Sunday evening, Farmer H grilled some pork steaks and bratwursts. The
pork steaks came in a package of three, and the bratwursts were a
six-pack.
Let the record show that these were not commercially-processed
sausages, such as the Johnsonville brand. We've had them, but prefer
the ones I get at Save A Lot. They are made in Save A Lot's meat
department, and are a little longer, and less uniformly-shaped than the
standard commercial bratwurst. We've tried different flavors, decreed a
moratorium on the jalapeno version, and decided we like the plain
bratwursts. While I'd never want to see the sausages being made, I do
love the pop of the natural casing when biting into one that Farmer H
has cooked on Gassy G.
As usual, Farmer H carried the
meat into the Mansion on a foil-covered pizza pan. It's a shock that he
doesn't lose his sausage by letting it roll away from him. We also had a
lettuce salad with mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, and shredded cheddar,
along with some baked beans that proclaimed themselves to be the
steakhouse version. I was not a fan of the beans. Farmer H was not a fan
of the slaw, and did not partake.
Anyhoo...I told
Farmer H to get his plate, and then set my food aside while I put the
next two days' leftovers in FRIG II, and washed up the dishes. We both
ate part of a pork steak, and a sausage, leaving four sausages, and one
and two-halves pork steaks, for future meals.
Farmer
H had plans to attend an auction on Monday evening, requiring him to
leave home at 4:30. He said he'd get his own meal warmed up, to eat
before he left, and that he didn't need a salad that night.
Imagine
my surprise, when I opened up the meat container later to warm my own supper, and found all the pork
steak pieces remaining, and only two sausages (when I was expecting to see
three). Seems that Farmer H had warmed up two sausages with the beans
for his supper. I assume because it was the EASIEST thing to do. Or
maybe relating to the fact that those were really good sausages!
Therein
lies the problem. Unchecked, Farmer H would think nothing of eating two
of the remaining sausages for his lunch the next day, and the whole
pork steak for his supper. THAT'S NOT FAIR! We were each due three
sausages and 1.5 pork steaks. Spread out over three days. I woudn't mind
at all eating my half a pork steak, and Farmer H's remaining half from
the first night. He could have that whole one all to himself on the
third night. IT'S THE SAUSAGE, PEOPLE! I demand my fair share of the
sausage!
I think maybe I need to find a hobby, now that Farmer H is fully retired...
Wednesday, October 31, 2018
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
Tending Juno
My Sweet, Sweet Juno has an ailment that I mentioned a couple days ago. I discovered her swollen ear on Saturday, after a 1-hour trip to town. Farmer H and I were waiting for Monday, when the vets are open, to get her checked out. On Sunday, when I was looking up their phone numbers, I saw that treating a dog's ear hematoma costs an average of $500, and it's not guaranteed to keep the swelling from recurring. Heh, heh. ReCURring!
Anyhoo...The Veteran had been out helping Farmer H put some tin on his Freight Container Garage, and suggested draining it himself. I also saw the procedure mentioned on the innernets, so that's the course we took.
Farmer H picked up a big plastic syringe at the feed store on Monday morning. I'd been planning to assist Surgeon H, but he called HOS (His Oldest Son) before I got home, who arrived right after I parked T-Hoe in the garage.
That darn Farmer H didn't wait, even though I told him I was getting some treats of bite-sized meat and cheese to lure Juno to her draining. I came out on the front porch of the Mansion, and Juno ran over to greet me.
"She's done," said Farmer H, standing in the front yard, squirting liquid out of the syringe.
"She don't want nothin' to do with ME ever again," said HOS the holder.
Indeed, Juno's ear was back to normal size, though still hanging down a bit. And she still favored that side of her head, but to be fair, she'd just had a needle jammed in it twice. The best part was that even though a bit skittish and slinking, Juno appeared to feel better. The glow in her amber eyes was back. She sat down at my feet for petting, and I gave her the treats.
As Farmer H said, "You can give her the treats now. She was really good."
However...Farmer H went inside to get some Q-tips (we don't have any cotton balls) to see if Juno's inner ear needed cleaning. I warned him severely (more than once) that he could NOT poke those Q-tips into any space he could not see with his own two eyes. That he could only swab at any detritus he found inside.
