The Pack Is Re-Calibrating

Little fluffy dog Marley has been out of his pen since last THURSDAY! He's been out for a week! And he continues to come back home! Farmer H didn't bother to tell me of this new development until Monday evening when I asked about Marley. As you might imagine, this has thrown a massive monkey wrench into the dynamics of our pack of fleabags.

Juno is taking it the hardest. Now I know why she storms out of her house around midnight or 1:00 a.m., bellowing like her dog house is being repossessed. Marley must come up on the porch, and Juno objects. On Tuesday, I saw her sitting alone in the front yard, looking towards the BARn. Farmer H was over there, sorting through his junk, maybe putting fishing poles together.

I figured that Juno couldn't bring herself to join the others. Not with Marley there. Juno is not good with change. She wants to be recognized and deferred to as top dog, but she won't campaign for the honor. If the other dogs come near her, she makes herself clear. But she's not a roving bully.

My little Jack seems to have called a truce. He will trot around Marley, trying to stay between Marley and me, sometimes stiff-legged and thick-necked, tail up over his back. But he's stopped barking and snarling and provoking with a nose-poke.

Copper Jack looks puzzled, and stays in the background. He'll bark if they're all running around, but doesn't interact directly with Marley.

I wish I had a new picture of Marley to show you, but that is kind of impossible with Marley not on a leash. By the time I snap the picture, Marley is out of frame. I'm pretty sure he's an ADD mutt. An Attention Deficit Dog. He jumps like an NBA rebounder, and darts around like a rabbit evading a predator. It's like somebody crushed up crack rocks and mixed the powder with meth and cocaine, filled a large plastic Pixie Stix kind of straw with it, jammed two of them into Marley's nostrils, and blew the contents into his brain.

I used to think my little Jack was hyper. But compared to Marley, Jack is like an elderly woman on a morphine drip after major surgery, who's just eaten a chicken-fried steak covered with white gravy, after it was dredged in a crushed-opiate batter.

Our biggest kerfuffle happened at TREAT TIME! When I got home from town yesterday, Marley was under my feet as I tried to get out of T-Hoe in the garage. Jack never does that! He waits for me at the garage people-door. I pet him, and let him out, then get my purse and magical elixir, and dole out cat kibble.

I opened the people-door, and Jack and Marley ran through. Jack joined Juno on the side porch, while Copper Jack waited on the brick sidewalk. Imagine my surprise when I turned from T-Hoe's passenger door with my stuff, and felt Marley jumping up and rebounding off my hip!

"No! Marley! You're gonna hafta learn the routine. Once I let you out of the garage, you don't come back in."

I will say that Marley stops when told NO. He lowers himself near the ground, shaking with excitement, hoping to be petted. Not cowering, not laying, not sitting. Just keeping himself as still as he can. Of course I pet him.

This is when the 3-ring circus officially started. I grabbed a handful of cat kibble out of the roaster pan. I dribbled out some for Juno, who jumped a foot in the air as Jack ran under her to eat it before Marley could grab it. That's not like Jack. He waits his turn beside the metal chair. I also scattered some kibble there, thinking Juno might come back from her dog house.

I spread some on the sidewalk for Copper Jack. Marley was down there, and ran over, spooking Copper Jack, who took a step back. Marley only sniffed it, and darted up to the side porch, sniffed the kibble there, and ran back down to Copper Jack. My Jack, afraid he was missing something, jumped off the side porch, and started eating the sidewalk kibble. Marley ran back up the steps, sniffed more kibble, then ran to me while I was climbing the steps, almost falling. Marley, that is. Not me. Marley got his front feet over the step edge, and almost tumbled down.

Whew! I went inside, to give them all a leftover biscuit. Farmer H was in the kitchen, having carried groceries for me. Marley ran inside.

"Marley! NO!" Marley ran back out, and took Jack's rightful place with front feet on the threshold. Jack stood to the side, annoyed. Juno, fearing she'd miss a TREAT, come out of her house and shouldered her way to the threshhold.

