Hillmomba Belongs To The Elderlies. Mrs. HM Just Lives Here.

I was feeling lucky Monday when I walked into the Gas Station Chicken Store. Not money-winning lucky. Lucky because there were four cars parked in the gas lanes, and only one person inside. She was ready to check out. An old lady. Meaning older than ME, heh, heh! A spindly little gray-haired lady with a purse on her arm.

"Oh. I haven't seen these before." 

Spindly stepped to the left side of the counter, and picked up two candies from a box. They looked like some kind of holiday Reese's treat. Maybe a chocolate-covered peanut butter ghost or Santa. Next to them was a box with Hostess Carrot Cakes. The "individual" size, rectangular, with a layer of frosting on top.

"I have to get me a Carrot Cake. I love Carrot Cake."

Spindly stepped back to the pay area. Not-Fave told her the total. But wait! Spindly wasn't done yet.

"You know, I need to get another one of those. Raymond won't like them. But when I tell him good, more for me, then he'll decide he wants to eat them. That's how he is. My daughter doesn't realize that. But it's him!"

Spindly stepped back over to get another Reese's. Then back to the pay area. "How much did you say that was?"

Not-Fave rang up the other candy. "Thirty-eight sixty-seven, including the gas."

Spindly took her purse off her arm. Set it on the counter. Opened it up to get her checkbook. Started writing. Asked the date. 

"Oh. Will you be open tomorrow?"

"Yes. Why? What's tomorrow?"

"Veteran's Day, " I added. Not so much to be helpful, but hoping to move the transaction along.

"Well, it is Veteran's Day. But it used to be called Armistice Day. That's what my daddy called it. He died at 42. Related to smoking! I hate cigarettes! Sorry if you smoke, but that's how I feel."

Spindly started writing out her check. "I can never get these things to tear out right." She finally handed it over to Not-Fave. Closed up her checkbook. Put it back in her purse.

"Do you need a bag?"

"Yes. A bag would be nice. I saw Woman Owner the other day. She was in the car, and I couldn't get her attention. You be sure to tell her I said 'Hi' when you see her."

FINALLY, Spindly was done. At least the only people who had come in were a man and his two pre-tween daughters.

To Not-Fave's credit, she was very polite, and didn't noticeably try to rush Spindly. I'm pretty sure she must be a regular. They don't take checks from people they don't know.

So I really wasn't lucky after all. I must have stood there for 15 minutes, swaying to keep my knees from locking up. I wasn't lucky on my tickets, either. Only won $10 on a $10 ticket. My crosswords were losers.

The Universe Gives A Wave To Fave

I walked into the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday as the gang of Side-by-Sides drove off. Some of them are kind of loud. Louder than their blaring radios. Anyhoo, I was really happy that all those people were gone before I got inside.

"What are you doing, throwing a party?"

"I guess so! Only nobody invited ME!"

Fave greeted me with good news.

"I won $50 yesterday! On a $3 ticket. That's all I won, though."

"Well, I won NOTHING from here! So you did better than I did!"

"Yes! Thank you! I'm not complaining. I scratched that ticket first, too. I was excited. On the back it said "10L." So I guess it came from the left machine at 10Box?"

"Yes. That's my code!"

Really. I'm happy for Fave! I don't play those $3 crosswords. I remember buying two that day, though, because they don't have the $3 Froot Loot ticket that I like in those machines. 

Every time I buy Fave's tickets along with mine, I give her the second one. For example, when I buy two crosswords, I take the first, she gets the second. That way I don't agonize over the number on the tickets, and which one I want. It's automatic. But THIS TIME, I gave Fave the first ticket of these two $3 crosswords. I reasoned that since I don't play it regularly, the first one is normally the one I would have bought for Fave.

Fave was meant to win that $50! I couldn't be happier for her. It worked out like it was meant to be.

Side-By-Side Invasion

I was idling in T-Hoe at the stoplight on Saturday afternoon, when a sight at the Gas Station Chicken Store set my blood to simmering. SIDE-BY-SIDES! Those little vehicles without sides and proper doors, which people seem to think are the same thing as cars. Oh, it was not just a couple. There were 7 of them. Some had a person sitting inside.

Well. I thought about just driving through the lot and coming back later. No doubt several folks from each vehicle were inside. Probably using the bathrooms. Getting a soda or snack. Four SxSs were at the gas pumps, so they'd be paying. Have I mentioned that the Gas Station Chicken Store is small? With only three aisles? And that I get a bit of claustrophobia when it's crowded? I think I have.

Since my rightful handicap space was open, I parked. I watched in T-Hoe's mirror as several people came out. A couple of the SxSs moved over by the moat. They were all waiting for each other. I got out and started inside. Lucky for me, the last of the SxS passengers had left. The radios were blaring, each on a different station. That's another thing about SxSs: their music escapes.

Anyhoo... I'm sure they're perfectly nice enough people. And entitled to their Saturday afternoon group excursion. I just don't think their sporty vehicles should enjoy the same road privileges as a regular vehicle. This belief was enforced later, when I was waiting at the other side of the stoplight on the way home, and counted 25 SxSx go through. Must have been some kind of organized festival. ONE of the SxSs ran the red light! Just like a regular vehicle. 

I sure don't want my trip home delayed because first responders have to mop up brains on the roadway. Another reason for my dislike of SxSs.

The Possum Re-Visited

He's baaaaack! That dang possum showed up again on Friday night. It was around 8:30. The first motion light brightened, and I could see him nosing around in the corner. I don't know what the fascination is with that corner. I never toss Jack's treat there. It's where the squirrels sometimes run down the pole to escape the porch. I don't know if possums get along with squirrels, or if they are sworn enemies.

Anyhoo... I called to Farmer H. "The possum is out here again! He's set off the other light now. He's headed around to the water bowl."

My hero, Farmer H, came to the rescue. Again in his tighty-whities. He went out on the back porch through the laundry room. The lights had gone off, and didn't come back on. Farmer H walked around the porch to the front door, clapping his hands. 

"Did you see it?"

"No. He must of got away."

"Do possums climb the posts? Like the squirrels?"

"Yeah."

I'll take his word for it. I don't want to research possums. They're creepy. I really regret sweet-talking this one for the past six months!

Perhaps Mrs. HM Should Take More Care For What She Wishes

You know I've been hoping that Farmer H will finally get an oil change for T-Hoe. The warning light has only been on for six months now. I've asked many times. More than once a month. Farmer H has, in the meantime, gotten oil changes for SilverRedO and A-Cad, on consecutive days! But poor T-Hoe only gets a quart added here and there.

I shouldn't have to spend my valuable time wishing for such a basic service. The autos are Farmer H's responsibility, and he's shirking! How dare I hitch my wagon to a star! I'm shooting for the moon with this outrageously selfish demand!

Anyhoo... when I picked up The Pony for our BBQ on Thursday, we stopped by Country Mart for some provisions. As I pushed my cart/walker out to T-Hoe's rear to load them, I noticed the right rear tire.

"Is it just me, or does that tire look low?"

"Huh. Let me see." The Pony took a look, and walked to the right front tire as well. "Yeah. It seems low, compared to the other one."

"I wouldn't know for sure. The back tires are the ones where the sensors don't work. So the low tire symbol is always on, because T-Hoe thinks they have ZERO pounds of air pressure."

The Pony told Farmer H when he came in, as we were sitting at the table binge-watching Derry Girls on The Pony's laptop.

"Huh. I better take it over to the BARn and check." Said Farmer H, turning on his heel.

Maybe having The Pony bring up such matters is the way to go! Anyhoo... what happened after that was typical Farmer H behavior.

I went out to the garage on Friday. I looked at T-Hoe's right rear tire, to make sure that it hadn't deflated any more. It looked okay. I opened the driver's door to climb in.

THE DOOR WOULD NOT OPEN ALL THE WAY!

Farmer H KNOWS I need that door to open completely, to get my knees inside. I have told him this time and again. T-Hoe must be parked in the garage so that the door opens all the way. Which means between the 2x4 studs. Otherwise, it slams into the 2x4s, and the door can only partially open. I can't bend my knees tight enough to get my feet in.

