It's Not A Gas, Gas, Gas

Time for Mrs. HM to complain again. Well. There's really not an off-season for her complaining. Specifically, it's time to complain about BILLING PRACTICES from her utility companies.

Here it is, January 21, and I've not received the gas bill for the flip house. You may recall my more recent complaints, which may have been here, or on my not-so-secret blog, about how we are expected to READ OUR OWN METER! Farmer H has done that at least twice now. And I've sent in the numbers in a timely manner. As for paying the gas bill, I've been doing the "guest pay" online. I don't want an account. It's a flip house! Temporary. No need for all of our info to be lolling about the cloud waiting to be hacked.

Anyhoo... at least we've been getting the bill. Late for return mailing, of course. Thus the "guest pay." The last one was due December 26. We got it December 17. No way would a payment make it through the holiday mail, with a weekend in there to boot, on time. 

Now I still don't have the bill. You may recall that most often, if Mrs. HM doesn't get a bill, she doesn't pay, because she doesn't know something is due! But with the flip house, I'm always recording expenditures, and keeping track of The Pony's half of our investment. So I see when the last bill was paid, and know around the time the utilities are due. 

I went online and paid that gas bill on January 18. I was lucky that I had the last bill, with the account number, and their system popped up the current amount due. (Three dollars less than December, woohoo!) Still, I have not yet received a bill. Which I keep for our tax records.

How will I know when to read our own meter again?

It's Not Her, It's Me

Since my $200 winner a couple weeks ago, the scratchers have not been kind. Especially the scratchers from the Gas Station Chicken Store. I can't blame Fave and her unlucky thumb. Even Steven must think the Gas Station Chicken Store is due for an even-ing. I've not been shut out, but having only one winner a day, for $5, is not doing my scratcher bankroll any FAVEors.

I told Fave on Sunday, "It's not you. It's me." The tickets I gave her on Thursday were all losers. I don't buy them at the GSCS, because that might look suspicious if she had a big winner from the place she works. Not that there's any way to cheat, other than scanning a winner for somebody, and telling them it's a loser, and keeping it. People in other cities have been caught doing that.

Anyhoo... further proof that I am the problem is Farmer H. It was so cold on Monday that I didn't want to get out. Farmer H agreed to pick up some crossword scratchers for me, from two different places. AND, when he decided he was going back to town when the HVAC Guy left, he said he could also get me a couple from the gas station near his SUS2.5, where he goes for a soda and to play the fake slot machines.

Well! Bravo for Farmer H! I had a $20 winner from that gas station. And a $15 winner from the Casey's by the GSCS. AND a $10 and $40 winner from the School-Turn Casey's over by the flip house. All together, I won $85 on the crossword tickets Farmer H got for me!

Which definitely proves it's ME having the losing streak. Thanks, Farmer H. It's a sad day when he is luckier than Mrs. HM. Though good for my scratcher bankroll.

Heat Is Still Not Pumping At The Mansion

Don't worry about Mrs. HM. She has not yet succumbed to hypothermia. Today (Monday) she's not even getting out for her scratchers. That chore falls to Farmer H, who is galivanting about Hillmomba like it's a warm summer day. It is not. Not worth a trip in half-heated T-Hoe.

As for our Mansion's heat pump... the service guy DID show up this afternoon. Farmer H was here to climb the 13 rail-less basement steps four times, to fiddle with the thermostat. Here is the diagnosis:

The compressor of the heat pump is locked up.

HVAC Guy said he's never seen this happen! And that he will replace this unit with a brand new one. Well. I guess that's a good thing. Although THIS one was brand new out of the box when it was installed, according to Farmer H. It will cost us NOTHING, so there's that. But we are still without a working heat pump until the new one is ordered and arrives and is installed. Something I really want hanging over my head to fret about.

Meanwhile, the HVAC Guy also looked at our indoor furnace unit, which has been heating the Mansion on Auxiliary Heat for probably months now. Since the same problem with the temperature slowly dropping also happened back in December with our first below-freezing cold snap.

Farmer H had thought that maybe this furnace just didn't have enough coils to adequately heat the Mansion. He said the companies are building them with fewer and fewer now, since many have outsourced their manufacturing to other countries. Anyhoo... HVAC Guy found a DISCONNECTED WIRE inside that furnace. Which meant that only HALF of the coils were heating up.

"Huh. Isn't THAT interesting! Didn't the same thing happen to the unit you had installed at the flip house?  But you thought maybe you had knocked it loose?"

"Yeah. I might of. But it also could have happened at the factory. I think that's what happened with this one, since it was NEW out of the box. He hooked it up, and now you notice how it's running right. It kicks off and on now."

"Well, I haven't noticed that yet, but I DID notice the burning smell when it started working on the other half of those coils."

"I'm just relieved we have heat. He'll get the new heat pump ordered, and once that's put in, we'll be back to normal."

Yes. The Mansion will be fine. Which does nothing for my winter trips in T-Hoe.

Out Of The Frying Pan, Into Not-Heaven

You may recall that we are having trouble with our NEW HVAC system. The NEW HVAC system we got on Sept 9, 2025, at the cost of $8,500. Which was new out of the box, according to Farmer H. And should surely be working just fine after only four months of use!