Well. Juno was having none of that! She tried to squirm away from me, seeing as how I had already used up the treats. I had a good hold on her, me sitting on the front porch pew, and Farmer H standing down on the ground. THEN he had the bright idea to grab Juno's front leg and pull her towards the edge, and she got spooked and panicky. However, overall-wearing HOS stepped up, and sweet-talked her, and held her in his arms like a black sheep.
Farmer H flipped Juno's ear flap back, and we could all see that it looked perfectly normal, though a little bit swollen. It was pink and healthy, no gunk, didn't smell. The most Farmer H swiped off of it was about half a Q-tip of light dust. "That's really clean for a dog's ear!" he said. We agreed.
Of course Juno sat down again for petting. Not seeming to hold her manhandling against them at all. She didn't try to run away. She DID shake her head a couple times, and dig at the ear with her hind foot. I'm sure Farmer H must have tickled something inside with that Q-tip. We are considering getting her some ear mite medicine, just in case.
When Farmer H started up the Gator, Juno ran to follow. She DID go slower than usual, taking her time on the steps, and still holding her head tilted. Plus, she took a break from running for a minute, when she saw that he was stopping at the BARn. I'm sure she won't get over this immediately. The stuff I read said it might take four months, and the ear would need multiple drainings.
I'm just relieve that Juno feels better. You can tell by her demeanor, even though she's not back to full speed.
Farmer H rinsed out the syringe with water, squirting it through the needle. So he's ready for the next time. He said the first try didn't yield him anything, but on the second one, the fluid immediately started filling up the syringe, with the ear going back flat. The fluid had a little blood, but mostly clear stuff, not cloudy.
Juno is probably onto his tricks now, though. We'll have to get creative.
Anyhoo...The Veteran had been out helping Farmer H put some tin on his Freight Container Garage, and suggested draining it himself. I also saw the procedure mentioned on the innernets, so that's the course we took.
Farmer H picked up a big plastic syringe at the feed store on Monday morning. I'd been planning to assist Surgeon H, but he called HOS (His Oldest Son) before I got home, who arrived right after I parked T-Hoe in the garage.
That darn Farmer H didn't wait, even though I told him I was getting some treats of bite-sized meat and cheese to lure Juno to her draining. I came out on the front porch of the Mansion, and Juno ran over to greet me.
"She's done," said Farmer H, standing in the front yard, squirting liquid out of the syringe.
"She don't want nothin' to do with ME ever again," said HOS the holder.
Indeed, Juno's ear was back to normal size, though still hanging down a bit. And she still favored that side of her head, but to be fair, she'd just had a needle jammed in it twice. The best part was that even though a bit skittish and slinking, Juno appeared to feel better. The glow in her amber eyes was back. She sat down at my feet for petting, and I gave her the treats.
As Farmer H said, "You can give her the treats now. She was really good."
However...Farmer H went inside to get some Q-tips (we don't have any cotton balls) to see if Juno's inner ear needed cleaning. I warned him severely (more than once) that he could NOT poke those Q-tips into any space he could not see with his own two eyes. That he could only swab at any detritus he found inside.
Well. Juno was having none of that! She tried to squirm away from me, seeing as how I had already used up the treats. I had a good hold on her, me sitting on the front porch pew, and Farmer H standing down on the ground. THEN he had the bright idea to grab Juno's front leg and pull her towards the edge, and she got spooked and panicky. However, overall-wearing HOS stepped up, and sweet-talked her, and held her in his arms like a black sheep.
Farmer H flipped Juno's ear flap back, and we could all see that it looked perfectly normal, though a little bit swollen. It was pink and healthy, no gunk, didn't smell. The most Farmer H swiped off of it was about half a Q-tip of light dust. "That's really clean for a dog's ear!" he said. We agreed.
Of course Juno sat down again for petting. Not seeming to hold her manhandling against them at all. She didn't try to run away. She DID shake her head a couple times, and dig at the ear with her hind foot. I'm sure Farmer H must have tickled something inside with that Q-tip. We are considering getting her some ear mite medicine, just in case.
When Farmer H started up the Gator, Juno ran to follow. She DID go slower than usual, taking her time on the steps, and still holding her head tilted. Plus, she took a break from running for a minute, when she saw that he was stopping at the BARn. I'm sure she won't get over this immediately. The stuff I read said it might take four months, and the ear would need multiple drainings.