This time, I got the right leg in, but took three tries to squeeze in the left one. I had to grab my pants leg and force the knee to bend tighter. It was uncomfortable.

Once inside, I noticed the steering wheel was almost on the ceiling! Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it had been moved to the highest notch. I don't drive like that. I had to click the lever and put it down.

No, these are not attempted-killing-me actions. But Farmer H should at least show enough respect to park and try the door before shutting down T-Hoe and leaving him in the garage. And put the steering wheel back like it was. Of course I had to inform Farmer H of the error of his ways. Not that it will do any good.

"Hey, you parked where I couldn't get the door all the way open! It took me three tries, and it hurt. I've told you to make sure the door opens all the way. AND, I don't want to reach up to the sky to steer! I had to put the steering wheel back like I had it."

"I didn't move the seat."

"I never said you moved the seat."

"Well, I have to be able to drive! For my feet to reach the pedals!"

"It was only to the BARn and back. What are you, a 7-Little-Johnston?"

"No. I thought I put everything back like it was."

Let the record show that Farmer H is my height. 5' 8". I have no problem reaching the pedals with my feet. Are we to believe that Farmer H has extra-short legs, and an extra-long torso? Let me answer for you: NO. Farmer H LIKES to drive with his seat pulled all the way forward, the steering wheel rubbing against his belly. It is not a necessity due to his appendages. 

At least he put air in the tire. Now, I need to have The Pony complain about the oil.

A Hobby Worthy Of Giving Up A Treat

My little dog Jack forsook me on Tuesday afternoon, in favor of digging several holes under the squirrel feeder in the back yard. He came running as I was coming up the driveway. Stood with front paws on the little curb along the back edge of the carport. THEN, after looking over his shoulder, tail wagging, when he heard the garage door go up... Jack jumped over the side, and ran to the feeder.

I stopped to watch. Jack was interested in something underground. He'd dig frantically, then stick his head in the hole. Dig some more. Listen. Dig a little to the side. He kept digging. Sticking his head in. A couple times, it looked like he had something in his mouth. Like he was chewing. Then he'd dig some more, deeper. At one time, he had his whole head and shoulders underground. All I could think of was baby moles. Jack does enjoy a tasty baby mole every now and then.

I guess Jack didn't get all the critters out of their underground lair. He did the same thing on Wednesday afternoon, except for the frantic digging. Jack walked in a wide circle around the feeder. Tilting his head like he was listening. I tried to get a picture, but he was roaming every time I tried to snap it.

Farmer H has been filling the feeders, even though his buddy has not been back to harvest the squirrels. In fact, Farmer H complained that "Them deer must be eatin" the corn out of the squirrel feeders! It keeps disappearin'."

I think something else is eating it. Like whatever is in that tunnel. Maybe just eating what gets spilled out onto the ground by the squirrels. I don't know if rabbits and moles can stand up high enough to eat out of the feeder.

At least Jack has found a new pastime to keep his mind off being the only dog here at the Mansion. He must enjoy it quite a bit, because he didn't even bother to come to the kitchen door for a treat of grease bread and pork chop bone.

Mrs. HM's Little Friend

There's still no sign of our briefly-rescued dog, Lucky. And we never got another clue about Pupsie. It's starting to feel like the Mansion is the black hole of adopted pets!

Back when we had Pupsie, I could see her during the day, as I sat at HIPPIE at the kitchen table, and she sprawled in the sun on the corner of the back porch. For a dog who wouldn't let us pet her, she sure liked to be on the side of the house where we were.

Sometimes at night, I would hear Pupsie scratching at the door mat outside the kitchen door. I'd sweet-talk her for a bit, as I did when she laid down in the sun. All for naught, though. And sometimes, I'd yell at her NO, like when I would see her in daytime walk around to the water bowl, and hear her digging the water out.

Funny how after Pupsie disappeared, I'd sometimes still hear the scratching outside the kitchen door at night. Looking out, I saw nothing but darkness. I've never heard or seen a pet after they've gone over the rainbow bridge to a big farm upstate. But that doesn't mean it can't happen for some people. Pupsie is not a likely candidate for me, anyway. That would have been my Sweet, Sweet Juno if such an incident was meant for me to detect.

Anyhoo... Farmer H has since put up two solar lights with motion detectors. Not for any specific reason, other than he got a deal on a bunch of them. They come on as darkness falls, and light up brighter if Farmer H comes to the kitchen door after dark. Or when my little Jack makes his nightly trip to the water bowl between 8:00-8:30. I see the first light brighten, then the second. I look out the kitchen window and see my Jack, his tail in the air, calmly strolling around the kitchen nook. The lights dim again, and brighten in reverse order as he walks back to the side porch and down to lie in the hole he's got under SilverRedO. 

A couple days after Lucky disappeared, Jack went to the water bowl, and startled me by coming back from the side porch area. I think I wrote about it. Like he was doing laps around the porch, tracking something, rather than turning around and going back to his hole. I had hoped then that maybe he had gotten a scent of Lucky.

Anyhoo... for the past couple weeks, I've been randomly hearing that scratching at the kitchen door mat again. I figured that maybe Jack, being lonely, had come up to lie outside the door where I was. And was scratching and turning on the mat before settling down. The lights would go on, but I didn't see Jack walking to the water. This was usually later, around 10:00.

Tuesday night at 7:02, the solar lights brightened. I looked out. With the time change, it was actually 8:02 as a dog would feel the time. Jack's water routine. Huh. Jack was walking around in the corner of the porch where Pupsie used to have her nap. Sniffing. Then he started toward me, as if to go around for his drink. The second light brightened. 

THAT WASN'T JACK!

It was something smaller, with a pointy tail. It ambled not towards the kitchen nook and water bowl, but towards Juno's old dog house, right outside the kitchen door! I lost sight of it. 

I THINK IT WAS A POSSUM!

I hollered to Farmer H that I thought we had a possum on the porch. He came to the kitchen in his tighty whities, and went through the laundry room to look out. I heard Jack start barking out by the garage. The lights dimmed. Farmer H hollered, "GET 'IM, JACK!" A couple of times.

I don't know what happened. We didn't see anything. But I have a sneaking suspicion that all summer I have been talking to a POSSUM outside the kitchen door!!!

The Continuing Story Of An Old Gal And Her Scratchers

Just when you think it's safe to go back to the left-side lottery machine at 10Box... 

It's really NOT! Which I discovered when I was yesterday years old. 

That left machine has been working for several weeks now. Rain or shine. No excuses about "cloudy weather." I was leery at first. I'd only scan in a simple $3 winner at first, to try it out. Then I wouldn't fret about getting a worker to open the machine if it took my money. I was willing to risk it. Of course if other people were there, I first observed whether they were having any problems with the left machine. If they got tickets out, I put in my money/winners.

So I thought nothing of using both machines yesterday. I had gone in for ice cream. That's what Farmer H and The Pony want for desert after our cookout on Thursday. I got some cherry chip ice cream, and regular cones and waffle cones. Then I got a box of Drumsticks, which Farmer H specifically requested. And also some chocolate-coated vanilla ice cream bars on a stick. He had asked for Heath Bars, but 10Box didn't have them.

Anyhoo... after I checked out with enough sugar to put Farmer H into a coma, I wheeled over to the lottery machines. A woman and an old man were at the left machine. I don't know if they were together. The woman picked up tickets out of the tray, and said, "I'm going to get an attendant." I didn't know what that was about. I thought maybe she had scanned in a winner that didn't take. Sometimes they do that. They don't add it to the total, and if you try to scan again, it says already redeemed.

The Old Man saw me coming. He darted to the right machine. Then back to the left. He was muttering something, but not speaking directly to me. I scanned a $20 winner into the right machine, and got two Tetris, a Christmas Lights, and a crossword. The Old Man was getting tickets out of the tray of the left machine. Then he walked away.

I scanned in a $15 winner. I selected a crossword, a Tetris, and a Christmas Lights. As I was picking them up out of the tray, careful to put them with my other tickets so I could remember to mark which machine they had come out of... The Woman and a Manager came up behind me.

"Did you just get a crossword ticket?" asked Manager.

"Yes..." I was still trying to organize my tickets.

