ask if the dog was in training, but I didn't want to intervene. Several people stopped to pet the dog.

"I'm getting him used to the store. This is where we will do our shopping. So he's learning the lay of the land. I don't usually let people pet him, but he isn't actually working right now. I didn't put his harness on. That's his clue that he's working. He loves people and being petted. So I don't mind right now."

The dog was clean and calm. He was not lunging on his leash. Just curious. Tail up and wagging. Being a short-haired, lean dog, it was easy to see that he still had his family jewels attached. I don't know why I thought support dogs would be neutered. I suppose because it would make them less excitable. Still, I did not mind having that dog in the store. It was just unusual.

Then I went to the bread aisle, which is in the back. There was an empty supply cart with three trays stacked in the wheels. And a gal sitting on the floor. Thank the Gummi Mary, she was not in front of the hot dog buns, English muffins, and Hawaiian bread that I wanted to buy. She was obviously done stocking. Just sitting there, acting busy pushing around items on the shelves. It was 3:45 p.m. I'm guessing she was sitting there out of sight, waiting for her work day to end. I don't know if she was a contractor, or a store employee. But such activity made me suspicious of her milking the clock.

When I checked out, the cashier seemed to have lost her mind. I set one of my three Diet Mountain Dew packs on the counter, telling her I had three. She scanned it, and I lifted it back into my cart/walker. But then she said, "Oh, no!" Something wrong with her signing onto the register. So I had to heft it out again for another scanning. And when she bagged Farmer H's two boxes of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes, she put them in like a complete idiot! You know how a plastic bag has the two handles, and the seam along the bottom? Most people would put a long box along that seam. But this gal put them perpendicular! Not even cattywompus, as if by accident. She had those boxes sideways in the bag. So I had to change them when I put them in T-Hoe's rear. Leaving them sideways was just asking for the corners to tear the bag.

You'd think a trip to the grocery store would be uneventful. But not for Mrs. HM.

Farmer H, Asserting His Place As Expert Of All Things

Nothing much happening around here, but at least I have my fall-back subject of Farmer H and his unparalleled expertise at every subject under the sun.

You may recall that he does his own laundry, because 35 years ago, he refused to put his dirty clothes in the hamper for me to wash. Choosing instead to leave them on the bedroom floor. I don't think it was too much to ask for him to put them in the hamper. He, apparently, DID!

Anyhoo... the joke's on Farmer H, since he's been doing his own laundry for a lifetime now. When I left for town on Wednesday, he said he had some laundry to do. He was putting it in the washer as I went out the door. When I got home 45 minutes later, I heard the dryer going. 

I had Farmer H's supper ready at 5:30. He was eating, and I sat down to scratch my lottery tickets. I wasn't paying any attention to him. He's a grown man. He can eat without supervision, and fetch his laundry for folding. I didn't note the time when he came to get his clothes, and put another load in the washer or dryer. 

Again, I don't know the exact timeline. I was preoccupied with scratchers. Farmer H came back to the kitchen for his dessert of Mexican Cheesecake from the Senior Center the day before. He might have fiddled with his laundry at the time. 

What I DO remember is that as I was returning from the bathroom at 7:20, Farmer H asked if the dryer was still going. Yes, it was. I also remember that at 7:45, Farmer H came to the laundry room, and said, "Huh. It's still going." I only noticed because I then checked the time, wondering when I was going to start my own supper.

At 8:05, a time when Farmer H usually is getting ready for bed, I hollered to ask, "How long is your laundry going to be drying?"

"HM! It's on a TIMER!"

Said Farmer H, obviously the Master of All Laundry, ASSuming that I don't understand how a dryer works. Seriously. How could Farmer H THINK his dryer might be done at 7:20, when it was still running 45 minutes later??? It's like he must have just started it around 7:20! No way would it be done that soon, if it still had more than 45 minutes to go!

Farmer H then came to the laundry room, and said, "It's done enough." And took out his clothes for folding. 

Silly me. Not understanding how a dryer works...

Farmer H Has A Problem With Portion Control

Since the last time Farmer H bought dogfood, our fleabags have grown roly-poly. Scarlett can carry the weight better than half-weiner Jack. But they are both rotund. How can that be, when I walk out and see food remaining in their food bowls? 