As I type with my cold blue fingers on Sunday at 1:41 p.m., the temperature in the Mansion is 66 degrees! I am sure frostbite is imminent! I am wearing a shirt and two jackets. My portable heater is warming my legs under the kitchen table. Single digit temps coming again tonight, and also on Monday night. Supposedly Farmer H's buddy will be here on Monday to look at the heat pump. Although it will be the coldest day of the year, and is Martin Luther King Day to boot, with many businesses being closed. We'll see if he shows up.

You'd think that's bad enough, but it's NOT! Not for The Universe. Since Friday, I have not even been allowed the toasty comfort of T-Hoe! Oh, T-Hoe is running. I can drive to town. By the time I get past Mailbox Row, and down the first hill on the county blacktop road, I can turn on T-Hoe's heat.

Words cannot describe the glorious outpouring of HOT AIR from T-Hoe's vents! I have the heater set on 82 degrees. It's wonderful! I turn the fan up to five bars. That searing flow of hot air warms my fingers to the bone when I hold the steering wheel at 9:00 and 3:00. People who peer inside as I pass might think I'm just an old-lady white-knuckle driver. But no. There's a reason for my hand positions, and it's not safety.

T-Hoe also warms my feet. Sometimes to the point of making them sweat! I don't mind. It's been many, many years since I had the joy of T-Hoe's heated leather seats. Just one more thing Farmer H hasn't had fixed. But T-Hoe's heater makes up for them, once I get going.

Ahh, the drive to town puts me in a good mood. Roasting and toasting, anticipating my daily scratchers. My first stop is always the Gas Station Chicken Store. I hobble inside, chat with Fave, and brave the frigid winds back to my balmy refuge. That's where it all goes to NOT-HEAVEN!!! 

When I restart T-Hoe, the heater is dead. DEAD! Nothing happening. No matter what I do! I turn up the fan. Turn down the fan. Raise the temp. Lower the temp. Turn off the ignition and restart. Nope. I drive to 10Box. Or the Liquor Store. Or Casey's. Or the post office. Nothing. Just riding around on cold leather seats with no heat. If I hold my hand up against the vent, I get a sense of warm air. Like LaCroix gives you a hint of some kind of flavor.

It's miserable, I tell you! I'm FREEZING my fingers and toes off. Until... until... I start home, and get almost to the prison, and the heater miraculously starts working again! Comes back on like it was just a prank. Heh, heh, gotcha! Whatever setting it's on, that heater and fan work just like it did before stopping. The radio still works. The lights on the panel are on the whole time. Unlike when the radio quits, and it all goes dark.

Of course Farmer H says that what I'm describing can't happen. That it must be doing something different. His heater in SilverRedO is fixed now, you know. But mine is a mystery that can never be solved. It would take replacing every item one by one. There's no telling what's wrong with it. He used to work on cars, you know. And he could take it apart piece by piece and replace everything, and that still might not solve it. And if he takes it to Mick the Mechanic while it's working, that will be useless. Because it has to be not-working at the time of diagnosis.

Yeah. That's what he tells me. With a smirk. Because I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'!

Hillmomba Is Becoming RoseanneRoseannadannaLand

It's always something. I had an ear open on Friday, for the HVAC guy who was coming to check out our non-working heat pump. Not that I needed to. Farmer H had assured me that I wasn't needed. That everything was out in the back yard.

At 8:45 a.m., I thought I heard a big truck. Jack galloped up the front porch steps. But wasn't barking. Around 9:00 the fan quit blowing. I didn't think working on the heat pump would affect the Auxiliary Heat from the inside furnace. But I'm not an HVAC gal. I even mentioned it to The Pony on the phone.

"I guess maybe that guy is here working on our heat pump. The furnace just kicked off. Maybe it's getting set right again."

About an hour later, the heat kicked back on. I thought nothing more about it, until Farmer H got home.

"Was your guy here? Did he get the heat pump fixed?"

"Well. No. They didn't come. I talked to my guy, and he said he'd feel better if I was here when he did it."

"WHY? You said he wouldn't need to come in the house."

"Well. He might. So I'll be here."

That sounds really fishy to me. First he won't need in the house. Now he might. WHY would he not want to work on the heat pump without Farmer H here? Is he afraid I'll accuse him of shady business practices? Or will he try to say it's not something covered by the warranty, and want a check?

To make matters worse, I looked at the thermostat on Saturday morning, with temps in the teens outside, and windchills in single digits. The thermostat is set on 70. The reading was 69! I immediately felt like I was freezing to death! Put on my town sweatshirt over my Mansion sweatshirt. Covered up with my fleece throw. Considered finding a sock cap.

I refrained from calling Farmer H at his SUS2.5. He doesn't have good phone service inside. Didn't want him standing out in the cold. I fretted for a couple hours, checking that thermostat, which stayed on 69. The furnace kicked off a couple times. Came back. 

When I went to the kitchen to HIPPIE around 11:00, it once again showed 70. I am consciously avoiding checking the thermostat. I don't want to know! I'll tell Farmer H about it when he gets home. Supposed to be down to 9 degrees or lower tonight.

