Sweet Gummi Mary! Now She's A Kidnapper!

Our adopted dog Scarlett has been gradually getting better with her manners. She will almost always go to the spot on the side porch by the chair now, and await my pats. Not so feisty during petting. Actually sits down sometimes, and gazes into my eyes. Sadly, I must neglect my little Jack during these times, lest Scarlett shove him off the porch to regain sole attention. Don't you worry about Jack. He gets his pats before I leave. Even Scarlett understands this schedule. She stands back and doesn't crowd in at leave time.

Tuesday afternoon, I had to be cross with Scarlett. She always runs into the garage when I get home. Stands and watches me, all wiggly, while I slide out of T-Hoe. She doesn't jump. She waits for me to close the T-Hoe's door before she edges past me to go to the front of the garage, and await the opening of the people-door. If I'm getting stuff out of the back, I push the button that open's T-Hoe's hatch. Scarlett goes back there and puts her front feet on the bumper. I pet her a few minutes, then say, "We're done!" and she gets down and goes out to bark at Copper Jack.

The reason for the crossness Tuesday was that I had the hatch open, and was walking back there, but Scarlett went past me towards the front. Not a problem. EXCEPT... she ran back and BRUSHED AGAINST MY LEGS, getting me off-balance. Good thing I was holding onto T-Hoe with my left hand as I was walking.

"NO! BAD DOG!"

Scarlett might be goofy (heh, heh, MIGHT), but she is not stupid. She knew she did wrong. She ran out of the garage. Not to bark at Copper Jack, because he's been tied up for a week. Hunting season is starting, and he is deer-looking enough that our neighbor doesn't let him run during hunting seasons.

Anyhoo... when I got my box of groceries, and went out the people-door, Scarlett was LYING on the side porch, looking embarrassed and sorry, reaching her head occasionally for a bite of dry food from her bowl. I've never seen her eat while lying down! I set the box on the chair, and called her over, and we had our pats. 

This is her biggest transgression lately, brushing against my legs while I'm walking. She did it a couple weeks ago on the porch. I can't put up with that. She can hurt me. It gets her an angry NO and BAD DOG and scolding. She gets the message, at the time. Let's hope she will remember.

Now for the latest questionable behavior... Wednesday around noon, as I was sitting at HIPPIE at the kitchen table, I saw Scarlett heading around the kitchen nook on the porch, going to the water bowl. BEHIND HER WAS A PUPPY!

What in the Not-Heaven??? Where did Scarlett get a puppy? It was big enough to be weaned, but still very puppy-ish. Looked like a beagle. The white, brown, and black markings. White-tipped tail standing up like an exclamation mark. Trotting along after Scarlett, through the crunchy leaves that fell in the past two days, and sailed directly onto our porch from the 20-feet-away treeline.

Scarlett came back around, completely ignoring the pup, who pranced along as happy as could be. I sent Farmer H a text about it. He said

"Well maybe we now have another dog"

"Maybe. Or somebody might be on Facebook looking for it."

If it's still here when Farmer H gets home, I'll make sure he checks our enclave's Facebook page. I sure don't want to steal anybody's puppy. Don't know how we'll keep Scarlett from kidnapping it again, though.

A Slice Of Life From Our Big Sandwich

Hope you're not eating when you read this! That's a warning. Do not pooh-pooh Mrs. HM's warnings! That's a warning in itself. You know I always try to shield my loyal readers from any questionable or downright unpalatable content...

Let's start with the pleasant part of our Big Sandwich Adventure. I made a sauce to eat with my sandwich. I used to make it all the time when The Pony was living here right after college. The Pony is the one who deserves credit for teaching my how to make this tasty concoction. It's great with sandwiches, or as a dip for chicken tenders, or even eggrolls. I just make an individual serving.

I make this in a ramekin:

garlic aioli - 1 tbsp

spicy brown mustard - 1 tbsp

yellow mustard - a couple squirts

mayo - 1 tbsp

horseradish - 1 tsp

Those measurements are approximate. You stir it all together with a fork. I plan to add more horseradish next time. The Pony also adds a dab of ketchup, and some black pepper. Not sure if The Pony uses horseradish. Anyhoo... this made about a half-ramekin full of sauce. Rather than spreading it on my sandwich, I dip in a fork, and put a bit on the sandwich before taking a bite. That way I can enjoy the flavor of the sauce more. I also used it for dipping a few plain potato chips.

This Big Sandwich was DELICIOUS! I am looking forward to having more for supper tonight. I might have mentioned yesterday how I sliced it. Once down the middle, then two slices across, with the middle cut being off-center to give Farmer H a larger portion than me.

And now, for the less-than-savory details... WARNING!

