More Questionable Behavior From The Man With No Common Sense

When Farmer H got home Tuesday evening (without my precious T-Hoe!), he plopped down in his recliner while I started his supper. Nothing special. Just warming up two of the bratwursts frozen after our last cookout, and some waffle fries.

When he gets home in time, Farmer H likes to watch Emergency. It's an old TV series from the early 70s. As you might imagine, it's about paramedics and the hospital they work out of. I could hear the dialogue from the kitchen. 

I also heard Farmer H checking his voice mail. It was a woman's voice. I figured maybe somebody from his doctor's office, or one of the elderlies from the senior apartments. I heard her giving a number to call her back. I didn't get all the details, because I wasn't that interested, and because the paramedics on TV were going on a call. The sirens were blaring. I heard Farmer H keep re-playing that voice mail. Three or four times!

"IF YOU TURN DOWN THE TV, MAYBE YOU CAN HEAR THE MESSAGE!"

"What?"

"IF YOU TURN DOWN THE TV, MAYBE YOU CAN HEAR THE MESSAGE!"

"I just cain't make out the phone number."

"TURN DOWN THE TV!"

Just as he finally did, his phone rang again.

"Maybe that's her!"

Farmer H took the call. It sounded like somebody wanting something from his store. When he got off the phone, he said,

"That was some lady wanting to know if I have duck decoys. I have a whole bunch of them. She was trying to describe what she wanted. She said DUCK decoys, but then something about geese. And Canada. I told her just come down and look at them, and see if they're what she wants. I'll sell them to her for $2.50 apiece."

Farmer H needs to realize that he is mostly deaf. And that he needs to cut out the excess noise when he's trying to hear something. At least I've (mostly) trained him to mute the TV when I holler to him from the kitchen. Baby steps...

You'd Think A Man Could Do Such A Simple Thing

But you'd be wrong!!! We're not talking about taking T-Hoe for an oil change. Something even easier. A child could do it. But not Farmer H.

Let's start at the beginning. Tuesday morning at 5:50. I was looking on the TV, reading the program guide to see what else was on, since we were in a commercial during Ridiculousness. Farmer H was on the long couch, looking up on his phone how much it costs to replace shocks and struts on a Chevy Tahoe. The TV went to a screen showing SIGNAL LOSS DUE TO WEATHER. We had a short spate of heavy rain.

In a few minutes, the DISH signal came back. And the show playing was the one I had been reading about on the program guide. I had NOT pushed the button to watch it. That was uncommon. It should have gone right back to playing Ridiculousness. 

"Huh. That's weird. It should be on the other show. I guess the signal got messed up with the rain."

I picked up the remote and pushed in the Ridiculousness channel, 160. But the show stayed on Young Sheldon, and the numbers on the screen changed from the 160 that I pushed in to the 139 of Young Sheldon. I did this three times. Farmer H watched. He agreed that was weird. But then he said,

"Give me the remote."

"Oh. So you think I'M doing something wrong. And only you know how to change the channel with the remote."

"Just give it to me. Sometimes it depends on where you push."

MALARKY!

Farmer H did the same thing I did. Pushed in the 1-6-0. But the numbers went back to 139, and Young Sheldon stayed on the TV.

"SEE! Either the receiver is messed up, or it's the remote. It HAS been saying LOW BATTERY for a couple weeks. Go get some batteries."

Farmer H went to the kitchen to get batteries out of the third drawer. That's all that's in there. Different size batteries, and a few of those gripper thingies for opening stuck jar lids. Both the pot-holder-looking kind, and the long handled circular kind.

"Welp! There goes that!" Said Farmer H after I heard a clunking noise. "The knob come off in my hand."

What in the NOT-HEAVEN???

How can a man not open a drawer without destroying something? The knob wasn't loose. Here's the thing. That drawer STILL has a childproof stick thingy on the inside! I'm pretty sure it's safe for The Pony to get into the battery drawer now. For some years now, even. But Farmer H has never taken that gadget off. The drawer will open about an inch, then a half-arrow shaped part of the white plastic gadget catches, and prevents further opening. 

Farmer H yanked so hard on that drawer that he pulled the knob off!

"Well. It's in two parts. I cain't find the other one." Farmer H brought the batteries. I put them in the remote, and the TV channels worked right again.

"What are we going to do about the drawer?"

"Well, HM, I'll have to see if I can find a knob to match it..."

I fully believe Farmer H planned on leaving, with my drawer knobless, to go about his merry way. But by my questioning him, he took another look on his way through the kitchen, and miraculously found the knob and put it back on.