I have broached this topic with Farmer H. His response was that the dogs are eating something else. "Jack must be eating baby rabbits." No specific excuse for Scarlett. I first had assumed the dogs do not like the current brand of food, since their dishes remain at least half-full. But that does not explain their weight gain.

Monday, Farmer H said he had to buy dogfood again, because he ran out.

"If you wouldn't overfeed them, you wouldn't run out so fast."

"HM. I only give them two cups of food! I am NOT overfeeding them!"

Well. We know how that goes. By "cups," Farmer H means the cup he leaves in the trash can full of dry dogfood, which he uses to scoop out the morning allotment. It is NOT a measuring cup. In fact, when I looked in Scarlett's leftover food on Sunday, the bowl was at least 3/4 full. And by my assessment, the food was at least 3 measuring cups. Maybe more. I don't know if Farmer H is saying that he gives them two "cups" total, or two "cups" each.

I imagine that the bag of dogfood says how much to feed dogs by weight. It probably mentions "cups." Meaning the actual measurement, not some vessel used by dog owners to scoop out the food.

I don't know how I can make this situation clear to Farmer H. He is not very receptive to my suggestions...

Despite The Calendar Date, Yesterday Was The 15th

Leaving town yesterday, I got behind a slow driver. It was a truck pulling an empty trailer, going 30 mph in a 45 mph zone. He was impeding a maroon SUV ahead of me, and T-Hoe. I don't know the reason for his slowness. The speed limit is clearly marked. The road is mostly straight. I don't understand the reason for driving 15 mph under the speed limit.

Anyhoo... that driver turned off in the area where the speed limit changed to 55 mph, just outside of town, nearing the prison. However... that maroon SUV, no longer impeded by that slow-driving truck and trailer, only accelerated to 40 mph! So we were STILL going 15 mph below the speed limit. It continued past the prison, around a sharp curve, and down a hill nearing my turn-off on the county blacktop road.

But wait! Around the curve, we came upon a TRACTOR! A green tractor, with an old man driving, flashing lights on, going a LITERAL 15 mph!

I can understand why a tractor is slow. I know it has to be transported occasionally on the public roadways. I just worry that some inattentive driver will slam into the back of T-Hoe, not paying attention. 

Anyhoo... as we neared the long high bridge before my turnoff, the maroon SUV passed the tractor. Then there was ample room for me to pass. And the white sedan behind me. I made my left turn without incident, and proceeded home at the regular speed limit. Well... perhaps a little bit over. It's not like police patrol that county blacktop road.

It's unusual to encounter three such obstacles in one day, on a two-mile stretch of road.

The Attractive Opposites

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that Farmer H and Mrs. HM are attractive. We are not what one might call "pleasing to the eye." No. I'm acknowledging that sometimes, the old "opposites attract" theory is true. 

The clock in the master bathroom has not been working for a few weeks. It keeps time, but the WRONG time. It has been 10 minutes slow for a while. And then 8 hours slow! I figured the battery must be low, which is how this has happened before. So I asked Farmer H:

"What do you think that bathroom clock takes? An  AA battery?"

Assuming, of course, that Farmer H would get a battery out of the battery drawer in the Mansion kitchen, and replace the faulty one in the clock. But no. You know what happens when we ASSume.

"Yeah. That's probably what it takes."

You'd think Farmer H might want to know the proper time, since he's the one who gets up around 5:30, and goes to town to meet up with Old Buddy for Flip House or mowing or Storage Unit Store projects. Sure, he has his cell phone on the counter beside the sink. But it's different to go to the phone and click on it, rather than to glance at a clock on the wall.

Finally, on Saturday, I laid out an AA battery on the cutting block. I told Farmer H as he was getting himself a snack before supper. As I warmed up his supper an hour later, I spied that AA battery on the floor! And not on the side of the cutting block where I had put it. Farmer H came to the kitchen to gather his supper, and return to his recliner.

"How did that battery get on the floor?"

"I don't know. I didn't do it!"

"Funny how it fell off the cutting block, and rolled around the floor to another side of the cutting block."

"I don't know how that happened, but I know that I didn't do it!"