I unwrapped the Big Sandwich on the cutting block, and picked my our long sharp knife, made by Farmer H's former butcher-supply company, to make my slices. The sandwich was on french bread, which was quite firm on the bottom. I wiggled the big sharp knife on its curved blade, listening and feeling for when it went all the way through. Then I called Farmer H to the kitchen to get his food.

Farmer H was on the phone with The Veteran, who had called just as I was getting the Big Sandwich out of FRIG II. Farmer H had come home from his Senior Center lunch around noon, then worked over in the BARn, gathering tools he would need for a job the next day at Nick and Bev's house, putting in an electric meter. Farmer H then went back to his Storage Unit Store 2.5 to move some merchandise around. When he got home that evening, I had made him a Wild Turkey and Diet Shasta Cola, which he sipped for over an hour, eating broken tortilla chips, and taking three pee breaks on the front porch talking to Scarlett, he being the object of her ADORATION.

Anyhoo... Farmer H told The Veteran that he needed to get off the phone to eat supper. He came to the cutting block where I had his plate. He put some chips on it, then got out the spicy brown mustard.

"This is your side of the sandwich, with the bigger pieces."

Farmer H picked up his end slice. Or TRIED to. There was a sliver of the bottom bread that was not cut all the way through.

"Just pull on it. I've got it," I said, holding Farmer H's next slice, while wielding the knife to make that final little cut."

Before I realized what was happening, Farmer H grabbed MY sandwich section with his right hand, while holding his with his left hand, trying to pull them apart!

SWEET GUMMI MARY! 

You realize, of course, knowing Farmer H, that he had not washed his hands since he came home. And there certainly is no sink on the front porch, his unofficial toilet.

"STOP! I don't want your pee hands all over my sandwich!"

"You SAID to pull on it!"

"Not on MY piece! Now I have to eat your bacteria all over my sandwich! You know you haven't washed your hands since you got home! And I DID wash my hands before getting out the sandwich."

No comment from Farmer H. I made sure to eat the Farmer-H-handled section of my sandwich that night, rather than let those bacteria flourish for 24 hours.

Like I said, my sandwich was delicious. I wonder if the next piece will be as tasty, without Farmer H's added ingredients.

I Got One!

My trip to Country Mart on Monday to seek a big sandwich was successful! Barely. There was only ONE big sandwich in the deli case. Of course I took it. So Farmer H and I can try it out, and he can decide if this is what he wants to take to the election day potluck for his fellow election judges.

Look at this beauty!

That's my mouse for HIPPIE, to show you a size comparison. We cut this big sandwich into six pieces, to eat for supper three nights. I had suggested eight, but Farmer H said six. Anyhoo... that third supper will be the day of the use-by date, so just as well.

I sliced it down the middle, and then across twice. I like that shape of a sandwich better than when people slice it like a loaf of bread, and you get a sliver. That's hard to hold and eat. Besides, I sliced it slightly off-center, because Farmer H eats more than I do, so he gets a little more for his meal. We had dill pickle spears and chips on the side, though another option for following nights is slaw, or cauliflower with dip.

This angle does not do my big sandwich justice, though it gives you an idea of how packed with layers it is. It cost $19.99, so for Farmer H and I, that's less than $3.50 per serving. Can't get a fast-food meal for less than $5.00 these days. So not too bad for the convenience. Oh, and don't forget we were actually TESTING it as a pot-luck option for Farmer H.

Anyhoo... as I type this, I have not yet tasted the big sandwich. Farmer H is finished, and said it was really good. I'm pretty sure he spent more than $19.99 on the stuff he took to the last election. He has said he will probably cut the election day sandwich into 10 pieces. It's not like he is solely responsible for feeding them all day.

I have suggested that Farmer H go by the Country Mart deli and order a big sandwich to be picked up next Monday, the day before his election duty. We'll see. He's taking a chance on one being there if he doesn't. The store is only three blocks from the Senior Center. It's not like he has to go out of his way. Besides, he could probably call them to order the big sandwich. If he doesn't show up, they could just put it in the deli case the next day, and it would sell.

An Incredible Tale Of Staggering Helplessness

Uh huh. You already know who this is about, don't you? When Farmer H got home Friday evening, I asked if he'd eaten lunch at the Senior Center.

"No. I got busy and didn't make it in time."

"So you didn't have any lunch? I guess I need to stop my tickets and get your supper right now."

"No. I'm okay for now. I ate some peanuts that I have down at my locker."

"I can warm up your chicken. It's not a big deal. Do you want something on the side? Cauliflower and cheese? A baked potato? Some Beanie Weenies?"

"No. But I might have those Beanie Weenies right now, and you can wait until you're done to warm my chicken. I can get 'em myself."