In a normal household, the Farmer H would have removed such childproofing, once the younest child was past self-harm from getting into stuff. Not at the Mansion. The gadgets in the other three drawers have broken off the half-arrow part. The stubs are still there.

Farmer H is no stranger to fetching batteries. He should know that childproof gadget is still on that drawer. And not YANK so hard as to pull the knob off the drawer. Even a childproofed child could have figured it out.

Mrs. HM's Weirdo Magnet Has ReCharged

Mrs. HM's weirdo magnet has not gone the way of our generator battery. Nothing dead there! No need for a jump. The weirdo magnet is working at full capacity. As evidenced last week in Save A Lot.

I had left the lottery machine, and was wheeling my cart along the produce section, selecting Romaine lettuce. A guy (WEIRDO) came up behind me. I didn't know he was a weirdo just yet. 

He was normal height, stocky, early 20s, wearing jeans and a nice dark brown Carhartt jacket, with medium brown hair styled like singer Bobby Goldsboro (when he was on Here Come the Brides), only not as poofy. He wasn't really close to me, but I sensed someone coming up past the bananas. I saw him over my left shoulder, about 10 feet away. I figured he must want to look at something where I was, so I picked my lettuce and left.

I went down that aisle to the end, and turned to come up the next aisle, for sliced dill pickles. As I was spinning a couple jars around, to make sure I got GOOD slices, not really thin and seedy slices, I looked up and saw Weirdo. He had come down from the top of this aisle. Maybe 15 feet away now. By the ketchup. He wasn't really looking at any items on the shelves, and not really looking at me. Just kind of staring off into space. Like maybe I had caught him looking at me. He had no cart. Nothing in his hands. 

I turned and went back the way I had come up that aisle. Went around to the next one, to get some canned green beans. You guessed it! Weirdo came down from the top of that aisle. Stood along the canned meats. His body facing me, his back to the SPAM and sardines, gazing into space. NOTHING IN HIS HANDS! I might not have been so suspicious if he held some food, or even a cell phone. Nope.

This was getting creepy. There were a few other people in the store. But Weirdo didn't seem to be following them. It wasn't a matter of us coincidentally shopping for the same items at the same time. Wherever I went, there he appeared! He caught up to me again on the chip aisle, where I was getting a bag of big pretzels.

As I was in line to check out, Weirdo had wandered across the front aisle, but had turned to amble back in my direction. Absolutely nothing in his hands.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

I can only think that maybe his motive was to steal my debit card info! Who else tries to follow somebody, and get kind of close, but has no reason to be there? Young people these days! They know all about technology, and how to tap into somebody's "tap" card. On the other hand, perhaps he was just an old-fashioned purse-snatcher, and was hoping I'd walk away from my cart so he could snatch Pursey.

Weirdo picked the wrong gal for THAT! Mrs. HM doesn't leave her cart/walker.

Little Girls Shouldn't Hang Out At Liquor Stores

Some things just don't go together. One of those combinations being little girls and liquor stores! That should go without saying! But not in Hillmomba, I suppose! So I'm saying.

Last week I stubbornly refused to go into the Liquor Store for my scratchers. I really wanted to buy them there. I was even on the parking lot, in a less-than-advantageous parking space, because the one on the end, up against the building, was taken. Probably by somebody inside playing the fake slot machines. The car had been there for a while, during my time at the Gas Station Chicken Store.

Anyhoo... I was preparing to start the walk across the parking lot when I saw that little girl standing at the door. She was probably 12-13 years old. Having spent my working life in the public schools, I can pretty much gauge the age of kiddos. She did not have that gangly look of all knees-and-elbows that they get around 8th grade, or 14.

The LG stood with her back holding open the glass door, allowing people to walk in and out. So they were very close to her when passing. Making the act of declining her wares more difficult, I would think. She had a white box on her forearms, with low sides. Looked like she might be selling those overpriced candy bars for a school fundraiser. Nothing wrong with kids wanting to succeed, getting out on their own to hawk the wares, rather than having a parent take them to work. But these days, you can't be too careful. Young 'uns need to be safe.

Sure, the Liquor Store is a public place. It's actually a "smoke shop," which sells cigarettes and vapes, and has three aisles and two wall coolers full of liquor. I've always been suspicious of back-room activities there, just because the number of cars in the lot don't match the number of people I see inside. Anyhoo... it's a regular business, part of a chain. It just seems to have a less-than-savory clientele. Like ME, for instance! 

Anyhoo... I suppose the LG was related to one of the workers inside. At least I HOPE SO! Otherwise it was very, very wrong for her to be hanging out there. I did not want to go in. I didn't want a candy bar, and I didn't want to have to refuse to buy one. As I was looking around, trying to get T-Hoe off the lot, between the long line at the drive-thru window, and the cut-through maniacs dodging the stoplight... I saw the LG leave the doorway and walk down to the line of cars waiting for the window!