I really hope the HVAC Guy didn't send someone out here Friday, who fiddled with the heat pump, and might cause us problems with the Auxiliary Heat. But that would explain why the HVAC Guy wants Farmer H to be here when he looks at the heat pump on Monday.

Considering The Source

Farmer H was home before me on Thursday evening. He said he had gone down to the basement to look for something in his safe room. That's not the room where he keeps the three safes. They're in his workshop. The safe room has concrete walls and a metal ceiling, as a refuge during a tornado warning. Farmer H also keeps a few of his collectible treasures in there.

Anyhoo... "I noticed that the heat wasn't on in there. And the lights didn't work. So I got to checking, and the breaker was tripped. So I reset the breaker. But the heat pump ain't workin'."

"But we have heat."

"Yeah. It's been running on Auxiliary Heat."

"Probably since you set it on that a while back, when I asked why the fan is constantly blowing, but not always heating."

"No. I didn't. Because you had a fit. Anyway, it's been running on that. The unit in the basement has heating coils. But the heat pump out back ain't working. I called my HVAC Guy, and he said he'll send someone out here tomorrow."

"Will you be here? I can't get up and answer the door before they get away. Will they have to come in and mess with the thermostat?"

"No. It's all out back. There's the breaker, and the unit. That's all they need."

"How much is THIS going to cost? We just got the new HVAC system!"

"It ain't gonna cost nothin'. It's still under waranty."

"I'm not so sure about your HVAC Guy. It might be time to use somebody else. Something's always going wrong. And they charged us a fortune for that coolant. Then the one in the flip house quit working because a wire was not hooked up. And the one in your shop didn't work for about a month, and you were freezing."

"This one was brand new. Right out of the box. It ain't nothin' they did wrong. Stuff happens."

Well. HVAC Guy is 3-for-3 on stuff "just happening" with his product installations. I hope they don't mess up anything so our Auxiliary Heat doesn't work. We've got a cold wave coming in this weekend, with lows in the teens and single digits.

A Brief Respite From Errands

Here it is, Thursday, and I'm not having Errand Day with The Pony. It's me. Not The Pony. My knees are acting up, and I don't feel like traipsing across the parking lot to pay for gas. I WILL drive over to Sis-Town to mail Genius's letter. And MAYBE go in a Casey's for scratchers. But the bank and the grocery store are off the agenda.

Yesterday, Farmer H and I went to have our annual lunch with my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel. It's a 30-minute drive. I was NOT having a good knee day. Not sure of the problem, whether it was the weather, which was bright and sunny, with temps in low 40s and dropping all day. Or maybe it was from Monday, when I spent two hours on my feet getting a meal ready for Farmer H.

Anyhoo... my knees were extra-painful, despite extra painkillers. I was gimping to the bathroom down a hallway, when a lady opened the door as I was reaching for it. It led into another hallway where the bathrooms are. 

"Oh! Sorry! You scared me!"

"I'm really sorry. Here. Come on in."

It was a big wooden door, styled like a barn door, but with a long handle.

"No, you can come through. I'm slow."

"That's okay. I've got it."

"Well, I was going to hold onto the door as I came through..."

I went in anyway. This gal was pretty persistent about holding the door for me. I must have lurched too alarmingly for her. After I was through, she let the door close, and started following me down that hall.

"Are you okay? Can I help you?"

"I'm fine. I just have a bad knee. I'll be all right. But thank you."

I hate it when I get pity! I'm not mad at that woman. She meant well. I just don't like feeling different and needy. You know it's bad when total strangers want to take care of you.

Did I mention that I have an appointment on March 5 with an orthopedic specialist?

Menace To Deerciety

I suppose it was bound to happen. I can't really blame Farmer H. With so many deer out here, lounging around, acting like they own the place, it was just a matter of time.

On the way to town Tuesday morning, Farmer H hit a deer. I doubt it was one of OUR deer. This one was about 2.5 miles away, on the county blacktop road. I think deer mainly stay in a 1-square mile area, but I can't remember where I read that. 

Anyhoo... according to Farmer H:

"I seen a baby standing at the side of the road. It was old enough not to have spots, but it wasn't full-grown. I slowed down, watching it, in case it ran across. While I was going by, the mother jumped out in front of my truck! I hit it with the front corner. I stopped and looked in the mirror. It was on its back in the middle of the road, with its legs waving. Then it rolled over and ran off. I guess it wasn't hurt too bad, because it got up and ran. Stunned, maybe. It didn't hurt my truck."

Well. That's the best case scenario. A deer can kill a person when it gets hit and crashes through the windshield. Not that I don't have sympathy for the deer. But people's lives are more important. Farmer H was fine. SilverRedO was fine. The deer left under its own power.

This is what can happen when deer get too comfortable in populated areas. Hunting season has a purpose, and that's to thin the deer herd. It's good for people, and good for the remaining deer, because the food supply can only support so many of them through the winter.

Workplace Humor With FAVE

Fave was in a good mood on Monday. I was surprised to see her at the Gas Station Chicken Store. She said she worked to give Another Lady a day off, since she had worked 12 days in a row.