"Okay, if you're sure. They're in the little pantry."

The little pantry is a tall cabinet on the right side of FRIG II. As tall as FRIG II. Connected to the kitchen counter with the other top and bottom cabinets that make a corner, then run along to the stove. Farmer H came to the kitchen, and opened up the top cabinet in the corner.

"Wait! What are you doing? That's the bread cabinet! Not the pantry."

"Huh." Farmer H opened up the upper cabinet to the left of the bread cabinet.

"NO. That's the spice cabinet! I told you, the Beanie Weenies are in the little pantry!"

Third try, Farmer H got it right. The little pantry has only been there for 27 years, you know. He went to the drawer and got out what I thought was a spoon.

"Do you drain out the liquid? Do you want them in a bowl, warm?"

"Yeah, most of it." Farmer H popped the top off the can and started pouring the liquid down the sink. "I can eat them like this. They don't have to be warm." He started out of the kitchen, back towards his recliner. That's when I noticed the can he was carrying was blue. Not a label with brown beans on it.

"Hey! Wait! What have you got? That's not Beanie Weenies! It's Vienna Sausages!"

"Huh. Same thing. It's got weenies."

"Don't you need a bowl to get them out of the can?"

"No. I have a fork. I can get them out."

"They'll tear apart."

"I can eat them with the fork."

SWEET GUMMI MARY! How can a man not recognize a pantry that's been in his house for 27 years, or notice that he's just drained clear liquid out of a can of Vienna Sausages, and not brown sauce from a can of beans with wieners? AND, when he got a fork, he chose the small "salad" fork, rather than the regular long fork he prefers.

Don't even get me started on how he threw that metal pop-top lid into the wastebasket, to sever my hand if I tried to rearrange the trash more compactly!

The Universe Saw My Offer, And Raised The Stakes On Errand Day

I guess taking The Universe's pressure off of The Pony is more than a one-day job. As bad as events went on my Wednesday with the financial advisor appointment, Thursday was just as bad. Maybe worse.

As with Wednesday, I was ready on time for Errand Day. Left the Mansion a few minutes earlier than I planned, to get to the Sis-Town Casey's before school let out. That really helps, with more gas pumps available, and a shorter wait in line.

I was tooling along in T-Hoe, singing with the radio. I made the light by the Devil's Playground, which has a two-minute wait for each red light. Sometimes it takes me three cycles to get through, if I leave late and the Hillmomba school traffic is ahead of me.

When I pulled onto the Casey's lot, I noticed that only one car was at the gas pumps. I think there are 12 total. My beloved Pump 4 was open. Wait a minute! What's this? All the handles on the Regular gas pumps had red plastic bags over them! The Diesel pumps looked normal. But T-Hoe doesn't take Diesel gas. I pulled through, glancing down the line. Yep. All the pumps had handles with red bags. AND, beside the end of the building with the drive-through, was a patch of torn-up concrete, roped off, with red flags on the ropes. I guess there was an issue with a gas tank.

Welp! There went T-Hoe's weekly gas. And the scratchers I had planned on buying. I went on to the post office, and then Country Mart. No bank this week, as I had Farmer H's cash that he paid us for his Lowe's merchandise that was on the credit card.

Huh. A lot of handicapped people were shopping. I had to take the next-to-last of the five handicap spaces. At least somebody had left a cart down at that end. So I was able to grab it as a walker.

Once inside, I discovered that the deli had NO BIG SANDWICHES! Also, no BIG SALADS! And only one box of cold fried chicken, which didn't look all that good. I got myself a small salad. Then I got some frozen chicken sliders, and mini cheeseburgers, for Farmer H to take in his SUS2 lunches. He said he has a microwave now, and could warm food.

The bread aisle did not have the Nutty Oat and Hawaiian Bread that was on my list. I had to get 12-Grain and Sourdough. 

The checkout guy DROPPED one of my banana bunches. The picked it up off the floor, and put it down in the bag on top of the bread! Saying, "Oops. I hate it when I do that." Then lifting the bread back on top. He filled the bags randomly, not by shape or squooshiness or coldness. Big bags, too full and heavy. Something frozen or cold in separate bags, not together.

On the way back to Hillmomba, I was stuck way back at the Devil's Playground light. Took me three cycles to get through. When I got to the Gas Station Chicken Store, with the weekly tickets I give to my favorite clerk, Man Owner was still there! So I couldn't give them to her, and had to wait until the next day. My own tickets only won $16.

When I ate my small salad for supper, the lettuce was wet. Soggy. Some pieces chewed like they were twisted-up pieces of dental floss. I can't think of another way to describe it. Didn't want to get chewed up. Tried to wedge in my tooth spaces.