THAT IS WRONG! There are no windows in the front of the building. Just the door. You can't see the line of cars from behind the counter. You can't see the line of cars from the drive-up window. NOBODY inside could see that LG as she was going from car to car. Somebody could have snatched her! Just jumped out of the car, or dragged her inside, and took off! The highway is one block away! Once through the stoplight, they would be long gone down the interstate, able to turn off at any town, or reverse direction. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack even IF somebody got the license number and called 911 immediately.

It still bothers me that somebody let that Little Girl sell stuff outside the Liquor Store.

Mrs. HM Is Offered A Tip By Her Nememsis

Remember that darn guy who drives the Dodge Ram and parks in Mrs. HM's rightful handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store every day? I've been going to town later, and managed to avoid him for a while. But with the time change, and the shortening days, I go earlier. It seems we're back in sync again. Unfortunately.

Thursday, there was a different truck parked in my rightful handicap space. It had handicap plates, so I just waited for the guy to come out and leave, then pulled down into the space. I was happy to see the red Dodge Ram parked over by the moat. Heh, heh! Mr. Ram had been thwarted by The Universe! Twice... it turns out.

Mr. Ram was finishing up his transaction when I entered the store. He was joking with Fave! It's not the first time. I don't hold it against her. A gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do. You never know when a customer might hit it big, and bestow a share upon you. Mr. Ram mainly plays the draw tickets. A game called CASH POP, which has drawings several times a day. He also buys scratchers.

Anyhoo... he stepped aside, finishing his conversation with Fave, while putting away his change. Fave greeted me, and I handed over my winners that I was cashing in.

"Number 14 just had a $1000 winner," said Mr. Ram.

"That's true," said Fave. "This morning. I was going to tell you."

"Right before I got here!" said Mr. Ram.

"OH NO! I was going to buy one! Thanks for telling me."

I didn't mean about him just missing a big winner, heh, heh! But I was kind of glad to hear it nonetheless. I had indeed been planning on buying #14. It's the $10 Christmas ticket. It has pictures instead of numbers. I do okay on it, winning at least my money back, and several times $20. I haven't been buying it lately, but the GSCS has limited choices this week. Two of the Christmas, and two of a 100X ticket for the tens. I knew before I went in that I wanted the #14.

Anyhoo... I sure didn't want if with a $1000 winner coming out of that roll that morning!

It was nice of Mr. Ram to share that info with me. But I doubt he will change his handicap-space-usurping ways any time soon...

Maybe Not An Insult After All

When I was having my really bad day that culminated with the discovery of an electrical outage at the Mansion, my last stop in town was 10Box. All the handicap spaces were taken, but I was lucky to get the last space on the left of building. People had left their carts all willy-nilly on the sidewalk. So I grabbed one for the trek, and left it near the door once inside. That could help another limpy person, saving them from hobbling another 40 feet to the indoor cart corral.

Anyhoo... I got my scratchers out of the lottery machines. My knees stiffen up while I stand there making my selections. It takes a minute to get going again. 

I was hobbling out, walking a bit like Gunsmoke's Chester. Along beside me came one of the cashiers. She's always cheery. They had just asked her to help a customer outside with a propane tank return. As she passed me, she said, 

"Oh, mah LAIG!"

Which is really kind of funny, because it's a thing on a Reddit forum where people discuss the show My 600 Pound Life. There was a patient for whom the viewers had little sympathy, because he was a bedbound whiner who was not nice to his wife, and used his young stepdaughter to fetch things for him. As he was being transported out of his house to go to the doctor, he complained (whiny-ly) to the EMTs when they lifted him in a sheet to put him on the stretchers. "OH, MAH LAIG!!!"

The way Cashier said it sounded just like that guy. Like she could have been using it as a reference for her inflection and diction.

At first I was offended. Was she making fun of me??? I joke around with her, but this seemed kind of cruel. While I was contemplating who to invite to my pity party, and if I should have pointy hats and balloons, and most importantly what kind of CAKE... Cashier went on past me through the first of the double doors.

"I pulled something down in my groin area, and it HURTS! And I'M the one they send out here for the propane!"

Well. No need to send out my invitations now.

"I'd race you, but you're already ahead of me!"

Oh, I caught up when she was unlocking the propane case. I had to walk past it to get back to that last parking space.

Welcome Back To Possum Central

Oh, how I regret (unknowingly) sweet-talking that possum outside my kitchen door! Several nights a week, over the past few months! I was so sure it was one of my dogs. But no. I apparently made a new friend. An unwanted friend.