I handed Juno her biscuit, and she turned tail and reentered her house. I dropped a biscuit for Jack, beside the door, and MARLEY GRABBED IT! Jack was baffled. Farmer H, who was walking out, yelled, "MARLEY! MARLEY!" I think NO might have worked better, but the tone made Marley drop the biscuit. Jack grabbed it and ran, rather than eating calmly beside the door as usual.

I tossed a biscuit mid-porch, for Marley, who ran over and SNIFFED IT, and came right back. Copper Jack was hiding around the corner, having heard Farmer H be cross with Marley. Farmer H pointed to where he was, so I tossed a biscuit for him. Jack ran over and grabbed it, so Farmer H yelled, "JACK! JACK!" Until Jack dropped it and got his own biscuit back in his mouth.

Farmer H kicked Copper Jack's biscuit to him. Marley ran to grab the mid-porch biscuit and ate it in one bite! Then came at me looking for more. I'm pretty sure Juno got indigestion from the commotion. I'm shocked that there wasn't a four-dog fracas over those biscuits. We got through TREAT TIME without a snarl, without a growl, without a bite.

Marley might need a lesson in manners. If I can catch him before he darts.

Fall Has Fallen In Hillmomba

We have a few colorful trees this year. Better than I expected, since it's been so dry.

This is the library a block from the dead mouse smelling post office. If you zoom in to the window under the yellow tree, you can see a witch and a spider web! I didn't know they were there until I got the picture on New Delly's screen.

Another sign of the season:

JUNK MAIL! There were 13 catalogs stuffed in EmBee's gullet on Tuesday! Okay, the top little booklet is a casino comp mailer. But that's not included in the 13.

I must say, I loved the smell of the fallen leaves on this damp 42-degree day. Seems like just last week, we were in the 80s.

Farmer H had rain at his Trunk or Treat on Saturday evening. Only a few kids showed up, but he was there to hand out candy at his Storage Unit Store. I think he said 6 or 8 of the guys were there to pass out candy. The local radio station had an event scheduled at the same time, but postponed theirs for weather. Farmer H handed out candy to any shoppers with kids on Sunday, too.

Now he's all excited about playing Santa for a preschool on December 7. So he'll be on the lookout for safe toys to give out.

Necessity Is The Farmer H Of Invention

It's been another one of those days. Even Steven is settling a score, perhaps.

Sunday, my hands had a mind of their own. Or the mind of Even Steven. Had I known what was in store for me, I might have gone straight to bed, and demanded that Farmer H wait on me hand and foot and PopArm. Yeah. We know I wouldn't attempt that tactic. I want to LIVE!

When I got back from town, I had a few Country Mart items to put away. Some sweet onions, biscuits, and treats for a Halloween package I was sending The Pony. I'd been eager to get everything home, and had not taken care of my financial business as soon as I got back to T-Hoe. So I had a receipt and debit card in my pocket, which needed to be put in the checkbook.

I reached into my shirt pocket an withdrew the receipt and debit as I returned to the kitchen from the bathroom (and my wonderful new toilet seat). As I laid them on the cutting block, I heard something fall. Huh. What in the world else did I have in my pocket? Just an odd ibuprofen and acetaminophen. Maybe a Pepcid. I like to travel prepared. WAIT! I saw it on the floor. A Lifesavers Wint-O-Green mint.

It had rolled to the edge of FRIG II. Was peeking out from the little vented kickboard thingy at the base. How was I going to get that out? I grabbed the wire-handled flyswatter that hangs on a hook on the cutting block. That should do the trick. But it DIDN'T! I laid it flat, at an angle, and dragged the handle towards me. I'll be ding dang donged it that mint didn't hop up and scoot itself deeper under FRIG II! No matter how many swipes I made, I couldn't get that mint to come out the side. Oh, well. Guess it won't hurt anything. It's not like I was going to eat it.