I'm just relieve that Juno feels better. You can tell by her demeanor, even though she's not back to full speed.
Farmer H rinsed out the syringe with water, squirting it through the needle. So he's ready for the next time. He said the first try didn't yield him anything, but on the second one, the fluid immediately started filling up the syringe, with the ear going back flat. The fluid had a little blood, but mostly clear stuff, not cloudy.
Juno is probably onto his tricks now, though. We'll have to get creative.
Monday, October 29, 2018
Fall Has Fallen
Hillmomba didn't get much of an autumn this year. We waited and waited for the trees to turn, and now it looks like they've mostly skipped that stage, and gone straight to shedding their brown leaves. Sunday had that tint in the air that practically screamed FALL!
I was enjoying the view of the creek as I turned onto our gravel road. I hadn't planned on taking a picture, until I saw a reason to do so.
You may not notice, due to my poor picture-taking procedure. I think I zoomed in too close to T-Hoe's tinted windshield. Anyhoo...my point is the TRASH left by ne'er-do-wells! Beer cans scattered between the tree trunks, and a 44 oz foam cup in the shadow of the tree. I'm pretty sure that nobody sat there drinking all those beers, piling cans in the exact same area. They would have tossed them willy-nilly. It seems to me that somebody pulled over there and dumped them out of their car, or more likely, truck. To avoid being caught by police or parents or spouse.
It makes me think of that commercial from my childhood, the Indian crying the single tear.
I was enjoying the view of the creek as I turned onto our gravel road. I hadn't planned on taking a picture, until I saw a reason to do so.
You may not notice, due to my poor picture-taking procedure. I think I zoomed in too close to T-Hoe's tinted windshield. Anyhoo...my point is the TRASH left by ne'er-do-wells! Beer cans scattered between the tree trunks, and a 44 oz foam cup in the shadow of the tree. I'm pretty sure that nobody sat there drinking all those beers, piling cans in the exact same area. They would have tossed them willy-nilly. It seems to me that somebody pulled over there and dumped them out of their car, or more likely, truck. To avoid being caught by police or parents or spouse.
It makes me think of that commercial from my childhood, the Indian crying the single tear.
Sunday, October 28, 2018
I'm A Little Worried About My Sweet, Sweet Juno
You remember Juno, right? Our half-lab, half border collie mutt we rescued as a tiny pup, after she was dumped out at my mom's rural home, nearly starving to death.
That's her baby picture, the day we brought her home. I think she was about to lose consciousness! So sad. We soon fattened her up.
Put her on a weight-training program!
Here she is, lifting her barbell. Which enabled her to grow into the glossy specimen below.
That's Juno in the foreground, with our black german shepherd Ann, who disappeared the day after we had a crew here putting a metal roof on the garage. Not that I'm pointing fingers... As you can see, Ann has an egg in her mouth. I took that picture for evidence, since Farmer H blamed Juno (of the silky coat) for eating eggs as fast as his hens laid them.
Anyhoo...my Sweet, Sweet Juno is now 7 years old. She's a little stiff in her back right leg, after too many jumps off the porch, I think. But she runs along with Farmer H and the Gator, even though (formerly known as Puppy) Jack and Copper Jack exclude her from their frolics. They're a younger generation, both in their 2s, the age Juno is in the picture above. If Copper Jack stays at his legal home next door, our Jack will frolic with Juno. His favorite tactic is to jump on her and torment her until she gets up to chase him, then he bites her tail and she has to drag him while trying to run away. She's been a healthy dog, our Juno.
When I left for town on Saturday, Juno was the only fleabag to greet me. I petted her as normal, and gave her some cat kibble. When I returned, all three dogs took off across the front yard/field as I piloted T-Hoe down the driveway. They jumped off the back of the concrete carport to chase squirrels, as usual. Jack circled back, under the porch, and Copper Jack and Juno came around the end of the carport. That's when I noticed something was amiss.
Normally, Juno gets to the porch first, to wait first in line as I leave the garage through the people door. She demands her petting, and the first dole of cat kibble. She'll wait there on the side porch until I deign to leave the garage. Jack runs into the garage, sometimes stopping the closing of the garage door while playing around under it, and waits for me to open the people door to let him out. Copper Jack stands at a respectful distance, looking at me with mistrust while I unload groceries, then goes around to wait on the brick sidewalk for his cat kibble.