"THIS one?" asked Manager, as she pulled it from my hand. I didn't like that much. 

"I don't know. I'm trying to organize my tickets. I got some out of the other machine, too. But yes, I pushed that one to get a crossword, and I only have one in my hand."

"Yes. It would be THIS ONE, " said Manager. 

As if I was an idiot. Which maybe I AM, but at this time I was just confused because I was trying to count up my tickets and she had snatched one while I was still mentally counting. She wasn't rude or anything, just assuming I was on the same page as she was, when I was just about to turn it.

"THIS ONE. This half. She has the other half of it." Manager motioned to The Woman. "The machine didn't tear it right. So I'll take out two crosswords, and give you each one. So you can play your crosswords!"

That made perfect sense. The Woman and I declared that we both loved the crosswords, because they take longer to play. And the new Christmas Lights, which is very confusing.

"I'll give her the first one, because she bought one first. And you the second one." Manager handed us each a crossword ticket. "Then I'll have to write up a report about the torn ticket, to resolve the machine."

Yes. That was fair. But I wonder if the torn ticket was a winner. And if The Woman had a winner, on the ticket I was SUPPOSED to get out of the machine. You never know when such an odd occurrence will set up a big win.

My crossword lost. I suppose I'll never find out about the other two.

A Mistake Not To Be Repeated

Dang phone scammers! So annoying. I had a repeat caller on Monday. At least this one makes no pretense of changing the number. They called a couple weeks ago. Usually, when you block one, they resort to another number, and continue calling. I guess my block didn't work. I'll have to try again.

Anyhoo... my phone didn't warn me SCAM LIKELY. That's not a big deal, because it's often not accurate. It's "warned" me before on legitimate calls, but I recognized the number. I don't answer unknown numbers. I just let it ring. If the caller leaves a voicemail, I will listen.

Here's the deal. This one was tricky. It starts out saying, "HM? HM? If this is HM, press 1. If it is not HM, press 2. If you want to stop receiving these calls, press 3. If you want to speak to an agent, press 4."

Well. I knew I did not want to speak to any kind of "agent." And I did not want more calls. So like an idiot, I pressed 3. Of course all that did was let the scammers know they had reached a working phone number. Because once I pressed 3, the recording started on the same loop again. AND I got another call from the same scamming number 98 minutes later!

This time, I just pressed 7, which is the cue for my voicemail to delete the message. I should have done that in the beginning. I don't know if it would have stopped these scammers, but I think it would have been better than giving a response to their prompts.

When I tried to do a free phone lookup of the number, it just showed that it was a SCAM CALLER, and a ROBOCALL. Nobody had left any comments, but it was being reported frequently. I suppose nobody ever talked to an actual person, because they usually leave comments about the entity behind the calls. They probably make money off of selling lists of working numbers to other scammers.

There are worse problems I could have. This is just annoying. 

Mrs. HM Protests An Instant Reward For Her Selflessness

Sometimes, Even Steven is out of line. At the grocery line, no less!

Saturday, I stopped by Save A Lot to get some Stove Top Stuffing. I had a box in the pantry, but the date said it was best by 2022. I figured I could do better. I normally don't go to the store on Saturdays. It's busy with working people who have no other time to shop. Or with people bringing their kids, because there's no school to babysit them. And I especially do not go on a Saturday at the first of the month, when so many people get their government or social security or retirement benefits deposited in their accounts, or loaded on their cards. It's a hectic time.

Still, I wanted to use the Save A Lot lottery machine. I'd just been in 10Box the day before. I bought tickets there, and I was unable to find the Stove Top Stuffing. Even the lottery-playing checker was not sure what aisle. She suggested the one I had just looked on. And added that A LOT of people ask about it, and it is apparently on the bottom shelf somewhere.

Anyhoo... I pulled into Save A Lot, and saw a multitude of cars. But my rightful handicap parking space was open! I figured that must be a sign. It's right next to the cart return. I grabbed one and hobbled in. I didn't have a big winner from my scratchers, but my good-deediness almost got me a payout!

As I expected, the store was FULL. In fact, right in front of me, a woman and her three teenage kids strolled inside. I could hear a younger kid screaming. A dad and young son were on the bean aisle, and he was on his phone. I'm pretty sure they had a list, and he was making sure not to get the wrong thing.

This was also a special weekend, because Save A Lot had been advertising on the radio (Farmer H said) that you could get 6-for-$25 this weekend, on their usual 5-for-$25 meat deal. Also, you could get $10 off on any $50 purchase. AND they were giving out vouchers for $50 FREE groceries (no alcohol, tobacco, pet food) to people with electronic benefit cards. Local law enforcement officers were supposed to be there handing them out until they ran out.

Anyhoo... I was just there for a few items. Hopefully quickly! I grabbed a can of biscuits. A bottle of Caesar salad dressing for when The Pony comes out for grilling. Two boxes of stuffing. And three bananas. So basically, I had five items in the child seat of my cart when I headed up front to check out.

Only two lines were open. The man in front of me had a cart full. He was setting things onto the conveyor. A couple had pulled into the second line, also with an overflowing cart. I waited. A black lady around 30-something walked up, glanced at both lines, and stood in the second one. She had obviously just come in for a few things. She was wearing pink pajama pants, and some fluffy house slippers. It was the day after Halloween, or I might have thought she was in costume. She didn't even have a cart. Just a bottle of Coke, a plastic square container of blueberries, and two things I forget.

"You can go ahead of me. I have a cart to lean on."

I didn't mind, because I'd hate to be holding awkward items while waiting in line. She thanked me and got in front of my cart. I could tell the checker was frazzled. She must have had a Not-Heaven of a day, with these specials and the resulting crowds. She was young and blond. I've not seen her there before.

Of course That Lady's blueberries did not have a price on them! "Do you remember how much these were?" Nope. Frazzle took them and started over to the produce section, which is fairly close to the registers. Then she came back. "I'm just going to charge you $X for them." I don't remember how much, but it seemed fair enough.

Then the phone rang. Frazzle answered, while ringing up That Lady's other three items. I put mine on the end of the conveyor. Frazzle kept that conveyor going. Stopped it when it got to her end. That Lady had her card out and ready for the total. 

THEN FRAZZLE SCANNED A BOX OF MY STUFFING!

"Wait! No! That's mine!"

Frazzle was startled, but took my stuffing out of the cart where she had been putting That Lady's items. Then she subtracted it off her register.

"You almost bought my groceries for me, heh, heh!"

That Lady laughed. I hope she looked over her receipt. Frazzle should not have been trying to do so many things at once. Still, I could not stand there and let That Lady pay for my stuffing. 

A reward for my good deed should not result in a "fine" for somebody else!

Technology Is Killin' Me!

Progress! Bah! Humbug! Technology is a burr under my saddle. A thorn in my side. A fly in my ointment. Supposed to make our lives easier, huh? Not this ol' gal's life. 

Today it's been extra irritating. HIPPIE lost the innernets again. No amount of fiddling with HIPPIE's innards could bring it back. My phone still had the innernets. HIPPIE also professed to being connected. Until he didn't. I gave up after 15 minutes. I recalled that in the past, the innernets have come back after a time. Through no efforts of my own. So I went to make a pot of green beans with onion and bacon, for tonight's supper with Shake N Bake pork chops, and Stovetop Stuffing.

I kept thinking about past outages of the innernets. It happens a lot, you know. Through my experiences, it seems like HIPPIE shuts me out for an hour. That's right. After an hour, things magically start working again. No amount of shut-downs and restarts and turning the wifi on and off have any effect. It's like I'm in timeout. Yep. When I tried again after an hour had elapsed, nothing was amiss. Except, of course, I lost an hour that I would have preferred to be typing this complaint.

Don't get me started on my phone. Not just MY phone, but the phone service here in Hillmomba. How in the Not-Heaven could we send multiple men to the moon multiple times 55 years ago, but we can't let Mrs. HM call Farmer H on a cell phone when he's 100 yards away in the BARn???