The only bright part of the day was that Farmer H was already at the Mansion when I got home, mowing on his beloved Zero-Turn mower, and carried in the groceries for me.

Still, I would gladly take this bad-luck burden from The Pony, no matter how many bad days it costs me.

Mrs. HM Gladly Distracts The Universe From Tormenting The Pony

Like a killdeer feigning a broken wing to lure predators away from her nest, Mrs. HM is shouldering the shenanigans of The Universe so The Pony may have a respite.

Wednesday, we had our annual appointment with our financial advisor over in Sis-Town at 2:00. I was meeting Farmer H there in front of the building. I left home with time to pick up my prescription, make two stops for scratchers, and mail a bill.

"HO HO HO," said The Universe. Because Mrs. HM plans, and The Universe laughs.

There are only a couple days a year that Mrs. HM has any specific place to be at a specific time. This being one of them. I wanted to get my other stops done before the appointment, because it takes an hour, and this was my main TV night, so I'd be in a rush getting supper made and eaten, and my tickets scratched before the first show started at 7:00.

I left home ten minutes before my original plan. There was a line of two cars at the pharmacy window, so I proceeded to 10Box, almost next door, for my scratchers. 

I got a good parking space. The machine on the right spat out my tickets. I put money in the machine on the left. It accepted. I selected the crossword ticket. The picture of it came up on the screen. But no numbers to choose how many. The machine was stalled. It does this sometimes. You just have to be patient, then it works. Not this time. The screen went back to normal. I selected a different ticket. The picture came up, with no numbers to select. I waited. The screen went back to normal. I selected the crossword again. Nope. Same picture, no numbers. I could see this was going nowhere. I turned to ask the two chatting cashiers if they could call someone up front. One did. The Manager Gal immediately came to the front.

Their phone rang. A distributor wanting to talk to the Manager Gal. "Just put them on hold. I'll talk to them in a minute." She opened up the lottery machine, and gave me back my money. Said she couldn't give me tickets, because the machine wouldn't register a sale. I understood. But I'd wasted at least 7 minutes waiting on that machine, and now I'd have to get my tickets elsewhere to get my daily requirement of crosswords.

Back to the pharmacy. Nobody in line. I parked at the window. They have a brick wall, and two big metal poles painted yellow that won't let you get close. I couldn't reach their little doorbell thingy to notify them that someone was waiting. However, there's a big window. People were walking around. I knew they could see me. They must have had a customer inside. I waited. For five minutes! Then I got my meds, and proceeded on my way to the financial appointment.

Of course I had to make a stop at the School-Turn Casey's on the way. I had planned to get my crosswords, and use their bathroom. No time for the bathroom! I drove through the outside mailbox at the main post office, put in my bill, and was in front of the financial office with five minutes to spare.

Farmer H and I went in. We never get sent back at our appointment time. It's usually ten after the hour. We chatted with the receptionist about the McDonald's food poisoning issue. We don't eat there, but she enjoys it once a week. She was saddened that one of her meal choices had been taken away. We waited. And waited. Heard sirens and saw the fire rescue truck go by. Then the actual fire truck. Receptionist got a call. Our financial advisor was stuck on the highway, in traffic, from a motorcycle accident.

Another couple came in, saying they had an appointment. I checked my phone, and it was 2:30. The receptionist told them there were two ahead of them. Heh, heh! Doesn't pay to be early, or even on time, at this place! I was regretting not taking bathroom time at Casey's.

It was 2:40 by the time we got in. I said right off that we could just sign papers and go! No need to chat! FA said it was okay, she knew the couple waiting, and it was not a problem! Thankfully, Farmer H was not his usual talkative self, and we were out of there at 2:55.

I made it home, got my tickets done (with moderate winners), and after making Farmer H's and my own supper, was only five minutes late for the start of my show.

Take THAT, Universe!

(Perhaps I should have left off that last part, considering the cards The Universe dealt me the next day...)

Like A Ray Of Sunlight Through The Dark Clouds

Poor Pony, in the midst of a multitude of tribulations tossed at him by The Universe... found a bright spot when arriving at work on Tuesday morning.

"Somebody brought pulled pork today so I had it for breakfast."

Yes. Take pleasure in the simple things in life! 

Lest you think this might be a weird breakfast, remember that most of the carriers are NOT in the office at lunch time. They are out on their routes. From my readings on Reddit, anything is fair game for breakfast if you find it in the break room. Tacos, hamburgers. Gotta fortify yourself for the day. Anything is a treat to start your 11-mile route. Not that all routes are the same. But The Pony's is 11 miles.

Besides, it's pork and potatoes and bread. People have that for breakfast all the time, right? Sausage and hash browns and toast. Not so crazy.