In fact, the guy ahead of me, on his way out, heard me telling Fave that I didn't win much from her. Unlike when The Other Girl sold me that $200 winner on Thursday.

"Hah, hah! She came in here hoping it was THE OTHER GIRL, not you!" he said.

"That's right. My new best friend, The Other Girl, is what I had expected. For another $200 winner!"

Fave told him he was free to go now, and stop making trouble. When she was waiting on the woman ahead of us, she had difficulty counting back the change. It was $38, and some of the bills were not moving easily from one hand to the other as she counted them back. That's a rule with Woman Owner. The clerks ALWAYS count back the change, just like in the old days.

"Here you go. I'm sorry. I'm just all thumbs."

Heh, heh. That statement went right over that woman's head. But I mentioned it later when joking around with Fave.

"You seem to be feeling better. Even though you're ALL THUMBS! That cracked me up."

"I figured I might as well make the joke myself, instead of waiting for somebody else to do it. I feel okay. I guess it's starting to heal."

"Well, you're on drugs..." 

"I AM! But I've weaned myself off. I was taking two at a time, but I'm down to one."

[It's not like she spends her day air-traffic-controlling, running a nuclear power plant, performing brain surgery, or filling 180 mostly-empty teenage vessels with knowledge. She's standing behind a counter, using her hands, one of which is healing with 11 stitches in it. So I understand.]

"That's a sign of progress. Now if you could only be as lucky as The Other Girl."

"I'll work on that! Maybe today!"

Fave needs to work a little harder on my luck. I won $36. But that's no $200.

Living In A Van Down By The Gas Station Chicken Store

The new year is upon us, and it wouldn't be complete without a handicap parking scofflaw! No time wasted. Not even two weeks into 2026, and here it was:

It was a bright sunny day, but the balmy temps are gone. Might have been in the upper 30s by this time in the afternoon. I pulled into the FREE AIR space to wait. There were only two other cars out front at the gas pumps. How long could it possibly take for somebody to do their business in the Gas Station Chicken Store? They don't even sell chicken anymore!

I waited. And waited. No handicap plate, nor handicap placard in this red van. I really didn't want to walk twice as far. My worse knee was really creaky, and it was COLD. I waited some more. I still had shopping to do at 10Box. I thought of going there first, but decided no, because I was getting some frozen things, and would want to get straight home with them.

Five minutes went by. A white car pulled in behind me, wanting FREE AIR. They sat and waited. That's too bad. My space is not designated as the FREE AIR space. It just happens to be located by that sign next to the hose. It's not like there's a decal painted on the pavement. Besides, that hose is plenty long, and there's room on the lot. 

With the white car behind me, I couldn't back up. I probably could have squeezed by to go out forward. But I wanted to get my tickets over with, and see Fave before shopping. Besides, the white car person had gotten out to pump some FREE AIR. So I slid out of T-Hoe and hobbled through the frigid wind.

Inside, there were a woman and man standing at the side of the counter, over by where the chicken case used to be. Fave greeted me. 

"Oh, they're here first."

"No, don't worry. She's just gabbing."

Indeed, The Woman was on her phone, chatting away. She had a fountain soda and snack on the counter in front of her. The Man just stood behind her. They were together. Early 40s, I think. Neither seems to have any infirmities that would cause them to need a handicap parking space.

Gotta say, I was A BIT ANNOYED! They were the only other people there. No cars out front anymore. She didn't park in my rightful handicap space because she needed it, or just to dash inside. She was hanging out! ON THE PHONE. At this rate, she might have been there all night.

I got my tickets and left, to hobble back to T-Hoe. Twice as far. Without even the satisfaction of The Woman and The Man coming out to see my hobble. 

I felt cheated. Twice.

FAVE Is Back In Action

I had been hoping to see Fave back to work at the Gas Station Chicken Store on Thursday. It's her regular schedule, but I knew she might be off, due to her thumb surgery on Tuesday. Indeed, her car was not there Thursday. Not there Friday. The Other Girl was there, and did just fine. She even sold me a $200 scratcher winner on Friday!

I took that scratcher to cash in on Saturday. Fave was there! But so were 8 other people! And I was number 7 in line! I hate it when that happens. I usually leave and come back. But I had already walked in. I had the tickets in an envelope that I give Fave every Thursday. So I waited, my skin crawling with claustrophobia, by the door, with others lined up down two of the three aisles.

It's nice that the people passing through from Texas, on their way back home from Illinois to see a relative graduate from the Navy-something, were so complimentary of our state. And nice of the two yellow-vested road workers to allow them to go ahead in line. But I really just wanted to get out of there quicker.

Finally it was my turn. I welcomed Fave back. I handed her two winners to cash in: the $200, and a $3 winner.

"That's $203. From MY NEW BEST FRIEND, THE OTHER GIRL, yesterday."

"What??? Well. If I'd been here, I would have been the one to sell it to you!"

"That's true. I wish you were!"