And those dang debit cards! You may recall that I got mine replaced a few weeks back. The new one works just fine. Now it has the TAP feature, which I am loathe to use, since it requires no PIN to suck money from my account. The Pony uses the TAP. We were shopping in Save A Lot on errand day, with The Pony putting stuff on the conveyor first. Then couldn't find the TAP area on the scanner. After much moving around of The Pony's card, it took the data. My chip worked like a charm.

And how about just typing in what you want over the innernets, and having merch delivered to your home? Well, at least to your mailbox a mile down the gravel road. I ordered three items earlier in the week. Since I have Amazon Prime, I get two-day free delivery. Right? That's what I pay for, right? But I was being a friend of the earth, and agreed to have all my items come in one package. Which made it four days, but that was fine. EXCEPT... they were supposed to be here today, and only TWO of them say they've been delivered, with the other cooling its heels at a facility 30 miles north. So there was really no point in my selfless consolidation of my shipment

The good news is, I looked at my cell phone and saw another big crack. This time near the top, not one of the branching cracks at the bottom that distorts my reading of texts. It's been cracked since a casino trip when Genius was home one Christmas. As I got out of A-Cad on the concrete carport, I leaned to pet Jack and Juno (that's how long ago it was), and my phone fell out of my shirt pocket, landing face down on some gravel. If not for the gravel, it probably would have been fine.

Anyhoo... getting back to the good news, I discovered that it was NOT a new crack in my phone, but just something (probably lemon juice) that had splashed onto my phone while it was charging on the kitchen counter. It rubbed off with some mom-saliva. YAY, me!

But seriously. I am not a fan of technology. Except of course my working innernets and HIPPIE.

A Deserving Usurper

I was not happy to see a usurper in my rightful handicap space at the gas station chicken store on the second rainy day in a row. It was bad enough the day before, when my space was available. But this time, I'd have to walk even farther. I put T-Hoe nose-down in the FREE AIR space. Nobody was in the vehicle. Normally, I'd wait until the usurper left. But his day, it was only going to rain harder, according to the futurecast. I wanted to get back home. So I got out, shoes squeaking on T-Hoe's running board, careful not to slip.

As I hobbled past the white SUV parked in the handicap spot with neither marked plates nor placard, I sensed someone on the other side opening the driver's door. As I rounded the back of the vehicle, the guy said something to me. I looked up through the rain, and saw AN OLD MAN. Okay. I was not mad about the usurper any more. He was an OLD MAN, kind of hunched over. Probably arthritic and aching that day, just like I was.

"Do you need this space? I can move."

"No, I'm already parked. It's easier just to go in."

"I don't know which one of us would be faster."

"We could have a race, heh, heh! If it wasn't raining."

I went on towards the roof and the door, and he got into his SUV. Here's the thing. That OLD MAN was polite about it. By calling out to me, it seemed like he was apologizing. Unlike the Ram truck guy who is not even old, who just sits there, taking up the space. Or the lady who sits in her sedan, scratching her tickets.

Fave Dispenses Advice

When I got to town on Saturday, the rain started to fall more heavily than I judged necessary! It had been a mere mist when I left home, yet NOW, when I wanted to walk from my rightful handicap space into the Gas Station Chicken Store, I was going to get wet. I ducked my head and plodded on.

At least I was the only customer inside. Fave was bemoaning the weather.

"I know! I don't mind the gloominess. I kind of like it. But I hate to get wet!"

"You ARE really wet." Said Fave, as she took my winners and swiped them across her ample bosom, covered by her employee apron. "So are your tickets!"

"Well, I'm an old lady. I walk slow. And it's pouring!"

"I'm just so bored. Nobody's coming in. The time goes slower."

I bought my tickets, chatted few minutes, and started for the door, grasping them in my hand as usual.

"I'd put them tickets in my titties!" advised Fave. "So they won't get wet, and you can still scratch them."

"You know, I think I WILL!" I stuffed the tickets under my jacket, shirt, bra strap. "That's a good idea." 

They stayed nice and dry. Can't say the same for the rest of me. But my tickets were fine. In hindsight, there was such a lack of business that I might as well have parked under the roof. No cars were waiting for those gas pumps.

The Lucky Conspiracy

The strange disappearance of our adopted and lost rescue dog, Lucky, grows stranger and stranger. You may recall that we had him for seven days, with several escapes from collar and harness. Yet he still stayed here, looking for Farmer H, and roaming the yard with my little Jack.

The biggest question was how Lucky got his collar UNDONE on the day he disappeared. It was not broken, not chewed. The plastic prongs were somehow squeezed just right to "unbuckle" that collar, which was left attached to the lead which tethered Lucky to a big screw in the ground.

Well. I am currently formulating a new theory, which smacks of CONSPIRACY!

I have been telling Farmer H to call the Animal Control Guy (ACG) and tell him that Lucky got loose, we can't find him, and will take him back if he is captured again. That's just common courtesy, and also a heads-up as to why we will not be providing proof of his shots and neutering. [Still haven't cancelled that vet appointment yet.]

Farmer H finally sent him a text on Monday, one week after the disappearance. ACG asked Farmer H to send a picture, so he could remember which dog. Farmer H did. And got a response.

"Okay. You adopted my friend's dog, Officer Somename. He will be devastated! Don't tell him yet. I hope the dog comes back."

Are your conspiracy juices flowing? Something is not right here!

First of all, why would Officer Somename be devastated to hear that his former dog Lucky is lost? Because it seems to me, somebody who loves a dog so much would NOT HAVE LEFT IT IN THE DOG POUND FOR TWO WEEKS before it got adopted! Especially if his "friend" was the ACG at the dog pound!

Secondly, how would Farmer H know Officer Somename, and his contact info, to tell him that we lost his dog that we adopted? Why did ACG tell Farmer H not to tell Officer Somename about Lucky disappearing?

HOWEVER... if a true friend like ACG was to tell his supposed friend, Officer Somename, that he had just given away his beloved dog that he hadn't told him about for two weeks... then a true friend might "accidentally" leak the name and address of the adopter to his supposed friend, Officer Somename. 

It's possible, right? That Officer Somename could get our address and come looking around for his beloved doggie. That he might not want to just knock on the door and say, "Can I have my dog back?" Because that might be frowned upon, as well as being an embarrassment that he hadn't bothered to look for his dog at the most logical place for two whole weeks.

If Lucky's former owner were to show up, say, on a Monday, when most people are at work, and walk up to Lucky and unsnap his collar... Lucky would go right along with him, not needing a collar or leash, and get in the vehicle, wherever it may be parked, and thus there would be no sign of him along the roads or in a neighbor's yard. AND if that former owner were to declare, "Hey, my dog just showed up again!" then nobody would even question it. He's a police officer, you know.

Something is very fishy here. If Lucky's former owner had come to ask about Lucky, we would have given him back. No money was spent on him, aside from the $31 harness he chewed up in 20 minutes. Of course there's the emotional toll now, of not knowing what happened to Lucky.

I really hope one of these guys DID come and take Lucky. And that he's being loved, and is safe and fed and happy.

This conspiracy theory makes way more sense than Lucky magically opening his collar and vanishing into thin air.

The Weather Is Gettin' Chili

About five weeks into autumn, and the temperatures have finally cooled in Hillmomba. For the past week, we've been dipping into the 40s at night, and only hitting low 60s by day. Right now, it is 49 degrees at 1:00 on Monday. You know what that means: 

TIME FOR A BIG POT OF CHILI!

I watched the forecast, and planned ahead. Picked up my hamburger Saturday in Save A Lot. They have the best meat. I already bought my beans last Thursday, on errand day. This time I used chili beans, blackeyed peas, and Maple Bacon Beans. Plus a can of diced tomatoes with garlic, and two packets of chili seasoning. Then assorted dashes of ketchup, steak sauce, Heinz 57 Sauce, Worcestershire sauce, sweet honey BBQ sauce, and Franks Original Wing Sauce. Once that came to a boil, I turned it down to simmer, and added 2.4 pounds of hamburger that I'd browned with two diced onions.

I gotta say, from what I tasted, it will be DELICIOUS!

I prefer my chili with some crumbled saltines...

...mixed in. So the "juice" isn't so juicy. But I still want the juice. That's the flavor.