Tuesday, Farmer H was sitting in the recliner as I was leaving for town. He had an event to attend with The Veteran, so took time off from his busy schedule of catering to the elderlies, playing fake slot machines at the gas station and pawn shop, puttering around his SUS2.5, and avoiding having the oil changed in T-Hoe.

I went out the kitchen door with a piece of bread in my hand for my little Jack. He came prancing around the porch to greet me, all wriggles and smiles. As I was sweet-talking Jack, my eyes were drawn to the underneath of GassyG Jr. Where a tail protruded!!!

"EEEEE! Jack! It's the POSSUM! Get it!"

Jack continued to look up at me adoringly. I stomped my foot. Nothing. "I've gotta go tell Dad, Jack!" I tossed his bread onto the side porch and went back to the kitchen door, hollering in, "That POSSUM is out here under your grill! It's probably getting away while I'm telling you!"

I heard the recliner close, and went back to the side porch. Where Jack was calmly eating his piece of bread, but the tail was gone. Not gone! It was under the wooden shelves against the garage wall. Farmer H came out.

"There! It's under your shelves! Get it!"

Farmer H picked up a long scraper that the uses on the grill. He got right up to the shelves. He almost had a foot under there!

"You're going to get bit! It's RIGHT THERE!"

"I cain't see it."

"No! You're right on top of it! It might bite you. You could get rabies!"

I don't think possums carry rabies."

Farmer H commenced to poking, while Jack sat behind him and watched. I was halfway down the steps. The possum was facing me. He looked at Farmer H like, "Why are you doing this to me?" Finally he walked out, to the edge of the side porch! Where I usually pet Jack! And put his two front feet down over the side, as if to jump down on the sidewalk!

"NO! He's gonna get me!"

"He ain't gonna get you, HM."

Jack ran down to the sidewalk, and the possum turned and walked over to the porch rails that overlook the fake fish pond. Farmer H stood, menacing the grill scraper. 

"You go on to the garage. He ain't gonna get you."

The possum's path was blocked by a red and white Playmate cooler. He put his front feet up on it.

"Now! Knock him in the head!"

"I don't wanna hurt him."

"WHY NOT???"

The possum jumped up over the cooler. Went through the rails. Jumped down by the fake fish pond. And ran across the back yard, past the squirrel feeder, and into the woods. That's when Jack took a shortcut through the porch lattice that Pupsie had broken, and darted after the possum, barking his fool head off down through the trees.

That possum did not seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation. I DO NOT need a new friend. My protectors sorely disappointed me. I don't want to KILL the possum, really. Just make it go away.

Not Quite A Thwarting

The Universe continues to mess with Mrs. HM. We won't even go into all the shenanigans that thwarted her daily routine on Tuesday. That's a story for my not-so-secret blog.

Monday was maddening enough with that spindly old lady chatting away at the checkout of the Gas Station Chicken Store. I was sure glad to get out of there. My plan was to dash inside 10Box to get some tickets out of their machines. I still had to get two for Genius's weekly letter, and I wanted more crosswords.

The left machine worked just fine. No sign of that ticket-tearing problem it had with the crosswords last week. I moved to the right side machine. Got my tickets. The last one was for Genius. It was a $5 red 5X ticket that he'd won his $1000 on. Of course he likes that ticket.

The machine sounded a little different, but my ticket came out. I scooped them all up, and was shuffling them into order before walking out. WAIT A MINUTE! What's THAT?

The red 5X ticket had a tail! It was half of the next ticket! I had the whole ticket that I paid for, plus half of the next one. Well. A half-ticket does me no good. It doesn't have the barcode that tells you if it's a winner. It has a different kind of bar and number code at the top, on the back, that retailers use sometimes if the scratched-off barcode doesn't work.

What to do? I did NOT want to stand around waiting. But I didn't want to mess up the store's lottery records. The lottery is highly-regulated, you know. I certainly don't want them to lose their license to sell scratchers!

I went to the checker who always asks about my tickets. She got a customer right then. So I moved to a newer checker, who had just finished with a customer, and was wiping her conveyor.

"I was just at the lottery machine, and it gave me this ticket that's torn in half. I got what I paid for. But I figured you must need this half to reconcile with the machine. You know, to account for a ticket that can't be sold."

"Oh, yeah. We probably need that. I can see the machine says there was a malfunction."

"Let me just tear this off and leave it with you. Then when a manager comes up, you can give it to her."

"Yes. I'll do that."

I tore it off and handed her the half-ticket. My good deed for the day. Despite the meddling of The Universe, I gave myself a virtual pat on the back.

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."