Speaking of eating...I made a roast and vegetables before I went to town. When I took my supper to my lair, it was totally uncooperative. I like a little mayo on the side. Don't judge! I put a dab in a ramekin, then dip the ends of the fork in before stabbing a bite of roast. Of course the mayo had to drip off the fork, and land not in my bowl of veggies, not on my plate of roast, but on my tray that holds them.

I'd no sooner cleaned up my tray than a tasty bit of roast-juice-soaked onion slipped off my fork. It did not land back in its bowl, nor on the plate of roast, nor on the tray now cleaned of mayo...but on the counter at the left of New Delly! Sweet Gummi Mary! I might as well have Farmer H build me a trough, and do away with utensils altogether.

But that's not all. I'd brought down fresh ice cube crescents in a bubba cup to add to the remaining 22 oz of my magical elixir. As I reached inside for a few cubes, the end of one flipped another cube over the rim. It skittered around on the counter at my right, spinning in a semi-circle, until it went over the edge. I fished it up with my telescoping backscratcher's metal hand, by balancing it against my New Balance, and put it in a bowl left from lunch's chips. It was not a pretty sight, coated with some dust from under the desk, and a couple hairs from my shedding lovely lady mullet.

THAT'S not even the worst incident that befell me! I was sitting on the long couch, talking to Farmer H, while I taped up a box to fill with The Pony's treats. We have some good tape that Farmer H brought home once upon his employment time, with tough strands running through it. I have to use scissors to cut it, since there's no dispenser. I also have to put a finger on the piece left on the roll, because if you don't fold it over for a little flap, it's almost impossible to get loose again.

Well. I was holding the end of the tape that I hadn't smoothed down on the box yet, fingers splayed to keep a little bit of the roll tape loose, and I CUT MY FINGER! Yep. Snipped the tape, snipped the finger. I smoothed down the box edge, and exclaimed to Farmer H,

"Now what am I gonna do? It's bleeding!"

Did Farmer H jump out of the La-Z-Boy to rescue me? Where he was feeding on illicit REAL candy that I'd tossed him during packing, a mini square of Butterfinger, and a mini KitKat. To perhaps apply a tourniquet, or pressure, or get me a bandaid? No. He did not. He did, however, shout his advice.

"Just put a piece of tape over it."

So I snipped again, even more difficult while not-cutting myself, and trying not to spill blood, and fold over the tape left on the roll. I got a small section of tape, suitable for staunching the leak of my life fluid.

The cut was just a snip, a single line, but the tape spread out the blood in its grooves.

It was awkward, but worked surprisingly well. I left it on until bedtime.

Mrs. HM Almost Flipped Her Lid

Remember when Farmer H replaced the toilet seat? With a torturous contraption for which he shelled out $43 on his Lowe's credit card (to save 5%) at an interest rate of 27%? To be fair, he also bought a 20 oz Diet Mountain Dew, as I recall. Anyhoo...the credit card bill came Saturday. Which reminded me that I haven't shared the latest update on the comfort of my ample rumpus.

I kept hinting to Farmer H that I wanted that plastic toilet seat gone. With a replacement, of course. Yet he showed no initiative to seek out the type of toilet seat my ample rumpus prefers! So I took matters into my own...hands...and hobbled to the back corner of The Devil's Playground when I did the weekly shopping.

Sweet Gummi Mary! They were practically throwing toilet seats at customers! It reminded me of the old SNL days when Susan Lucci hosted, fresh off another Emmy loss, which I think was number 20-something. And the whole cast was nonchalantly flaunting their supposed Emmys, like Kevin Nealon wearing one around his neck like a medallion, and David Spade using two of them as holder-grips for corn-on-the-cob. Here's a clip. The Emmy shenanigans starts around 2:26 of the 5:55 video.

Anyhoo...as I entered The Devil's Playground, I had to ask the greeter/receipt-checker which section of the store held the TOILET SEATS. No. I didn't shout. But I might as well have. Because the old guy, who looks like William Lee Golden of The Oak Ridge Boys, but with less hair, seemed quite embarrassed by my question. He called a woman over, and asked her, whisperingly, "Where do we keep the toilet stool lids?" She said, "Hardware," and he pointed me that direction.