Farmer H said he likes TOAST with chili. He might have mentioned this before, but I have never seen him eat toast with chili. Not even when we had the toaster sitting on the counter, all the years when the boys were living here. But I offered to make him toast in the oven, so we'll see how that goes. Also, we're having some sliced Oberle Cheese. 

Which is a soft garlic flavored cheese, made locally, that comes in a long thin roll.

Mmm... I can't wait. I'll try to get a picture if I remember. 

[As you can see, I remembered!]

Gone To The Dogs, I Guess

I swear, The Universe must be in cahoots with snooping internet spyware, and eavesdropping smartphones. I can't blame Alexa, because I won't allow her in the Mansion. You know what I'm talking about. How any little thing you're talking about ends up in ads on your computer or phone. Sometimes things you don't remember saying out loud! 

Anyhoo... of course Farmer H and I have been discussing Lucky since he disappeared last Monday. It seems like every TV commercial since then is about pet sitters or pet foods or pet medicine or just has a dog in the commercial for people products! I'm sure I'm just sensitive to seeing dogs right now, so I notice the presence of canines more.

NOW, The Universe is mocking me! 

When I was in 10Box at the lottery machines, I saw a guy walking a little dog on a leash. INSIDE the store! A cute little dog, light brown, looked like maybe a cross between a dachshund and a chihuahua. He was long, but didn't have the full dachshund ears, and his face was a bit shorter, too.

The guy walked the dog back over to the checkout. I guess his wife was paying. He turned to me and said, "SOMEbody's going to win all the money!"

"I WISH! As long as I win enough to keep playing, it's fine with me. It's my entertainment. I like your little dog. I have a half-dachshund half-heeler. Shaped like a dachshund, but colored like a red heeler."

"Oh, they're something all right!"

Yes, they are. I was hoping he would tell me more about the little dog, but the groceries were paid, and they started out.

I mentioned this to Farmer H.

"This is the second time in about a week that I've seen a DOG inside 10Box! What's up with that? I thought businesses didn't allow dogs inside, unless they were seeing-eye dogs."

"Oh, yeah! Everybody lets them in now. I guess so many people saying they're support dogs."

"I guess they're afraid to ask. In case somebody will say it violates their rights, or they shouldn't have to disclose 'health information.' It just seems odd, people bringing their pets inside."

Who do they think they are, flaunting their pups in Mrs. HM's face???

Don't they know how inconsiderate that is, if another shopper just had a new dog disappear?

Returning A FAVEr

I have been so preoccupied with rescuing and losing our newest dog Lucky (still no sign, sadly) that I have not shared some news from the world of Hillmomba lottery.

You may recall that I have a favorite clerk at the Gas Station Chicken Store. I seem to get more winners from her than from anybody else in any other store. Of course, I DO go there every day, and FAVE works four out of seven of those days when I'm there. Maybe she is just luckier to me because I get the majority of my tickets from her. Still, she is congenial and polite. When I have a good four days, I give her a little something the next time I see her.

Last week, I won $150 there in one day! I had two $50 winners on $5 tickets, and the other tickets added up to another $50. I bought a couple of crossword tickets elswhere, especially to give her. She likes the crosswords. I gave her two of the $5 kind, and two of the $3 kind, in an envelope with her name on it. I don't want her to get in trouble, you know. I didn't buy the tickets there, and a sealed envelope is her private property that nobody should be opening.

Anyhoo... whenever I do this, I go by my own unwritten rule. If I'm buying a crossword for FAVE, it's always the second ticket I buy. For example, if I'm getting myself a crossword or two at Casey's, or out of a machine, the second crossword is designated for FAVE. I set it aside from mine. That way I don't debate on which number of the ticket I would rather play, or which one "feels" luckier to me. Nope. The second one is for FAVE. I feel especially guilty if my adjacent ticket wins something, because then I think FAVE has less of a chance to win. But that's my rule. The second is for FAVE.

I gave her the envelope on Thursday. When I stopped for my tickets on Friday, FAVE said, "I couldn't wait to tell you! I won $100 on one of my crosswords. I even showed my grandma! It came at just the right time, too! I was out of money!"

That was great news for me. I was not a bit jealous that FAVE had a good winner. That's what I hope for when I give people tickets. She was meant to win it, not me. Second-ticket rule!

The next day, I got a $100 winner. Not on a crossword, and not from FAVE. It was a new $5 Christmas ticket out of the machine at Save A Lot. I figure it was karma and Even Steven in cahoots. What goes around comes around...

Perhaps Reading NUMBERS Is The Only Requirement

My head is buzzing with all the bees in my bonnet lately! Now The Universe has turned the bank against me!

Every week, on errand day, I go through the bank drive-thru to get our weekly cash allowance. I sent in my withdrawal slip that I have a hoard of, taken right from the counter at the bank, when I had to walk inside. Or sometimes when the teller asks if there's anything else, I ask her to send out a few withdrawal slips in the tube canister. So I KNOW the withdrawal slip is nothing foreign to the bank workers.

Every week, I ask for the same amount, in the same denominations. I only get $100s and $20s. Farmer H and I use our weekly money however we wish. Of course mine goes mainly to lottery tickets and gas for T-Hoe, and his for gas and playing those fake slot machines, or auction treasures. The rest of the cash I set aside in one of our safes, in specific envelopes marked for Christmas, insurance, taxes, and miscellaneous. That way we never have a big expense come up that requires taking money from other accounts. It has already been set aside. Like a Christmas Club account, but available when we need it. What Farmer H doesn't see in the balance, he can't go off and spend, thinking we are rolling in dough.

Anyhoo... I always write on the withdrawal slip the bills I want for my cash. It saves the teller from having to ask, or make the decision herself. I have very legible writing. Printing in block letters. I get compliments all the time on my inkpenmanship. I write the requested bills directly above the withdrawal amount, and follow it with, "Please." Then I CIRCLE IT. You'd have to be blind or an idiot to miss it. Or perhaps a psychopath to deliberately ignore it.

Thursday, there was one other car already at the drive-thru. I sent in my canister. The gal said she would be with me in a minute. The other car finished and drove off. I was talking to The Pony, who was riding shotgun. It seemed to be taking a while. Another car pulled in at the lane where the first car had left. Then it also left. We were talking, but I was still conscious of the time it was taking.

Finally the teller came back and said to have a good day, and sent out the canister with my cash. I opened up the envelope to retrieve my driver's license. It seemed a bit thin compared to usual envelope. I looked at the bills, and 

THEY WERE ALL $50s!

I HATE $50s! They're not enough if you're making big purchases like some of Farmer H's business deals, and too much if you want to buy lottery tickets out of a machine.

No way did I want to sit there longer, and send the bills back in, and hope to get what I wanted. Even without a schedule, there's only so much car-sitting Mrs. HM is willing to do on errand day. I made sure to complain, though, to The Pony.

"This is NOT what I asked for! I had it clearly written on the withdrawal slip. How can they not see that? It's the same every week. Now I'm stuck with these dang fifties! I HATE fifties! Maybe Dad will be able to change them out with his business money. Or I can do it with the saved money at home. But that's AT HOME. I was wanting to buy tickets out of the machine in Country Mart. And all I have is this $100 winner from yesterday. I'm not scanning that into the machine."

"Can you cash it in at Casey's when you get gas?"

"No. They always mess it up. It's something about that store. They can't seem to understand how to take payment for gas out of a scratcher winner. I've tried it twice before, and it takes forever to get a manager to come fix whatever they do. And I'm not going to hold up the line, doing two transactions."

"Oh! I have some of my casino cash with me. I might have some twenties. But they're mostly hundreds."

"That's fine! See what you have. I'd rather have hundreds than fifties, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind! I can use fifties at the casino next time we go."

The Pony came to my rescue with five twenties, and enough hundreds to cover my fifties. I hope I don't get that same teller next Thursday. If I get fifties again, I'm going to complain! Have your calendars ready... 

A Needed Distraction

It's Thursday, and still no sight or news of our adopted dog Lucky. Jack has been barking his fool head off for 2.5 hours, looking towards the neighbors' house where Copper Jack used to come through the fence. There has been no sound of any other dog barking. Those neighbors have a little inside dog, too, but have not replaced Copper Jack since he had to be put down due to cancer. Jack also came up on the back porch, and barked down into the corner of the woods by that neighbor's house. Odd that it's the only direction he faces, while barking at nothing. 