Not that it matters. A winner is a winner. But Fave is usually very lucky for me. When I have a good win, I put an extra ticket(s) in her envelope for that week. I don't give anything to anybody else. Except a dollar in the tip jar when I buy scratchers at the Liquor Store. Because they will go to the drive-thru window to get my tickets if they are out at the counter.

Anyhoo... I didn't stay for small talk, because I'd overheard Fave telling the road workers that her surgery went well, except that it took her three hours to wake up from the anesthesia.

I'm hoping that surgeon didn't accidentally remove Fave's LUCK during the operation! 

I only won $8 on tickets that day.

Even Steven Stops By

Even Steven was overdue for a visit here at the Mansion. Oh, I've been doing OKAY with my scratchers. But no really big winners. A couple of $50 winners have kept me afloat lately. I was thrilled on Friday when I scratched my first ticket.

On only the second number, I found a symbol! It was the symbol to WIN ALL!

This is the newest $10 ticket, which just came out two weeks ago. I had to look down to see what the lightning bolt symbol meant. Any symbol is good, because it means you've at least won your ticket money back. But this one was great, to win all the prizes. That's a $200 WINNER!

I don't have any specific need for this money right now. It will go back into my casino bankroll, for future casino trips. Or to be frittered away gradually for scratchers, if Even Steven disappears again.

The Ghost Of Christmas Presents

There was a snafu in the transport of Christmas presents between here and Pittsburgh. Genius and Friend first left our Pennsylvania lottery tickets at their hotel on Christmas Day, so gave them to us when we met at the casino the next day. Even more mortifying for Genius, some actual wrapped gifts had been left behind in Pittsburgh. 

"I really hate it that we don't have your gifts. I'll mail them to you when we get back."

First there was the question of where to send them. Here to the Mansion, or in town to The Pony's house. My vote was for The Pony's house. I don't always trust that we'll get a package here, having had to track down Farmer H's medical supplies three or four times, at assorted locations. Or the time our Christmas Amazon packages went to a guy up the road who came out of his garage carrying a bloody knife. Or when Genius's acne soap was stolen out of EmBee. Or that time I found my box with new shoes sitting on top of Mailbox Row.

Anyhoo... Genius said he was leaning towards UPS as the shipping method, rather than USPS. But gave us the choice. It didn't matter. Whichever was easiest for Genius to deal with. So it was UPS.

The box arrived on Wednesday. The Pony brought it in the house, with plans to open it, and give me our presents, and the checks to reimburse our lottery wins, on Thursday during Errand Day.

Thursday, I saw a picture of The Pony's gift from Genius. And The Pony carried out a wrapped give for me. The tag said, "To Mom. From Genius."

"I guess that's all he sent, Mom. I didn't see anything else in the box."

"That's odd. You'd think he would have sent something for Dad. Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. But I'll go back in, and take out the packing stuff again, to make sure."

The Pony did. And there was nothing else in the box. My gift was a book. So I knew it was not intended for me to share with Farmer H. I sent a text to Genius, just to make sure.

"Thanks for the book. It looks like something I would choose to read. Was there nothing for Dad? Except the lottery money?"

The next morning I got a reply: "No, I'm sorry, I couldn't figure out what to get him that wouldn't just sit around :( "

I'm not faulting Genius. Farmer H is hard to buy for. But even an extra $5 lottery ticket might have brightened his spirits. Farmer H was surprised and sad that there was nothing for him. He will be sadder when he hears the reason why. But he'll get over it. No hard feelings. He can buy something with his $150 lottery winnings.

Welp! He Did It Again!

Genius brought us a tin of homemade cookies for Christmas. It contained chocolate chip, snickerdoodles, and a new kind that were chocolate with a dusting of powdered sugar. I tried one Christmas evening, and told Genius the next day at the casino how much I liked the chocolate cookie. He said, "Oh, that's the one I was worried about. It's the first time I made them." Farmer H also chimed in and said he liked the chocolate cookie.

Anyhoo... it's been a couple weeks now since Genius brought us the cookies. I tried all three kinds, having one at night, though not every night. The chocolate was still my favorite. A few days ago, I last had a chocolate chip. There were several snickerdoodles left, and two more chocolate chip, and a lone chocolate cookie. The fattest chocolate cookie. Which I was saving for Tuesday night after some Turkey Pot Pie.

Farmer H was home before me on Tuesday afternoon. When I returned, he carried in a box of groceries from T-Hoe. No mousey treats left out there to temp the vermin! I asked Farmer H (a different kind of rat, it turns out) if he wanted a Wild Turkey and Shasta Zero Sugar, and a snack. He said he did.

I took Farmer H his drink, and was preparing to slice some summer sausage and Oberle Cheese. But Farmer H said he'd just have some crunchy honey/BBQ twisty snacks from a bag.

"Oh. I see a plate there. Did you already have a snack before I got home?"

"Well. Yeah."

"What did you have?"

"A cookie."

"What kind of cookie?"

"One of them Genius brought us."

"Which kind?"

"One of them white ones."

"NOO! The CHOCOLATE? With the powdered sugar?"

"Yeah. It was good."

"There was only ONE LEFT! I was saving it for myself!"

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't know that. I hadn't tried that kind."