That story would not stand up to cross-examination in a court of law! But at least Farmer H picked up the battery, and eventually put it in the bathroom clock. I noticed on Sunday, as I was getting ready for my shower before town. That clock seemed to be in a somewhat accurate mode. Even though upon checking my cell phone, I discovered that it was five minutes slow.

That's the thing about Farmer H. He always sets a clock five minutes slow! All of them during Daylight Savings Time start and end. Every clock he touches is five minutes slow! There's no logical reason for that. I'm sure he consults his cell phone for the time. Then I suppose he subtracts five minutes!

I, on the other hand, set all clocks two minutes fast. I do it on purpose. I like that little cushion, in case I am trying to get to the living room to start watching a TV show. 

I guess we are truly like Jack Sprat and wife. Although we both eat fat and lean.

Mrs. HM Is The WAH-WAH Teacher Voice To Farmer H's Charlie Brown Ears

I don't know why Farmer H just can't listen to the voice of reason. Which of course you know is MY voice! I actually have some common sense. Ideas that are practical.

For example, back when my Sweet, Sweet Juno went over the Rainbow Bridge to live on a big farm upstate... I told Farmer H that he should dump out the bedding in her doghouse that sits by the kitchen door, in an alcove out of the wind. I figured Jack might start sleeping in it, rather than in a hollow he dug out of a haybale over on Shackytown Boulevard, by the old goat pen.

Juno had not been sleeping in her house as her health declined. She had some trouble getting around, leaking pee sometimes. So I suppose she abandoned her cedar shavings, and moved into one of the big plastic doghouses on the opposite end of the porch, outside our bedroom. Both dogs sometimes went to those houses, and had the shavings all scratched out between them. It used to annoy Farmer H. They'd lie on the pile of shavings, rather than in the houses, heh, heh.

It's been over a year now. Whatever remains in Juno's house has definitely dried out, but I imagine it might still contain some of her scent. I told Farmer H again, right after he let Scarlett loose for the final time, that she might use that house if he cleaned it out.

Well. Scarlett wanted nothing to do with any kind of house at that time, having just gained her freedom, not wanting to be trapped again. But over her first winter, she used a doghouse by the bedroom, one of which Farmer H had used in the yard for her when she was tethered there.

Anyhoo... a couple mornings ago, I heard a terrible commotion outside the kitchen door. I figured it must be Scarlett, pawing at the doormat, getting ready to lie down. When I left for town, I saw a bunch of blue crumbly stuff there. Which I presumed to be insulation from inside Juno's house.

Saturday morning, sitting on the short couch talking to Farmer H before he left for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), we heard that commotion again.

"It's something in Juno's old house, I'm pretty sure. Probably Scarlett!"

Farmer H went to look. I did not hear him speak. But he returned and said it WAS Scarlett.

"See? It's getting cooler overnight. I bet she'd use that house if you'd get Juno's old pee out of it. You just dump it off the porch. I don't know the big deal. I think Scarlett's trying to dig it out."

"That insulation is on the walls! The pee wouldn't be on the walls!"

Huh. I don't know how insulation repels pee that might be along the bottom of the walls. But I guess I'll take Farmer H's word for that. I still don't know why he won't just tip that doghouse on its door, then sweep the shavings off the back porch.

I guess it makes too much sense. Better to keep an unused doghouse outside the kitchen door, with cardboard boxes stacked on top that he's been meaning to put on his burn pile.

I think that would make a good house for Scarlett, and Jack would probably join her in there. Jack and Juno were pals, but didn't sleep in the same house. Jack follows Scarlett around like a lost puppy, and will lie down right next to her on the porch. She tolerates him pretty well, unless food is involved. I'm going to keep WAH-WAH-ing at Farmer H until he gets that house ready for habitation.

Meanwhile, I've also got to persuade him that he's putting out too much food again, or not buying the kind they like.

Everyone's A Comedian

We all know that Farmer H was born without a funny bone. But like how the sun even shines on a dog's rumpus some days... occasionally Farmer H spouts something funny.