Thank the Gummi Mary, Farmer H is still around to distract me from my moping. He carried in some old groceries Tuesday evening. A box of trash bags, and two kinds of paper plates. He actually put them away. Sort of. 

He got the box of trash bags right. Set them on the floor beside the wastebasket, in the recess under the counter where a dishwasher would go if I had one...

Farmer H put his "good" paper plates under the few remaining "good" paper plates on the counter. Then things went awry.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, shocked at his disbursement of those three items. All I'd asked was for him to bring them inside. Farmer H took the plain paper plates, that I use for things like chopping onions so as not to dirty my cutting board. I keep a few in the wooden paper plate holder emblazoned with "Everyday China." The rest are in a cabinet to the left of the sink.

I saw Farmer H trying to sneak the sealed package of plain paper plates into the cabinet. I had ASSUMED he was going to rip open the package and stack them. He even asked where they went. Despite my succinct directions, he opened three different cabinets. That man cain't understand nothin'! Finally, he opened the right one, and saw the stack of plates there.

"WAIT! What are you doing?"

"Puttin' this pack of plates up."

"Not like THAT! Why would I want a PACKAGE of plates in the cabinet? Take off the plastic and stack them on the others. When I need plates, I want to just reach up and grab some, not stop what I'm doing to unwrap them!"

I swear. Farmer H does these things on purpose, to get out of doing them in the future.

Moping And Hoping

There's no joy in Hillmomba. Farmer H and I are moping around, looking for any sign of our dear lost Lucky. Any little thing gives us slim hope. Like Monday night, when Jack made three trips around the porch. He usually comes up around 8:00, to get a drink from the water bowl. He sets off the motion lights, and I see his rumpus and tail as he trots past the kitchen windows. Then he sets the lights off in reverse order as he goes back towards the garage, where he likes to sleep in a hole in the gravel under SilverRedO.

Monday night, Jack went for his drink. But didn't come back. A minute later, here he came from the original direction, setting off the lights that had gone dim. He made another round of the porch after that. It's like he was looking for something. Chasing after it. Yet nothing else came by the lights or windows. I thought maybe he could have caught a scent of Lucky.

Farmer H said that Old Buddy told him on Tuesday morning that he'd seen a Facebook post by somebody who found a white dog by the bowling alley. I looked all over for it, and couldn't find it. Then that evening, Farmer H said it turned out to be a fluffy poodle-cross dog.

I've been wracking my brain, trying to make sense of the disappearance. With Pupsie, we knew she was kind of crazy, and could have gotten into something that could have led to her demise. Nobody could have taken Pupsie, because she wouldn't even let US get near her for capture, after a whole year of living here.

On one of the weekend days, while lying down for my nap before town, I heard Jack and Lucky barking a bit. Not a frenzy like a deliveryman. Just like barking at each other. THEN I thought I heard a man talking. I was so certain I heard a voice that I got up from bed, and went to peep through the miniblinds at that end of the house. I couldn't see anybody. Nor could I see Lucky or Jack, because of the way the yard drops away below the porch. I wondered if maybe Farmer H had somebody over at the BARn field, like he occasionally gives people permission for junking or hunting or burning scrap. I even asked him later, but he said no. It wasn't important at the time, because Lucky was still here until his Monday disappearance.

We can't imagine Lucky getting all the way to town on his own. There's the big river to cross. It was up from the storms on Saturday. I suppose Lucky could have gone across the bridge on the county lettered highway. But there's a lot of traffic on it. Different than Pupsie, Lucky would have gotten in a car with somebody. He's a friendly dog, and offers his paw to shake.

Tuesday afternoon, before my shower, I heard Jack barking in the front yard. Of course I went to look out. Jack was facing the neighbor's property, like when Copper Jack used to come through the fence into our yard. I didn't see anything over there. Jack didn't run after it like a varmint. Just stood still in our yard, barking.

As I left for town, I heard Jack barking again, from the driveway. He came running to greet me. I heard something down in the woods by the garage. Like where Jack and Pupsie and Copper Jack used to chase the squirrels when I came up the driveway. The dogs  have a little trail into the woods. I heard the leaves crackling, but saw nothing.

Farmer H has apparently been driving around our gravel roads looking for Lucky. He hasn't said as much, but he brought up the fact that the people behind us, over the creek, have poured concrete to make a nice porch on former neighbors Nick and Bev's old house. It's not on the main road. No way Farmer H would know that unless he turned off, driving around.

As Farmer H says, we haven't seen a body. So that's a good thing. Lucky hasn't been run over out here. I can only hope that wherever he went, somebody is feeding him. Maybe keeping him inside. The pound originally said it seemed like he was housebroken. And that his nails were trimmed.

Farmer H hopes Lucky may come back. I hope so too, but I think it would have happened by now, which is Wednesday at noon, as I'm typing.

Canine Houdini

I don't even want to write this. The Universe has gone too far this time, toying with my emotions. Even Farmer H is sad.

Lucky is gone!

Everything had been going fairly well since Farmer H rescued Lucky last Tuesday. Despite the four escapes from his lead in the side yard, and his Jack attack (provoked!)... Lucky seemed to be settling in. He didn't bark much. Just lay in the side yard in the grass, a definite improvement over his wire and concrete CELL indoors at the dog pound. 

Farmer H took food and water to Lucky every morning. He had his own food dish and water bowl and house. He looked forward to Farmer H's arrival every afternoon, barking and wagging. Farmer H gave him treats and pats. 

On Monday afternoon, Farmer H sent me a text from his SUS2.5, asking "How's your dog?" I told him "Not barking." That was the norm. I thought nothing of it. But when Farmer H got home at 3:00, he came in the front door (instead of the kitchen as usual), and said, 

"Lucky is gone! I pulled my truck in the front yard. I was gonna clean it out after petting Lucky. But he's GONE! His collar is undone! Still on the lead! I don't know how he coulda done that. It clicks together. It never done that before when he got loose. He just slipped out of it, and it was still fastened. I adjusted it to be tighter. I don't know how it could have come undone!"

It was a blue nylon collar, with those black plastic prongs that click together. Then you squeeze it to undo it. A dog can't to that! Especially not when it's around his neck. UNLESS... maybe Lucky was stretched back, pulling against the lead, and twisted the collar just right to make one of the prongs slip out. Farmer H said maybe he could have pulled hard enough to get it by his mouth and bite it. But there was no sign of chewing.

This almost makes me think somebody let Lucky loose! He and Jack were not friendly enough that Jack could have been chewing on the collar. Anybody wanting to "steal" Lucky would surely have taken the collar as well. Lucky had been here for 7 days. Not really long enough for anybody passing by to notice him. There's only a couple of kids out here now. One teenage boy who rides a 4-wheeler too fast. I doubt that he would come into our yard.

We don't know what time Lucky left. He was here at 6:30 a.m. Around 7:45, I heard Jack out front, barking. Only for about 5 minutes. Lucky might have gotten loose then, or just before Farmer H got home. We don't know. There's been no sign of him now for 24 hours. 

Farmer H put Lucky's picture on the Facebook of our enclave. Nobody had seen him, but our neighbor said she would be looking out for him. Farmer H put it on his regular Facebook. That evening, a guy said he had seen a white dog looking similar to Lucky over by the Sis-Town Elementary School around 3:30. That's past The Pony's house. Farther than where Lucky was originally picked up by animal control. So Farmer H thinks it was a different dog.

I think Farmer H is sadder than I am. He spent more time with Lucky, and they had bonded. I feel so bad that we rescued Lucky. Now he's not even in a cell with food and water.

No good deed goes unpunished, I suppose. I told Farmer H to call the dog pound guy and tell him we'll take Lucky back if he's caught again. And not to cancel the vet appointment November, in case we find another dog to "rescue."

Now All The Baby Steps Are Going Backwards

Just when I thought I was making some progress in training Farmer H to be kitchen-efficient... he has had a major relapse!