"You did too! You even told Genius you liked it! I can't believe you ate my cookie! It's just like the snickerdoodle! I can't have anything around here! And why did you use a plate for just one cookie? I bet you had something else, too!"

"Well. I ate some of them marshmallows that he put in there..."

"To keep the cookies fresh!"

"Yeah. But they're good to eat, and I wanted them. And I might have had another cookie, too."

"You MIGHT have? Like you can't remember? What kind MIGHT you have had?"

"Chocolate chip."

"I'm pretty sure you had other stuff too. Probably some of your Payday Mix off the cutting block. And funny how you didn't have a snickerdoodle. Since that's what you just HAD to have that year I was saving it for myself."

Farmer H is like a heat-seeking missile, if you consider his appetite the missile, and whatever random treat I'm saving for myself as the heat.

Not Doing Herself Any FAVErs

I suppose I'll find out this afternoon if Fave is back at work. It's a normal day for her schedule, but with surgery for the dog bite on Tuesday, I wouldn't be surprised if she's off a couple days.

Here's the thing. I really feel bad for Fave, having that pain and inconvenience of surgery. I don't want to be judgmental and suggest how people should live their lives. However... Fave's bosses are not shy about doing such a thing.

Fave missed work before due to a dog bite, which she got while breaking up a dog fight. The owners of the Gas Station Chicken Store were filling in for her shift that time. I must have asked where she was. They were quick to inform me. I don't think they were uncaring. They were just a bit opinionated, making sure to mention that it was her PIT BULL that did it.

Well. They were getting no argument from me. That's a breed designed to be aggressive. No matter how sweet you might think your particular pit bull might be, it's still a PIT BULL! The dog can't help its genetics. They are animals, and animals will do what animals do.

Fave had talked about her dog before. I'm sure she loves it, the same as anyone else would love their pet. But there comes a time when something must be done if a dog continues to fight other dogs. At the very least, make sure the dog never has access to another dog. Make it an "only dog." Or keep the dogs separated, but give each one individual attention throughout the day.

Easy for me to say. I only have one dog. Now. But still. For the week we had Lucky, I had to tell Farmer H to put Jack up somewhere when he was out messing around with Lucky. That's AFTER their big fight where Farmer H got dragged to the ground and clawed. It's like the thought hadn't occurred to him to just put Jack in the carrier, or inside the truck. Rather than HOPE they wouldn't get into it again.

Anyhoo... I'm not going to butt my nose into Fave's dog business. I just hope she has an AHA moment about her doggie behavior.

The Left Hand Is Not Washing The Right

This has nothing to do with Farmer H's level of cleanliness. And everything to do with his left hand not knowing what his right hand is doing. You may recall that Farmer H is quite generous in allowing assorted buddies to use the Mansion grounds for various purposes. At least he now sometimes tells me when to expect somebody.

Sunday, Farmer H said The Squirrel Hunter would be over in the BARn field and adjacent 10-acre field by the Freight Container Garage. He has a black powder rifle, and wanted to hunt some deer. Fine with me. We have plenty. Though I'd rather he hunt the squirrels again. I'm not sure of the season on squirrels, though. I never heard the boom of a black powder rifle, so I figured he didn't show up, or didn't see any deer on our land.

Monday, I had to pick up Farmer H at Mick the Mechanic's shop on my way home. I left about a half hour earlier than usual. My little Jack did not run to greet me. When I backed T-Hoe out of the garage, I knew why. The Squirrel Hunter's truck was parked along the driveway. He could have done himself a favor by parking in one of the other fields. But people who don't live here I suppose respect the property, even though Farmer H drives all over it. 

Anyhoo... I figured Jack was following this guy around. Maybe messing up his hunting. But Jack is a resident, by cracky, and we're not going to tie him up so somebody can hunt for free. I picked up Farmer H in town. As we came up his badly-blacktopped hill, I mentioned that his buddy was here hunting, parked beside the driveway. Farmer H got a funny look. 

"Huh. I didn't know he was coming today."

We passed in front of the BARn field. No deer in sight, because it wasn't yet dusk. But something else was in the BARn field. Down behind Farmer H's wrecked trailer.

"I have no idea who THAT is! He wasn't here when I left!"

It was a different truck, parked beside Farmer H's burn pile. Smoke was rising.

"Oh. That's Different Buddy. I didn't know he was coming out today, either."

I'm pretty sure nobody got an accidental black powder pellet injury. Nor a case of smoke inhalation. But I DO know that Jack had TWO BUDDIES to keep him company on Monday.

An UnFAVEorable Discovery

I set off to the Gas Station Chicken Store on Thursday afternoon, adjusting my timing to get there around 4:00. It was New Year's Day, but I knew the GSCS would be open. And FAVE would be working. Even though The Pony and I delayed our Errand Day, I wanted to continue my routine of gifting Fave with a couple scratchers as I do each Thursday.

Imagine my surprise when I did not see Fave's vehicle on the parking lot! It was Other Clerk. Who is perfectly nice and polite, and serves me the other three afternoons a week. I just wasn't expecting to see her on Thursday. I don't give her anything. I left Fave's scratchers in T-Hoe. I didn't ask about Fave, either. Sometimes, you just don't want to know until you can hear it from Fave herself.