Farmer H's paid assistant Old Buddy has not been feeling well. With his car broken down, Farmer H picked him up and drove him around for the work they were doing on Thursday. When they left Lowe's, Old Buddy told Farmer H he needed to stop somewhere, QUICK, because he was feeling a bit indisposed. They were working on something at Farmer H's "new" storage unit, so Old Buddy used the Port-A-Potty there.

Old Buddy did not want Farmer H to pick him up to go to the SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) on Friday. He had a doctor's appointment. Supposedly a friend was taking him. Farmer H called to check on Old Buddy. 

"I'm just waiting for the cab to come take me to the doctor."

"I would have taken you! All you had to do was tell me! I thought your friend was doing it."

"Well, we found out she had to work. So it was too late to call anybody else. I'm getting a test. They're going to stick a tube down my throat, and a tube up my butt."

"I hope they're going to use two different tubes." Said Farmer H, the stand-up comedian.

My Hero Is Not The Brightest Bulb In The Marquee

Wednesday night, Farmer H's attention was caught by a bug flying around his recliner. He reached up his arms and clapped his hands, trying to smash it.

"WAIT! That's a WASP! It was in the kitchen yesterday, buzzing around the windows. I didn't have my flyswatter within reach. It's going to sting you if you clap it!"

"Huh."

The wasp retreated from the air wave from Farmer H's clapped hands. 

"It's over by the TV! Up on the bowling trophies!"

Farmer H picked up an envelope from something important I had given him to read, that he'd never bothered to throw away. He got up and went to the TV area. The wasp took flight again. Farmer H batted at it with his envelope several times. 

HOME RUN! Farmer H hit the wasp, and it went spiraling over to a cushion on the long couch. Farmer H went after it.

"WAIT! Don't pick it up! Here. Use this." I handed him a tissue from the box on the table beside the recliner. Tissues he had won at Senior Center bingo.

Farmer H grabbed that stunned wasp with the tissue, crunched it, and took it to flush in the boys' bathroom at the end of the hall.

MY FEARLESS HERO. Though not a mental giant sometimes...

Like Water Off A Duck's Back, Responsibility Is Repelled By Farmer H

Farmer H brought me a Senior Center pulled-pork lunch for my supper on Tuesday. That was a good deed, though requested by me. But don't let that cloud your thinking! Of course we're here to complain about Farmer H!!!

That lunch came with an actual slice of cake this time. The menu listed it as "wedding cake," as it had before, when they sent some weird cheesecake thingy. We all know that the elderlies are not getting married on a monthly basis and serving their cake with a $5 meal. It's just that when a menu says CAKE, I expect cake. And this time, they came through. Except that I did not want the cake.

Oh, I was interested in the cake. I asked Farmer H to open it and tell me what was in the container. He was at the cutting block, unpacking the plastic bag he had brought home. He took out two small square foam containers, then the larger container with my lunch/dinner. I didn't really pay attention as Farmer H was fiddling with those containers, to put them in FRIG II.

"Huh. This one here is my leftover pulled pork. I'll have that tonight. Here. This is your cake. And yes, it's really cake! Here, I'll show you. Huh. How did THAT happen? It's upside down."

Farmer H carried it over to the counter so I could see what was in the container. Indeed, it was a piece of white cake, which looked like it had white icing. Since the icing was on the bottom, I couldn't quite tell.

"Oh. You can have the cake. It's okay."

"Are you sure? I already had some for lunch. It's good."

"Yeah, but it's upside down and all messy. I don't want it."

"I don't know how that happened."

"You probably turned it upside down when you took it out to open it. You have a habit of opening those containers from the bottom. You don't look at how the tab slides into the slot. That's how you can tell."

"I didn't do it! That gal must have done it when she put the cake in there!"

"So you're saying that instead of you making a mistake trying to figure out how to open it, the lady who makes up the carryout meals PUT THE CAKE IN UPSIDED DOWN? Or maybe that she FLIPPED OVER THE CONTAINER TO PUT IT IN THE BAG?"

"No. I'm just saying I know I didn't do it."

Sweet Gummi Mary!!! Which scenario is more likely? There's no way that cake could have turned itself over inside the container, because it was a big square that didn't have room to tip over.