We had Casey's Pizza for supper on Friday, with leftovers for two more days. Farmer H usually warms his leftover pizza in the microwave. I prefer mine in the oven. Makes it seem like it just came out of... um... an OVEN, heh, heh! One evening Farmer H had come home late from an auction, while I was getting my own supper ready, and I offered to put his pizza in the oven with mine. Well. That was certainly a mistake! Because he saw the difference.

Anyhoo... there are two parts to this tale. Two major steps backwards in the training of Farmer H.

Friday evening, he came in carrying the pizzas. Set the boxes on the cutting block, taking up all the room there, when I've told him for years to set them on the stove. Farmer H went out to check on Lucky. To pet him and give him some "treats" from a baggie of ham chunks I had set on the counter for that purpose. I moved the pizzas over to the stove, where the cardboard boxes could "breathe" a little sitting over the burner coils, and not sweat from sitting on flat wood of the cutting block.

Farmer H came back in, and went straight to his pizza. He got his own plate. I had already torn off a paper towel for him, not wanting him to hold onto the top of the roll with his wet dirty hands after washing them. Well! Farmer H fooled ME! He didn't wash his hands! As he was walking into the living room with his plate, I called after him:

"THIS is why I don't want you putting your hands in food I'm going to eat! You were petting that dog, and handing out old ham, and didn't wash your hands before you touched your pizza!"

"Huh. My hands are clean enough."

Not even the common sense to be ashamed!

Anyhoo... On Saturday evening, I was already sitting at the table with my scratchers when Farmer H came home. He was puttering around, wet from the downpour, going out to check on Lucky. I figured he would warm his own pizza when he was ready. But I just had to ask...

"So, you're going to microwave your pizza when you come back?"

"Well... unless you want to warm it in the oven."

"I don't really want to, because I just sat down with my tickets. It's not hard. Even you could do it! 350 degrees, for 10 minutes."

"But I don't know how."

Sweet Gummi Mary! It's not like he was performing brain surgery! Or re-wiring a house. Or cutting off a MACK truck trailer, adding hydraulics, and turning it into a dump truck. It was just turning on an oven, putting pizza on a pan, putting the pan in the oven, and setting a timer for 10 minutes!

Of course that was beyond the capabilities of Farmer H. So I did it while he was outside. Let the record show that he did NOT wash his hands when he returned. Maybe the rain cleaned them a little.

Bamboozled By The Brewing Storm

Rain was in the forecast for Saturday. I knew that, because I saw several weekend events that had been postponed, or moved to an inside venue. It doesn't seem like a "ghost walk" would be nearly as much fun, even if it was held inside a building in a neighboring town called "heritage hall." I felt bad for the organizers of that event.

Anyhoo... in planning my trip to town, I consulted the weather radar of a news station. At first I was thwarted by a random hiccup of HIPPIE, who refused to connect me to the internet. Everything had been just fine for the first half hour I was on. Then the connection stopped. The weather was fine at the time. Bright and sunny. Of course I had also been planning to pay the gas bill for our Bargain House flip property online. Seems like I'm always inconvenienced when there's something important I need from HIPPIE.

Anyhoo... despite my efforts of restarting, shut down and start-up, tinkering with HIPPIE's innards including wi-fi and troubleshooters, and trying a different browser... nothing would let me connect. More infuriating, HIPPIE declared that I HAD an internet connection! No problems found.

After about 50 minutes, HIPPIE became compliant again. Nothing I did. Simply worked like normal when I tried a website. By now, my time was running short for getting two blog posts typed up, and checking the weather. So I tabled the bill-pay for the next day. It's not due until the 28th. Takes me 15-20 minutes by the time I get into the site, make the payment, record it, document The Pony's portion for tax records and reimbursement, and then file it with the Bargain House bills. I don't like to feel rushed, and I'd rather have my blog posts done before leaving for town.

I finally got the weather radar map loaded, and checked the futurecast. Indeed, the storms were coming. Even if I left home before showering, it would put me in a hot spot. So I looked for a window of just light green (light rain) across my section of that map. Aha! There it was. I could have about an hour before the next dark red wave entered Hillmomba. I had time to type up two blog posts, take my daily  20-minute nap, shower, and drive to town.

The storm came in waves, as I knew it would from the radar. When I left, there was just a light sprinkle falling on T-Hoe. As I approached town, there was a black cloud. I expected it. The weather was supposed to be passing north, before the next wave hit. I should be safely home by then.

WELL! That radar map, along with its cohorts, the lying meteorologists, had betrayed me! I went into the Gas Station Chicken Store without incident. No rain at all. I went across the street to the Liquor Store. No rain at all. Only one stop left, the Casey's.

With it being Saturday evening, people were buying their party supplies. I was lucky to be fourth in line. The three ahead of me were buying alcohol and vapes. Two were together. The next gal was with them but making her own purchase. She paid with cash. I stepped up. The cashier was a new girl. Really slow, but at least polite. I was almost tapping my toes, because it was taking SO LONG. It looked like she scanned my three winners and printed out the tickets separately, rather than with just the total winnings on one ticket. Somebody needs to show her how to do that!

Anyhoo... I heard thunder. I looked outside, and it looked like NIGHT! Car lights were on. That dashed my hopes that it was just tinted glass, even though I go there frequently and know it's regular glass. Lightning flashed! A second or two later, more thunder. Dang! This gal was taking so long!

It was indeed very dark as I went back to T-Hoe. A big dark cloud coming from the south. I went back across the street to Casey's. My rightful handicap space was open. As I turned off T-Hoe, rain began to fall. BIG drops. I got out and hobbled to the door, the rain falling heavier with each step. I looked like a drowned rat by the time I got the door open. I could hear the rain on the roof.

"Wow. It's really coming down!" said the young guy, one of the newest cashiers.

"I know! If only I had been here five minutes earlier! I'd like to cash in these winners, and get more tickets."

Young Guy took them, and turned to the terminal where they scan the winners. "Oh. The system is down. I can't scan them."

"Okay. But you can still sell tickets, right? For cash? So I can buy new tickets."

"No. It's all down because of the weather. I can't scan them."

"Really? You can't scan the price?"

"No. Sorry."

"Well, the weather is not YOUR fault! I just wish I could have been here a few minutes earlier. Now I have to go back out in that!"

[Here's my deal. When the Gas Station Chicken Store's lottery terminal is down, they can still sell tickets. That's at the cash register, same way they do it at Casey's. They just scan the PRICE section of the ticket, with the scanner they use on all their merchandise. It rings up just fine. It's separate from the lottery terminal where they print out draw tickets, and scan for winners. They can't sell DRAW tickets when it's down, but they can sell scratchers. So maybe this guy just didn't know. I seriously doubt that it works differently for Casey's.]

Indeed, it was black as night, rain slamming down. By the time I got to T-Hoe, I was as wet as a drowned rat that had been trapped under a log for 24 hours, floating down the Mississippi! Wetter than when I got out of the shower! I had to drive home with T-Hoe's windshield wipers on maximum speed, at about 25 mph, though it seemed much faster. According to my pre-planning, I should have still had 30 minutes of my "light rain" window left.

Of course you guessed it. By the time I got to the Mansion driveway, the sky had lightened, and the rain was just a sprinkle again. I didn't see Lucky at the end of his lead. So I figured he was in his dog house. I had made sure Farmer H allowed him enough cable. I had asked the night before, when I knew it was going to rain. He assured me it would reach.

Little Jack came out to T-Hoe, and went in the big garage door when I opened it. Jack was dry, so I figured he had been on the porch. It had obviously rained just as hard here, because the roads were running with water headed for the creek.

Farmer H got home about an hour later. He was dripping. Said it had poured on him all the way home from his SUS2.5. 

"I'm going out to check on Lucky. To make sure he can get to his house. He's standing out there in the rain."

"You told me he could! So you didn' even check? But I think Lucky is fine, because I didn't see him when I came home."

Farmer H took lucky a piece of bread and some ham chunks. Said he COULD reach his house, but was still standing outside. Of course! Lucky has learned how to make Farmer H come over and interact with him, heh, heh!