This time, Juno was out back, behind the garage, with Copper Jack and little Jack. She sidled over to me, and put her head near my knee. Of course I reached down to pet her. She had been walking slowly, kind of listing to one side. I saw that her right ear was kind of folded down. Flipped back, maybe, like when dogs romp around, and it gets turned kind of inside-out. I reached down to flip her ear over, and saw that it was swollen as thick as a hamburger! I barely touched it then, and Juno whimpered. I left her alone, and she started around the garage. She doesn't like to walk through.
Coming out the people door, I could see Juno at the bottom of the steps. It was like she wasn't sure she could walk up them. She did. Slowly. Like her balance was off. I petted her some more, keeping my hand away from her ear, mainly comforting her and letting her know that I could tell something was wrong. Yeah. I'm sure she understood every word of it, and I did not sound at all like Charlie Brown's teacher.
I sent Farmer H a text as he was closing up his Storage Unit Store. He said he'd take a look at her. Juno had other ideas, and wouldn't let Farmer H near. So later we bribed her out of her dog house with a piece of cheese wrapped in meat (expired). Her ear was still swollen. She kept shaking her head. Farmer H and I discussed taking her to the vet on Monday if she's not better. Farmer H thinks maybe she has ear mites like this cat.
Dusty had them several years ago. The vet gave us medicine, with instructions to dose all of our fleabags, since they transmit ear mites to each other. We did. It seems odd to me that such a malady could strike Juno now, in the space of one hour, while I was in town.
I was worried that she might have smacked the side of her head on something, crushing part of her ear. She's always whacking her head on the stair rail, spinning quickly to cut off Jack from my reaching hand. She also turns quickly elsewhere, hitting her head on a car bumper or the Gator. She's a bit skittish, and used to tear around the yard at a high rate of speed, ripping up grass with her toenails in cut-back turns.
I also worried that Jack might have bitten her ear to hang on in a game of chase. Or that Copper Jack went after her for snarling at him. He grows bolder as she grows older and less tolerant. Farmer H first thought maybe a snake bit her. We'll see how it goes. Juno DID go over to the BARn with Farmer H and his buddy, Buddy. So she's able to move around, if perhaps not so comfortably.
Like Farmer H said, it will be a two-person adventure to get Juno to the vet. We don't have a pet carrier her size since she's fully grown. Farmer H used to take the bigger dogs in his truck, riding on the passenger side floorboard, tied with a leash to the door handle. I don't think that's a good idea with skittish Juno. You don't want her to end up on his feet while he's driving!
We'll see how things go.
That's her baby picture, the day we brought her home. I think she was about to lose consciousness! So sad. We soon fattened her up.
Here she is, lifting her barbell. Which enabled her to grow into the glossy specimen below.
That's Juno in the foreground, with our black german shepherd Ann, who disappeared the day after we had a crew here putting a metal roof on the garage. Not that I'm pointing fingers... As you can see, Ann has an egg in her mouth. I took that picture for evidence, since Farmer H blamed Juno (of the silky coat) for eating eggs as fast as his hens laid them.
Anyhoo...my Sweet, Sweet Juno is now 7 years old. She's a little stiff in her back right leg, after too many jumps off the porch, I think. But she runs along with Farmer H and the Gator, even though (formerly known as Puppy) Jack and Copper Jack exclude her from their frolics. They're a younger generation, both in their 2s, the age Juno is in the picture above. If Copper Jack stays at his legal home next door, our Jack will frolic with Juno. His favorite tactic is to jump on her and torment her until she gets up to chase him, then he bites her tail and she has to drag him while trying to run away. She's been a healthy dog, our Juno.
When I left for town on Saturday, Juno was the only fleabag to greet me. I petted her as normal, and gave her some cat kibble. When I returned, all three dogs took off across the front yard/field as I piloted T-Hoe down the driveway. They jumped off the back of the concrete carport to chase squirrels, as usual. Jack circled back, under the porch, and Copper Jack and Juno came around the end of the carport. That's when I noticed something was amiss.
Normally, Juno gets to the porch first, to wait first in line as I leave the garage through the people door. She demands her petting, and the first dole of cat kibble. She'll wait there on the side porch until I deign to leave the garage. Jack runs into the garage, sometimes stopping the closing of the garage door while playing around under it, and waits for me to open the people door to let him out. Copper Jack stands at a respectful distance, looking at me with mistrust while I unload groceries, then goes around to wait on the brick sidewalk for his cat kibble.