It's not a big deal. I probably would have given him the cake anyway, maybe after a taste. I usually give him the desserts (not that I'm trying to kill him, of course). Farmer H has done this with containers for years, mostly with things that don't matter, like breadsticks or rolls. How hard is it to say, 'Yeah, I might have turned it over.'" 

Is Mrs. HM The Rumpushole: Horse Festival Edition

As The Pony and I headed towards the Mansion, passing a multitude of vehicles parked at Barn Neighbor's field for the Horse Festival... I could see something in the road. 

At first I was more concerned about the people walking along the road, and didn't dwell on it.

If you look really far, you can see it. Something blue in the middle of the road. Our 10 acres next to the BARn field start where that group of trees is on the right.

Getting closer, I saw that blue object was a portable shade tent thingy. A man and little boy around 6 years old looked like they were setting it up. 

I crept along, not wanting to spook any of the horses that The Pony so skillfully avoided photographing! Here is a zoomed-in photo to show that blue object.

Here's part of that wild crowd, heh, heh. Behind the vehicle and 4-wheeler and side-by-side ATV is a white portable shade tent thingy, with four or five women sitting under it, sipping beverages. You can see the white roof of the Port-A-Potty. I guess being close to it was better than being farther from the smell, if they had to go in a hurry!

I realized that this guy was putting that blue portable shade tent thingy onto our land. Huh. What in the Not-Heaven? I may not stand up for myself when people cut in line, or a cashier throws my bananas, but I'll be danged if I don't investigate somebody appearing to make themselves at home on our property.

"Pony. Put your window down. I'm going to ask this guy what's going on. He's on our land."

"Okaaaayyyy." Said The Pony, with a heavy sigh that comes out when he would rather a problem just go away. The Pony has never liked confrontation.

"Hi. Are you planning to leave that there?"

"Oh, no. I was just getting it out of your way."

"That's a relief. Because it's on our property, and we're not having a party! So I wondered what was going on."

"We're going to move it over there."

"That's great! You all have a good time!"

"Thanks! We will."

See? Problem solved. But then I started wondering if I WAS THE RUMPUSHOLE! When Farmer H got home, we told him, and I asked if he would have stopped to talk to the guy about that portable shade tent thingy being on our land. And Farmer H said probably not! I call shenanigans!

Here's the thing. If they set up one shade tent over there, how did I know they wouldn't have other people set up shade tents? Or park there. Or move a camper up in the field where it opens up past the trees. Or ride those 4-wheelers and side-by-sides around there. Then somebody might go off exploring down in the woods, and fall into the big sinkhole that's in there. Or somebody could get hurt, or Jack could go investigate and bite them. So much COULD go wrong. You never know. That's why we have a million-dollar umbrella insurance policy. Even criminals and trespassers can sue you for an injury on your property.

Anyhoo... I was polite. I only asked that guy's intentions, and made it clear we did not expect anybody to be on land during this event.

Does that make me the rumpushole?

________________________________________________________________

Upon further relection, I'm wondering why that guy couldn't just move his shade tent out of the way on HIS SIDE OF THE ROAD? Since that was where he was supposedly going to putting it anyway...

________________________________________________________________

The Great "Dog Track" Mystery Is Solved

When I started to town at noon on Sunday, to pick up The Pony for our Labor Day grill feast... I immediately discovered what was going on in our neighbor's field(s). Cars, trucks, and trailers were lined up along our gravel road. Parked with two tires on the grass, but still cutting our road down to one lane. 

Our across-the-road Neighbor had parked her car in her driveway, thus blocking people from driving down there and parking at her house or in her field. I'm pretty sure she had a hand in this event, since I saw her walking back to her house along the road, a walkie talkie kind of implement in her hand.

I made it past all the vehicles. The two fields were teeming with people and horses. I bet there were 100 people, and at least 20 horses that I observed on my way out.

Once I had The Pony riding shotgun, I told him he was responsible for getting me pictures of the event as we returned home. The Pony DID get pictures, but they don't nearly convey the true range of this spectacle! In the hour it took me to pick up The Pony and return, most of the vehicles parked along the roadway had either left, or been parked in front of Barn Neighbor's house, or in the bottom half of the second field.