Anyhoo...as soon as I hiked across the back of the store after getting the groceries, I was greeted with a giant end-cap display of toilet seats, for FIVE DOLLARS EACH! There was a large assortment, but I did not see the elongated version that fits our toilet. So I walked a couple aisles over, and found out where The Devil was keeping those so-hard-to-find (according to Farmer H) toilet seats.

Allow me to share the panorama that greeted me.

Toilet seats to the left of me.

Toilet seats to the right.

There it is, low in the middle for me! You might notice the price, which is $13.88! That ain't no LOWE'S toilet seat!

Is it just me, or do those toilet seats seem to be laughing?

More Outrage From The Convenience Store Files

Saturday was fit for neither man nor that beast Mrs. HM. Rain sluiced from the sky, barely kept at bay by my red umbrella. I managed not to get soaked at Save A Lot, and Country Mart. I can push a cart with one hand while holding an umbrella.

The Gas Station Chicken Store was another matter. I've tried using my umbrella there before. It's fine on the walk in. On the walk back to T-Hoe, not so much. The walk is fine. But I can't unlock the door and open it while holding an umbrella in one hand, and a 44 oz Diet Coke in the other. The foam cup does not lend itself to being clutched against my ribs with a forearm. I can't set down the umbrella, because it will blow away, most likely over the edge of the moat between T-Hoe and Farmer H's pharmacy, CeilingReds.

I resigned myself to walking inside in the pouring rain. It's not so much that I mind getting wet, but that I don't like my lovely lady-mullet to get drenched so that I resemble a drowned rat. After passing under the waterfall flowing off the roof over the gas pumps, I made it inside relatively unsoaked.

A young teen was putting red tickets into the cardboard box for the weekly gas drawing. I navigated past her, down the center aisle, my usual route to the soda fountain. Teen's Mom had just turned away from paying for gas, stating that she was getting a soda. Fair enough. She was there ahead of me as I rounded the back end cap and stepped into the soda fountain aisle. I didn't mind to wait.

Teen's Mom was almost done. She was at the Pepsi fountain. As she applied her lid, I pulled my cup. We were not in each other's way. But THEN another daughter, Tween, entered from the front. Carrying a baby in a basket! Teen's Mom was not happy. Nor was Teen herself, who had come to join her mother.

Teen's Mom: "I don't think it's the kind of day to do this. You should not have got her out in the rain!"

Teen: "No. You shouldn't have!"

Tween: "I want a soda."

Teen's Mom: "No."

Tween: "Yes. I want a soda."

Teen's Mom: "I'll share mine."

Tween: "No. I'm getting one." She set the baby basket down on the floor of the aisle!

Teen: "Don't put her there! Pick her up! This lady needs through!"

Mrs. HM: "That's okay. I'll go around."

Teen's Mom: "What is it? Mr. Pibb?"

Yeah. I made a detour to get away from them. I guess the ruder you are these days, the more likely you are to get your way. At least there's slim hope for Teen.

Farmer H Is A Bad Spooner

I made the hot dog corn muffins for Farmer H on Thursday. He ate one with his supper of beans, and declared it good. He said they were a little bit light on the hot dogs! Well. He, himself, is the one who told me a whole hot dog per muffin was too much. He says next time, he'll have a side of mustard to go with them.

I made a big batch, because I was also making regular corn muffins to go with our leftover beans. One box of Jiffy mix was not enough, but two was a bit too much. Not a big deal, the dogs will love their leftover treats. I used 5 hot dogs, and put them into 8 corn muffins. I tried one. It was okay. I don't plan on eating another.

So...2 of the 8 are eaten. Farmer H was supposed to have one alongside his Devil's Playground prepared meatloaf meal Friday, but he forgot. Now he's due to eat just the hot dog muffins for supper on Saturday, before the auction. I'm pretty sure he won't be eating 6 of them!