This time, Juno was out back, behind the garage, with Copper Jack and little Jack. She sidled over to me, and put her head near my knee. Of course I reached down to pet her. She had been walking slowly, kind of listing to one side. I saw that her right ear was kind of folded down. Flipped back, maybe, like when dogs romp around, and it gets turned kind of inside-out. I reached down to flip her ear over, and saw that it was swollen as thick as a hamburger! I barely touched it then, and Juno whimpered. I left her alone, and she started around the garage. She doesn't like to walk through.
Coming out the people door, I could see Juno at the bottom of the steps. It was like she wasn't sure she could walk up them. She did. Slowly. Like her balance was off. I petted her some more, keeping my hand away from her ear, mainly comforting her and letting her know that I could tell something was wrong. Yeah. I'm sure she understood every word of it, and I did not sound at all like Charlie Brown's teacher.
I sent Farmer H a text as he was closing up his Storage Unit Store. He said he'd take a look at her. Juno had other ideas, and wouldn't let Farmer H near. So later we bribed her out of her dog house with a piece of cheese wrapped in meat (expired). Her ear was still swollen. She kept shaking her head. Farmer H and I discussed taking her to the vet on Monday if she's not better. Farmer H thinks maybe she has ear mites like this cat.
Dusty had them several years ago. The vet gave us medicine, with instructions to dose all of our fleabags, since they transmit ear mites to each other. We did. It seems odd to me that such a malady could strike Juno now, in the space of one hour, while I was in town.
I was worried that she might have smacked the side of her head on something, crushing part of her ear. She's always whacking her head on the stair rail, spinning quickly to cut off Jack from my reaching hand. She also turns quickly elsewhere, hitting her head on a car bumper or the Gator. She's a bit skittish, and used to tear around the yard at a high rate of speed, ripping up grass with her toenails in cut-back turns.
I also worried that Jack might have bitten her ear to hang on in a game of chase. Or that Copper Jack went after her for snarling at him. He grows bolder as she grows older and less tolerant. Farmer H first thought maybe a snake bit her. We'll see how it goes. Juno DID go over to the BARn with Farmer H and his buddy, Buddy. So she's able to move around, if perhaps not so comfortably.
Like Farmer H said, it will be a two-person adventure to get Juno to the vet. We don't have a pet carrier her size since she's fully grown. Farmer H used to take the bigger dogs in his truck, riding on the passenger side floorboard, tied with a leash to the door handle. I don't think that's a good idea with skittish Juno. You don't want her to end up on his feet while he's driving!
We'll see how things go.
Saturday, October 27, 2018
The Fifth Son
Thursday morning, I was just getting out of bed when the phone rang. No, it wasn't some telemarketer or electioneer calling too early. The time was after 10:00, and the caller was our neighbor Tommy. The 58-year-old guy whose mom died, who we gave a car, and helped find work.
Tommy didn't leave a message, so I figured he was calling Farmer H's cell phone. Farmer H finally got him in that habit, after weeks of me relaying the call, and Farmer H calling Tommy back on his landline. Tommy doesn't have a cell phone.
Anyhoo...about 10 minutes later, I saw Farmer H driving the TrailBlazer up our gravel road to Tommy's house, which is across the road and one house to the right. A couple minutes later, the Trailblazer went back down the gravel road, I assumed to turn in to the BARn field, from whence it had come. But no. BACK toward Tommy's house went the TrailBlazer about five minutes later.
Farmer H later explained that Tommy's car battery was dead. Farmer H went to jump it, but had the wrong jumper cables, so came back for a different set. He said Tommy was worried that if he shut off the car, it would be dead again. He asked if Farmer H could come back if needed. Farmer H said that no, he was not going to be on call for Tommy, but that if he was around, he WOULD come back.
"I told him just to leave it running. He can do that for about an hour. It won't hurt anything."
"He might not be able to afford the gas."
"He says he's still working full time, but that one week he only got 36 hours, not 40. I told him to go to The Devil's Playground for a battery, but he went to the guy in town. I told him it's cheaper at The Devil's Playground, and Tommy said, 'But the guy in town will hold my check until the end of the week when I get paid.' So I guess that's a good enough reason."