The Pony barely got pictures of any of the horses. Their riders were wearing numbers, so apparently it was some type of jumping competition. I was worried about where the horses would get water. It was hot, and the creek on that side where the Barn Neighbor and Neighbors live is only a wet-weather creek. Sure, the riders could have walked or ridden the horses down the gravel road to the main creek near the mailboxes where there's access without getting on someone else's property. I don't know how problematic that might have been for the horses on hilly gravel.

Anyhoo... here are some of The Pony's pictures:

Some cars parked in front of Barn Neighbor's house and barn.

Another view of the vehicles parked on both sides of Barn Neighbor's driveway, as we start up the hill towards our BARn field.

Past the Barn Neighbor's driveway now, and you can see some of the trailers, and other vehicles in T-Hoe's mirror, that were in front of Barn Neighbor's yard.

You can see the roadside is basically empty of vehicles by now, but people have set up their lawn chairs along the road, to watch the happenings in the field.

I can't believe The Pony got almost NO PICTURES of all the horses in the two fields! This was definitely a horse-jumping competition, and nothing to do with a dog track!

Tomorrow, we will discuss an incident...

Farmer H Needs A Tomato Refresher Course

Farmer H has been receiving tomatoes from his buddies who have gardens. He brings them home in a plastic bag from the Devil's Playground. You would think that somewhere during his many years in The Universe, Farmer H would have accrued some information about home-grown tomatoes. Then again, he must have been snoozing on the day it was revealed that goats are herd animals...

Garden tomatoes are more fragile than the hard-as-a-baseball store tomatoes. Flopping them around in a plastic bag does them no favors. So far, they have survived the rough treatment.

Saturday morning, Farmer H came out of the bedroom and went directly to the front door. That's unusual. His first stop is usually the back door in the laundry room, when he gives water to the dogs. Then he comes to sit on the long couch to wait and "secretly" listen in on my phone conversation with The Pony.

"Where are you going?"

"To the truck. I forgot, I had some tomatoes to bring in."

"So they sat in a bag in your truck all day, in THIS HEAT?"

"They weren't hot. They were in the truck!"

I heard Farmer H rustling the plastic bag as he set out the tomatoes. He inconveniently puts them on a sturdy paper plate. The one resting atop the stack of sturdy paper plates that Farmer H uses each night to eat his supper. So if I set out a plate for him, I have to first lift off the plate of garden tomatoes. Heh, heh! Starting last night, I told Farmer H he needed to get his own plate. To which he replied, "Huh."

Anyhoo... after Farmer H left for a day of selling at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), I went to the kitchen to get my banana. The bananas are in a large fruit bowl sitting behind the stack of sturdy paper plates.

There were two large tomatoes in this batch. I picked up a little one, looking like a Roma tomato, to set aside for my supper salad, and it SLIMED ME! What in the Not-Heaven? It looked perfectly fine. I looked at the plate. It was wet. I picked up the biggest tomato. It had apparently sprung a leak. No visible hole in it, but it was seeping from the bottom, where there were some creases in its skin. 

No way was I going to harbor a leaky tomato in MY Mansion! Once upon a time, when I rented a ramshackle house in Cuba, MO, my grandma had sent me a box of tomatoes when my mom and dad came for a visit. They were in a box like a flat of strawberries would come in. A waxy kind of brown cardboard with low sides. I set it on the floor by the cabinets, since I didn't have much counter room. Mmm... those fresh tomatoes were SO GOOD. I ate a couple every night. 

The following weekend, I left on Saturday morning to go to Springfield and visit a friend. Upon returning Sunday afternoon, a terrible smell hit me as I walked in! One of those tomatoes had gone bad, and most of its fluid had seeped out into that cardboard box. Thank the Gummi Mary, the cardboard was waxy, or that liquid would have soaked into the carpet of the kitchen floor. Yes. Somebody had actually carpeted a kitchen floor!

Anyhoo... I have since grown cautious about inspecting tomatoes daily, to make sure they're not leaking. In this case, I checked the other tomatoes, and the next-biggest had a bruisy dark mushy spot. Out it went with the leaker, off the back porch, good riddance!

I'm sure Farmer H thinks the day closed up in a plastic bag in his truck did not affect those home-grown tomatoes. I'm pretty sure it did.