Let the record show that when Farmer H and I eat our beans, we add crumbled corn muffins, diced onions, and banana pepper rings, along with a couple spoonfuls of the pepper juice. It's delicious, if I do say so myself.

As you might imagine, keeping Farmer H from contaminating the pepper jar is a full-time job. I set out his ingredients on the cutting block. A plate of the cut-up pepper rings, a plate of diced onions, and the jar of peppers for dipping some juice. I specifically told Farmer H,

"This spoon is for the pepper juice. Don't stir your beans with it."

I laid the spoon on the lid from the pepper jar. Surely even Farmer H could understand those basic instructions. Well. I guess I did not provide enough details.

Here you see how it should have been. Spoon on lid. Silly me. I destroyed the crime scene by putting that spoon back on the lid. In the background, you can see some remaining evidence. That drop of pepper juice is where Farmer H had laid the spoon. With a piece of diced onion that had been stuck to it. I wish I'd gotten the actual photo, but I was distracted, lecturing Farmer H, who was already in the La-Z-Boy, eating his supper.

"I can't believe you put the spoon on the cutting block! That's why the lid was there."

"Huh. It's no big deal."

"Not to YOU. I'M the one who has to wipe up the mess. All you had to do was lay it over a few inches. Is that so hard? AND, you weren't supposed to use the spoon to dip your onions."

Seriously. I pick up the diced onions with my hand, and sprinkle them in the bowl. It would take longer to use a spoon, and I'd be chasing those onions across the plate with it anyway.

We had used all the peppers, so it's not like Farmer H would have contaminated the jar with his onion spoon. I'm surprised he didn't drop the spoon all the way down into the tall jar. Then again, wiping up his cutting block juice and onion was more work than dipping my hand down into a jar of pepper juice.

I don't know why Farmer H can't understand that messes don't clean themselves. OH, WAIT! Yes I do! Farmer H's messes DO clean themselves, with 100% help from ME.

Four Paws Forward And Eight Paws Back

Marley, Marley, Marley!

Farmer H let Marley out to run on Tuesday afternoon, while he was mowing the front yard/field. I'd say it was about three or four hours. When done mowing, Farmer H didn't see Marley, so he got on the Gator and started up to HOS's (Farmer H's Oldest Son's) former homestead to fetch him.

"I guess Marley had explored enough, and was satisfied that nobody was there. He was running down the hill towards me before I even got there."

"He probably heard the Gator."

"Yeah. I picked him up and put him in the Gator, but I didn't have my rope. Marley jumped right out, but he ran along with me. The other dogs was down there following me. I found a BLAH BLAH BLAH (piece of a tractor) that fell off the Barn Guy's tractor, so I stopped to give it to him."

[Barn Guy lives at the top of Farmer H and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill. His boys were the same age as our boys, and they bowled in a league together. He just lost his wife this winter, to pancreatic cancer.]

"When I got out of the Gator, Marley ran up to Barn Guy and BIT HIM ON THE BACK OF THE LEG!"

"Did he break the skin?"

"No. Barn Guy was wearing jeans. I don't know what got into Marley."

"Were Barn Guy's dogs around?"

"No. The husky was in the house. Just our dogs was there."

"Did you spank Marley?"

"I lifted him up in the air by the collar!"

"That's not really the way to go about it."

"I didn't have a leash or a rope. I yanked him back the best way I could. He knew he done wrong."

"Did you yell NO, and act all harsh with him?"

"Yeah. Jack came running over there to get after Marley, snarling at him!"

"Jack's really protective. He did that with me when I yelled at Copper Jack for sniffing around my chicken when I was carrying groceries."

"Yeah. The dogs were fine with Marley, until he bit Barn Guy. I guess maybe Marley's learning where he lives. But now we've gotta watch the biting. Come to think of it, Marley bit Buddy a couple summers ago, when he was down here with HOS."

"Marley might not like men. I imagine HOS was pretty harsh with him. Like he was with his big Marmaduke-looking dog, letting him know who was boss."

"Maybe. Me and Jack let Marley know this time!"

Marley is a work in progress. We're not giving up on him.