Farmer H also added: "I swear. Sometimes I think Tommy is my fifth son!"
Tommy didn't leave a message, so I figured he was calling Farmer H's cell phone. Farmer H finally got him in that habit, after weeks of me relaying the call, and Farmer H calling Tommy back on his landline. Tommy doesn't have a cell phone.
Anyhoo...about 10 minutes later, I saw Farmer H driving the TrailBlazer up our gravel road to Tommy's house, which is across the road and one house to the right. A couple minutes later, the Trailblazer went back down the gravel road, I assumed to turn in to the BARn field, from whence it had come. But no. BACK toward Tommy's house went the TrailBlazer about five minutes later.
Farmer H later explained that Tommy's car battery was dead. Farmer H went to jump it, but had the wrong jumper cables, so came back for a different set. He said Tommy was worried that if he shut off the car, it would be dead again. He asked if Farmer H could come back if needed. Farmer H said that no, he was not going to be on call for Tommy, but that if he was around, he WOULD come back.
"I told him just to leave it running. He can do that for about an hour. It won't hurt anything."
"He might not be able to afford the gas."
"He says he's still working full time, but that one week he only got 36 hours, not 40. I told him to go to The Devil's Playground for a battery, but he went to the guy in town. I told him it's cheaper at The Devil's Playground, and Tommy said, 'But the guy in town will hold my check until the end of the week when I get paid.' So I guess that's a good enough reason."
Farmer H also added: "I swear. Sometimes I think Tommy is my fifth son!"
Friday, October 26, 2018
The Left Behind Olympics
It's not like I've been in training for this event my whole life. No siree, Bob! I'm a natural. No scheduled workouts. I compete when the challenge arises, and expect to win. Turns out my greatest competition is my sister the ex-mayor's wife.
Sis had a birthday this week. She sent me a text asking if Farmer H and I wanted to join her (and the ex-mayor, of course) on a jaunt to our new favorite casino. You already know the answer. We agreed to drive A-Cad (Sis tossed some gas money our way), and pick them up at their house at 11:00. The invitation was extended two days before casino day.
As with all our casino trips, I searched online, and through the mail offers for Farmer H and myself, to ensure proper usage of our FREE offers. Sadly, a FREE MONEY offer of $25 during this week fell by the wayside, because it was excluded for the single day that we would be gambling. That's okay, though. Farmer H and I each had another offer of $20 in FREE MONEY for this specific day. Almost as good. I tore off the coupons and put them in my gambling purse.
We had plenty of time. Farmer H got up first, and headed to Lowe's for some lumber for a project that I shudder to think about, and refuse to ask. I took my time, took my medicine, took my driver's license out of my regular purse to put in my pocket, and took my shower. Farmer H got back home by 10:00, and we were ready to leave at 10:30. We had gone approximately 3/10 of a mile, having passed only one house on the way to the county road, when I told Farmer H
"STOP! I CAN'T FIND MY DRIVER'S LICENSE!"
Not that I was planning to drive, of course. But it's needed for identification purposes at the casino. To get your free money. And to get a big payout if you hit a jackpot. I had just put a Puffs With Lotion in my shirt pocket, and noticed that my license wasn't in there. I quickly searched my gambling purse. Not in the phone pocket, not in the player's card pocket, not in my money pouch, not in the pouch holding Chapstick (mint/tea flavor), lotion, a comb, and over-the-counter painkillers.
Farmer H put A-Cad in reverse, and backed up to and into our neighbors' driveway to turn around. Once back at the Mansion, I searched my last known whereabouts. My license was not on the kitchen counter where I'd laid it beside glasses case. Not on the back of the couch where I'd laid it while fetching my gambling purse from the living room end table. Huh. I went to the bathroom closet, to my around-the-house shirt I'd been wearing before my shower. AHA! There it was, in the pocket.
I thought of texting Sis to warn her of our delay, but we were still pretty much on schedule. Because I'd remembered my forgetfulness early-on. In fact, we pulled into Sis's driveway at 11:02. No apologies needed, in my opinion. So I didn't offer one.