On Friday, I spied Fave's car. And inside, I spied Fave, WITH A BANDAGE ON HER THUMB!

"Oh, no! Did you get a hitchhiking injury?"

"No. I was breaking up a dog fight on Monday. I didn't even get to the doctor until today. Well, except I went to the emergency room. I have surgery on Tuesday."

"Oh, no! That's terrible!"

It was a great big bandage, on Fave's left thumb. I could see some gauze at the tip, and then it was like a brand-new ACE Bandage wrapped around and around, down to her wrist. On Sunday, Fave said it was really hurting, despite the painkillers they had given her. She said her surgery is to pull a flap of skin up over the bone at the end of her thumb. No wonder it hurts!

I hope Fave's surgery goes well. I am wondering how long she might be off work. 

My luck can wait. Fave's recovery is more important.

Mrs. HM Has Hands Laid On Her At The Post Office

Of all the days for The Pony to come down with a fever, it had to be Friday, our adjusted Errand Day for the holiday week. So I was on my own, going into the post office to mail Genius the winning Pittsburgh lottery tickets. I wanted to be sure they had enough postage on the two envelopes.

Of course the handicap space was taken, by a car with handicap plates. I squeezed in next to it, by the concrete retaining wall, and hobbled behind to get to the ramp. Of course another car had just pulled into the regular spaces, and a woman and two young girls jumped out, rushing to the trunk. "Here, go ahead and get these inside." Of course the spry young things beat me in the door, while each carrying a stack of boxes, and proceeded to the counter.

I really did not want to wait on this circus. You know how long it takes to put postage on packages. All the while, Mrs. HM standing there with no support, on locking-up knees. Only one other person was at the counter, an old lady who was filling out some kind of paperwork while the clerk looked up postage or something on his computer.

This is the clerk who is a friend of The Pony. A real nice guy who had a baby (well, his wife did) a couple years ago, and I always ask to see pictures.

The young girls were around 8-10 years old. They kept looking at me. I guess they thought I was going to take their place in line. Although I don't know how they could have an actual place, with them being minors, with no adult, and not capable of officially communicating their business, or paying the postage. Clerky told them to set down their packages. They did, and went outside for more!

I got in line behind the Old Lady. She said something about the young girls, and Clerky said, "Oh, they come in here all the time with their packages."

"What are they? Ebay or something?"

"Something like that. They do a lot of shipping." Clerky said the platform, but I forget.

"Well, that's good, that they have a business to make money. I need to do that!"

"You need little helpers like that, too!" I said, feeling that I could join in the discussion.

The young girls came back, loaded with more packages, and stacked them on top of the others. A young man also came in with a stack of packages.

"It's so good that you have a family business," said the Old Lady.

"Oh, I don't know them. I just offered to help them carry boxes," said the young man.

"You are a really good person," declared the Old Lady. Her business was done, and Clerky gave her the total, which she paid in cash.

I stepped up to do my business, since the young girls were still returning for more packages. I swear they made at least 8 trips. I saw pictures of Clerky's little boy, an angelic toddler with blond curls, having a blast with a Christmas gift of a track and little cars. My envelopes were within the single stamp range, and I paid Clerky and walked out with Old Lady. I held the door for her, and she thanked me and declared that she would hold the outer door for me.

"We are moving at about the same speed."

"Yes. We could have a race! I need a new knee. I have an appointment in March."

"It's my back. And a lot of other things. But the back slows me down."

Just outside the doors, on the sidewalk, Old Lady said, "Give me your hand." I thought she wanted to shake it, so I did, even though it's cold and flu season, and I don't really like touching anybody.

"Lord, help us have the strength to heal our bodies. I know that you can do it. In Jesus name we pray."

I was a bit surprised, but I'm not going to complain about an Old Lady praying for me. She had good intentions. I thanked her and wished her well.

Never a dull moment for Mrs. HM on Errand Day.

So Totally Unbelievable That You Will Automatically Believe It

Sweet Gummi Mary! The lack of common sense in Farmer H is unfathomable. You'd think a man of his years would be able to grasp the obvious. But no. It's like he is coated with common-sense repellant. Dipped in it, hung up to dry, and dipped again. 

Remember the mouse that invaded T-Hoe? How could you forget? It's been the subject here all week. Farmer H caught it in a trap inside T-Hoe. There has been no other mouse. But I found that Mousy's filthy mouth had also shredded a tiny bit of one of four rolls of Bounty Select-a-Size Paper Towels from T-Hoe's rear. I trimmed that part, and told Farmer H that I wasn't using it.

Farmer H decided that he was going to use it in the basement of the Mansion for cleaning things like his precious inventory of highly-regulated goods he sells at his SUS2.5. He set that roll on the kitchen table until the next time he was going to the basement.

A subsequent disagreement ensued that evening. Farmer H flipped out, gesticulating wildly, running his mouth, and in a fit of pique, declared that if I didn't want those paper towels in my house, he would take them to town. He stomped out the kitchen door, grabbing the trimmed nibbled roll.