Anyhoo... it's bright and sunny this afternoon. But with winds gusting to 31 mph. I'm still planning on going to town. Just as soon as I pay the gas bill online...

A Harness Was Not The Solution

After the altercation between new dog Lucky, and my little Jack (the instigator), with Farmer H caught in the middle... all parties retired to their respective corners. Farmer H came into the Mansion for first aid for his bite/scratch. Lucky was left on the lead with his collar. Jack disappeared.

As I left for town, Jack came around the corner of the garage. I didn't see any bleeding on him. He was moving slower than usual, and seemed subdued. I hope it was just embarrassment from his recent thrashing, and not an internal injury. 

Farmer H later told me that he went back to put the harness on Lucky, on his way to the BARn. Jack came running, and Farmer H stuffed him into the pet carrier that had brought Lucky home. Then he put on the harness, which fit just fine. He let Jack out. Said Jack made sure he stayed out of range of Lucky on his lead. Farmer H went over to the Freight Container Garage to get some parts he needed to repair old fishing poles that he had in the BARn.

"I heard something behind me, and turned around, and it was LUCKY! He had chewed through the harness! I bet it hadn't been on him 20 minutes! He just came in looking for me. I walked back over to his cable, and attached it to his collar again. I guess that's the only way we can keep him tied up!"

"That may be how we ended up with him! Nobody could keep him in town, because he kept getting loose! Where was Jack?"

"The two of 'em were roaming around together! Not fighting!"

"I guess because you weren't there to fight over!"

"Maybe. I cain't believe Lucky chewed off that harness!"

For now, the collar is doing the trick. I drove T-Hoe over there to pet Lucky when I came home on Friday. He is a sweet dog. He jumped up once, but I said, "NO! Sit!" and he did! Then I called him back, and he stood for petting. Meanwhile, Jack had run over to greet me, and was jumping up like a fool. But he's small, and I told him no and pushed him down. He stayed out of Lucky's reach, getting petted with my right hand, while Lucky got the left.

When Farmer H got home, he took pork chop bones out for both dogs. Said Lucky was happy as he put the bone and a slice of bread in his food bowl. And that Jack had followed along into Lucky's territory, wagging his tail, and ate his portion that Farmer H tossed on the ground.

I have hope that we can manage their relationship without further incidents, until time for Lucky's very special operation.

Shackytown Boulevard Is Paved With Gravel And Good Intentions

When we last convened, Farmer H had settled our new rescue dog Lucky in the side yard, over by Shackytown Boulevard. Lucky had slipped his collar three times, and Farmer H got a too-small harness to contain him. 

Wednesday afternoon, Farmer H had exchanged the harness for a larger size to fit Lucky. He was outside putting it on, as I readied myself for town. When I got out of the shower and dressed, Farmer H was back in the house.

"I don't know what we're gonna do! Them dogs went crazy! I had Lucky by the collar, with my left hand, trying to put the harness on him. Jack jumped in, and started nipping at Lucky. Bit him on the balls and the pecker! Lucky went after Jack. He had him on the ground, underneath him. I couldn't pull Lucky off. Lucky was on top of Jack, with his mouth around Jack's head. I kicked Jack out of the way--I mean, I scooted him with my foot, and he still kept coming back! Lucky pulled me off my feet, and I was on the ground in the middle of it. Lucky bit me!"

Farmer H held up his arm, which was dripping a little blood from a long mark on the inside of his left bicep. No puncture holes. One gouge, about three inches long.

"Wait. I don't think Lucky could have bit you on the arm you were holding him with. That must have been Jack."

"Maybe. It happened so fast, I couldn't tell. It might not be a bite. It might be from claws."

"Yeah, Jack has those digging claws. And Lucky has feet just like that. But again, if you were holding him with that arm, it was probably Jack."

"Jack started the whole thing, running in and biting Lucky."

"I believe that. Jack can be a little sh!t. Is he okay?"

"Jack got bit on the eye. I hope it's all right. He run off yelping. I don't know what we're gonna do. They're gonna kill each other!"

"If Lucky wanted to kill Jack, he would have done it. You couldn't have stopped it. But he didn't. He taught him a lesson. Once he gets his operation, that will help."

We got Farmer H's bleeding stopped. Put on some antibiotic ointment and a big bandaid. Farmer H said he was okay. But he looked shaky from the adrenaline rush. I said I'd stay home, but he said he was going over to the BARn to do some work.

I don't blame Lucky for the fracas. He was restrained by Farmer H, held captive with Jack biting him. That's not a fair fight. They had been fine together the day before, wagging tails and sniffing, just a few warning growls, then more wagging.

Usually, we introduce new pets by sitting on the side porch with them, the new one in a carrier, giving both treats, and reprimanding any signs of aggression. Then more petting and treats over the following days, so both are getting attention from one of us. I told Farmer H that next time he's working with Lucky, he needs to first toss Jack into SilverRedO, so he can't cause trouble. I'm pretty sure it's just Jack's jealousy, and trying to protect his territory.  

More on this saga tomorrow.

The Escape Artist

Here's a picture that was a happy accident. I was tossing little chunks of bread to Jack and Lucky on the front porch, when Farmer H first came home with Lucky. They finished, and were looking at Farmer H on the sidewalk. How cute is this??? They are "twinning!"

Farmer H took our new dog Lucky over to the side yard by Shackytown Boulevard. Rather than putting the giant screw into the hard dry ground for Lucky's lead, Hick attached it to the guide wire that steadies the electric pole holding our dusk-to-dawn light. Lucky promptly took a walk over to the edge of the woods, and got tangled in the underbrush. Farmer H had to go rescue him.

"I guess that ain't gonna work!"

He led Lucky across the beginning of Shackytown Boulevard, to the old swing, and hooked the lead to one of the swing legs. I went back in the house. Hick came in to get his BARn keys, and said,

"That dog got out of his collar! Turned around and backed up and slipped out! He done it THREE TIMES while I was out there! I guess I need to get a choke collar."

"I don't like that."

"Well, he wouldn't get loose. And I don't think he'd choke hisself. Maybe I'll get him a harness."

So Farmer H went to town for a harness. But he got a medium, and it was too small. So he said the next day, he'd exchange it ($31.99) for a large. Meanwhile, he put the screw in the ground for the lead, and moved Lucky away from the swing, because he'd gotten tangled in the trees there, too. So Lucky was by the dog house in the side yard, where Scarlett had spent her first few weeks.

Lucky didn't bark much at all. Only if Farmer H went out for something. He has kind of a "hound" bark. Almost baying, at the end of the bark. I'm not sure what his other breed might be.

Wednesday, Hick came home with the large harness. THAT'S another story entirely...

It's Our Lucky Day

Tuesday at 1:00, Farmer H went to the dog pound to adopt the pet of my desire. The animal control guy said, "He's been here a long time. I've been waiting for him to get adopted." Farmer H was given paperwork while Animal Control Guy went out to get the dog. Farmer H called me.

"I was sittin' there fillin' out the form, and the dog come in and put his head on my knee."

"He knew you were there to rescue him!"

"I guess. He let me pet his head. He's a big dog. Almost as big as Copper Jack, but not quite. But he's that shape of dog."

"Is he fat?"

"No. He ain't fat. But he's a healthy-looking dog. Strong. And his leg ain't broke!"

"I was looking on Facebook, and they'd updated it to say, 'Paw is all better now.' It also says he knows how to 'sit' and 'shake.' And that he might be housebroken."

"Well, I got him in the back of the truck now. On the way home."

Here they are out front. Jack is getting a sniff. Farmer H said we should call the new dog "Lucky." That's fine with me. I'd thought of "Barney," after seeing the original picture. Once I saw him in person, I think Lucky fits better. He IS a very lucky dog that we rescued him from the dog pound.

For now, Lucky will be on that wire lead that hooks onto a screw in the ground, used for Scarlett. Though I think Farmer H learned his lesson about driving by on the Gator, and won't almost-strangle Lucky by catching the lead on the axle! Anyhoo... Farmer H's plan this time was to hook the lead to the guide wire on the electric pole over by Shackytown Boulevard. That lasted about three minutes...

Tomorrow I'll give a better picture, and the tale of Lucky's first day.