Sis and the Ex-Mayor got in A-Cad's back seats. I gifted Sis with some Chex Mix left over from the batch I made Sunday for The Pony's Halloween care package. I did apologize for my Hillbilly Tupperware, since it was in two containers that once held deli chicken and deli ham. They are sturdy and lightweight, good for shipping. Farmer H apologized for my wrapping, which consisted of a plastic bag from The Devil's Playground, not even tied in a knot at the top.
We were cutting up and carrying on about a picture the Ex-Mayor had put of himself on Facebook. And making fun of Farmer H, who was wearing a bright red long-sleeved t-shirt (pointed out by Sis, who was memorizing our clothing for quicker reuniting for the buffet at 4:00), as well as an orange cap, and a glowing yellow lanyard around his neck holding his player's card.
"I FORGOT MY CARD!"
Said Sis, with a gasp.
"ME TOO!"
Sputtered the Ex-Mayor.
"Well, I'm sure you can get another one at the player's club desk. They always issue a new one. Farmer H has gotten one at almost every casino."
"Yeah. I guess that will be okay."
"We're not that far yet. I can drive you back home to get it."
So we turned around again, and drove about 1.5 miles back to Sis's house, before starting on our 90-mile trip.
I'm conceding the Gold Medal in the Left Behind Olympics to Sis. Because the whole trip was HER idea, and she picked which casino, so she should have known full well that her player's card was definitely an item to take. I'd set my license out, but only misplaced it. Sis had seemingly blocked out the concept of taking a player's card to the casino of her choice, on the day she selected to go, for a gambling trip for her birthday.
I'm claiming the Silver, though.
Sis had a birthday this week. She sent me a text asking if Farmer H and I wanted to join her (and the ex-mayor, of course) on a jaunt to our new favorite casino. You already know the answer. We agreed to drive A-Cad (Sis tossed some gas money our way), and pick them up at their house at 11:00. The invitation was extended two days before casino day.
As with all our casino trips, I searched online, and through the mail offers for Farmer H and myself, to ensure proper usage of our FREE offers. Sadly, a FREE MONEY offer of $25 during this week fell by the wayside, because it was excluded for the single day that we would be gambling. That's okay, though. Farmer H and I each had another offer of $20 in FREE MONEY for this specific day. Almost as good. I tore off the coupons and put them in my gambling purse.
We had plenty of time. Farmer H got up first, and headed to Lowe's for some lumber for a project that I shudder to think about, and refuse to ask. I took my time, took my medicine, took my driver's license out of my regular purse to put in my pocket, and took my shower. Farmer H got back home by 10:00, and we were ready to leave at 10:30. We had gone approximately 3/10 of a mile, having passed only one house on the way to the county road, when I told Farmer H
"STOP! I CAN'T FIND MY DRIVER'S LICENSE!"
Not that I was planning to drive, of course. But it's needed for identification purposes at the casino. To get your free money. And to get a big payout if you hit a jackpot. I had just put a Puffs With Lotion in my shirt pocket, and noticed that my license wasn't in there. I quickly searched my gambling purse. Not in the phone pocket, not in the player's card pocket, not in my money pouch, not in the pouch holding Chapstick (mint/tea flavor), lotion, a comb, and over-the-counter painkillers.
Farmer H put A-Cad in reverse, and backed up to and into our neighbors' driveway to turn around. Once back at the Mansion, I searched my last known whereabouts. My license was not on the kitchen counter where I'd laid it beside glasses case. Not on the back of the couch where I'd laid it while fetching my gambling purse from the living room end table. Huh. I went to the bathroom closet, to my around-the-house shirt I'd been wearing before my shower. AHA! There it was, in the pocket.
I thought of texting Sis to warn her of our delay, but we were still pretty much on schedule. Because I'd remembered my forgetfulness early-on. In fact, we pulled into Sis's driveway at 11:02. No apologies needed, in my opinion. So I didn't offer one.
Sis and the Ex-Mayor got in A-Cad's back seats. I gifted Sis with some Chex Mix left over from the batch I made Sunday for The Pony's Halloween care package. I did apologize for my Hillbilly Tupperware, since it was in two containers that once held deli chicken and deli ham. They are sturdy and lightweight, good for shipping. Farmer H apologized for my wrapping, which consisted of a plastic bag from The Devil's Playground, not even tied in a knot at the top.