But wait! Farmer H was only gone a couple minutes. I thought maybe he had put the paper towels in SilverRedO. Oh, silly, silly Mrs. HM! That would have been the logical thing a person possessing common sense might do.

The next day, I opened up the garage door to see that roll of paper towels sitting atop the generator, right next to the lidded trash can of dry dog food. 

I'm pretty sure something had been nibbling on the end...

The Neverending Horror, Or Perhaps Just PTSD

I was SO GLAD to put the Mousy-T-Hoe-ville Horror behind me! So relieved that nothing had disturbed the set mouse trap the second day. Farmer H had caught the little bugger, and that chapter of our life (mine and T-Hoe's) was ended.

"What did you do with the mouse?"

"I threw it out behind the garage."

"Oh. So you mean Jack ate it. And then licked my hands as I was going to town."

"Jack didn't eat it!"

"You know Jack. I'm sure he did. Whether you saw him or not."

Oh, well. I don't touch my face in town, and wash my hands as soon as I get back. At the very worst, there might be a bit of mouse flavor on T-Hoe's steering wheel.

While in town, I went to Save A Lot for Farmer H's generic Hot Pockets (pepperoni pizza flavor) to take in his SUS2.5 lunches. Along with some dill pickles and a bag of red onions. They had six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew on sale 3/$10. So I got three. I was going to set the food box on the back seat, but the soda needed to go in T-Hoe's rear.

I opened the hatch, and moved a four-pack of Puffs With Lotion, and a four-pack of Bounty Select-a-Size Paper Towels out of the way. They'd been in there since Christmas, as I didn't need them carried in to clutter up the Mansion.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

The top edge of the paper towel pack had been chewed, and a bit of paper towel from one roll, about the size of a nickel, had been shredded onto my coat that lives in T-Hoe's rear! 

A FILTHY MOUSE MOUTH HAD BEEN ON MY PAPER TOWELS!

Welp! That did it! I'm not getting the hantavirus! I told Farmer H, after he carried them into the Mansion, that I was cutting off that part, and I didn't want that roll of paper towels. He can have them, for cleaning up at the flip house, or at his SUS2.5. 

The Puffs were fine. The plastic that holds those packs together is the toughest substance on earth. I often have trouble cutting through it with a knife. Jet planes should be made of that stuff, it's so indestructible.

Meanwhile, I must live with the knowledge that the filthy fat mouse must have crawled into every nook and cranny of T-Hoe. I shudder think that maybe its fatness was due to being WITH (filthy mouse) CHILDREN! 

Farmer H, Mouse Trapper

When Farmer H got home Wednesday evening, I asked about the mouse he had caught.

"Was it a cute little field mouse, with the big ears?"

"It was FAT! And it wasn't even in the trap! The trap had went off, but the mouse was laying up against the car door. I guess maybe it snapped on him, and then he died."

"I hope that's the only one!"

"I bet there's more. When there's one, there's going to be a bunch."

"No. We never had them like that when they got in the house. Just the one, and we'd trap it. Except maybe when you had them in the bathroom light/fan, coming down from the attic."

"If a mouse can get its head in, it can get in."

"Yeah, like when they'd come in under the door, because the weatherstripping let you see daylight."

"I bet there's more." 

"It only started on Monday, when I noticed my tissue was torn up. And again on Tuesday. Then you caught it! So I haven't seen any signs of a mouse before then."

"I'll set the trap again, and we'll see."

The good news is that there was nothing in the trap on Thursday morning! I'm hoping this mouse was one-and-done. Still, I might drive with a set mousetrap on the floor of T-Hoe for a few days. Oh, wait! I'll need to warn The Pony, for our Errand Day on Friday.

If You Give A Hick A Mousetrap

There's not a lot going on in this hick town. Hillmomba has been relatively quiet lately. Farmer H seems thrilled to have an investigation dropped into his lap, concerning T-Hoe's tissue issue. He set the mousetrap on the passenger side floor of T-Hoe on Tuesday evening, around 4:30.

Wednesday morning, I was trying to watch a movie (I, Daniel Blake) at 5:30 a.m. when Farmer H came to sit on the long couch. He watched along, but complained that he couldn't understand a word. He's not good with English accents. I guess his mind wandered. Or else he just couldn't contain his excitement.

"Well, when I go out, I'll check and see if you have a mouse!"

Farmer H might have been dreaming about this moment all night.

"You don't have to come back in. You can send me a text."

It was still black dark when Farmer H left at 6:00. At 6:03, I heard a text come in:

"Yes we got one i didn't get a picture sorry"

"I hope it's the only one!"

"I'll bait it again tonight my heater didn't work in my truck this morning"

Not that one has anything to do with the other. But T-Hoe's heater quit working in town on Monday, when I came out of the Gas Station Chicken Store. It started again by the time I got to the prison.

That darn mouse probably chewed up some wiring, as well as my Puffs With Lotion! Then again, the heater/AC and the radio have had ongoing problems like this for years. 

I don't think the mouse is that old.

Anyhoo... Farmer H has a project to keep him occupied: mouse trapping.