We were cutting up and carrying on about a picture the Ex-Mayor had put of himself on Facebook. And making fun of Farmer H, who was wearing a bright red long-sleeved t-shirt (pointed out by Sis, who was memorizing our clothing for quicker reuniting for the buffet at 4:00), as well as an orange cap, and a glowing yellow lanyard around his neck holding his player's card.
"I FORGOT MY CARD!"
Said Sis, with a gasp.
"ME TOO!"
Sputtered the Ex-Mayor.
"Well, I'm sure you can get another one at the player's club desk. They always issue a new one. Farmer H has gotten one at almost every casino."
"Yeah. I guess that will be okay."
"We're not that far yet. I can drive you back home to get it."
So we turned around again, and drove about 1.5 miles back to Sis's house, before starting on our 90-mile trip.
I'm conceding the Gold Medal in the Left Behind Olympics to Sis. Because the whole trip was HER idea, and she picked which casino, so she should have known full well that her player's card was definitely an item to take. I'd set my license out, but only misplaced it. Sis had seemingly blocked out the concept of taking a player's card to the casino of her choice, on the day she selected to go, for a gambling trip for her birthday.
I'm claiming the Silver, though.
Thursday, October 25, 2018
A Garbage Truck And A Highway Department Truck Pull Onto A Blacktop Road
How's that for a joke-starter? Not quite as catchy as a blonde and a brunette walking into a bar (actually it was just the blonde, because the brunette ducked).
Ba dum tss!
Thanks! I'll be here all week. Honestly, I'll be here way longer than a week. Can't say the same for my audience.
My daily travels led me to such a promising joke set-up. I crested a hill on the county road on my way to town, and saw one of those side-mounted lawnmower thingies on a county road department truck, chewing up tree limbs that were encroaching on the pavement's air space. It was coming towards me, so I slowed way down. Stopped, actually, watching my rearview mirror nervously, lest a speeder come over the hill behind me.
When I looked back out the windshield, I saw our new garbage truck about to pull out of a driveway, right in front of that side-mower truck. Well. That would certainly be unfortunate. Even though I knew our trash had been picked up for the day. You don't want your white garbage truck with the red-white-blue flag painted on the side to have its front end chewed up by a side-mower. Then again, you don't want your county tax dollars wasted on repairing a side-mower rammed by a garbage truck.
It was a dilemma kind of like the old Reese's Peanut Butter Cup commercial. "You got chocolate in my peanut butter!" "No. You got peanut butter on my chocolate!"
The side-mower truck saw the garbage truck, and backed up to let it out of the driveway. While I contemplated what that driver might have said if there was an accident.
"Mow 'er? Not-Heaven, NO! I don't even KNOW 'er!"
Or what if the garbage truck had pulled out and run into the spinning blades of the side-mower?
"Bump 'er? Not-Heaven, NO! I came here to DUMP 'er!"
Yeah. Maybe I need a little more practice writing my punchlines.
Ba dum tss!
Thanks! I'll be here all week. Honestly, I'll be here way longer than a week. Can't say the same for my audience.
My daily travels led me to such a promising joke set-up. I crested a hill on the county road on my way to town, and saw one of those side-mounted lawnmower thingies on a county road department truck, chewing up tree limbs that were encroaching on the pavement's air space. It was coming towards me, so I slowed way down. Stopped, actually, watching my rearview mirror nervously, lest a speeder come over the hill behind me.
When I looked back out the windshield, I saw our new garbage truck about to pull out of a driveway, right in front of that side-mower truck. Well. That would certainly be unfortunate. Even though I knew our trash had been picked up for the day. You don't want your white garbage truck with the red-white-blue flag painted on the side to have its front end chewed up by a side-mower. Then again, you don't want your county tax dollars wasted on repairing a side-mower rammed by a garbage truck.
It was a dilemma kind of like the old Reese's Peanut Butter Cup commercial. "You got chocolate in my peanut butter!" "No. You got peanut butter on my chocolate!"
The side-mower truck saw the garbage truck, and backed up to let it out of the driveway. While I contemplated what that driver might have said if there was an accident.
"Mow 'er? Not-Heaven, NO! I don't even KNOW 'er!"
Or what if the garbage truck had pulled out and run into the spinning blades of the side-mower?
"Bump 'er? Not-Heaven, NO! I came here to DUMP 'er!"
Yeah. Maybe I need a little more practice writing my punchlines.
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