Unlike The Old West, In Hillmomba, They're NOT Free For The Taking

We almost had a free horse on Sunday. I was walking to the garage for my town trip, and met Farmer H on his way in from his Storage Unit Store. He said, matter-of-factly, 

 

"There goes a horse."

"WHAT?"

"Across the front yard. Look"

I barely had a glimpse when Juno took off through the yard. Silly dog. She's not a herder. She IS a barker. We hollered at her to come back. She'd stop and come toward us, and then put on another burst of speed to rush up to the road.

"There she is. See Juno, through the trees? In front of the sinkhole."

I did not. But as I drove by, I saw her sitting sentry. I also saw the horse. Down the road, with either do-gooders or horse thieves trying to capture it.

 

 

I crept along in T-Hoe, slow enough not to spook the horse, yet getting close enough so that it didn't want to come back this way.

 

The neighbor horses had come over to get a look. This was a fine equine specimen. Muscled and sleek, not a ratty old nag. It was wearing a halter, and dragging a lead rope. You don't leave them in the field like that. It had obviously escaped from a handler. One of our up-the-road neighbors was visiting with our down-the-road-neighbors, and came out to sweet-talk that horse. It was a bit fractious. He got the lead rope, and held it right under that horse's chin. Not letting him have his head loose. The horse twitched his tail, and stomped a back foot, but didn't kick or rear.

 

The capture was a success. That lady was passing by, and stopped as if she could help. The guy took the horse down to the neighbor's house, and they put a picture of it on our enclave's Facebook page. By the time I got back home, the owner had reclaimed the horse. It had come from a house across the creek behind the Mansion. So it had run through the woods to get here. I figured it would have been fine, and eventually have headed home, but Farmer H said if it got down to the blacktop road, it might have started up it. 

Good thing Jack and Copper Jack were off in the woods somewhere, doing whatever they do. A loose horse would be good sport for those two.

Mrs. HM Is So Lame

Yesterday I suffered an injury getting dressed after my shower. No, I did not slip on the tile of the master bathroom. We have three rugs in there. The middle rug, beside the big triangle tub, was the scene of my accident. I was partially dressed, and walking toward the walk-in closet to get my pants and shirt. 

OWWWW!!!!

Something sharp pierced my right heel! It hurt like a needle had skewered my foot. Each step was agony. As I pulled on my pants, the fabric brushed against that part of my heel, and I felt the sharp implement wiggle a bit. Once dressed, I stepped into my CROCS. Still had the sharp pain. 

I hobbled to the living room and called for The Pony as I continued into the laundry room to drop a small load of laundry.

"Pony! I stepped on something that is in my foot! I need you to take a look and see if you can pull it out. I can't bend and twist my knee to look at it myself." I leaned on the washer and lifted my right leg out behind me. "It's at the back of the heel, about midway, at the junction of the tough heel skin and the wrinkly skin above it."

"Huh. I see SOMETHING. A red place. But I don't see anything."

"Run your hand over it. Maybe you'll feel it. Sorry to subject you to this horror! OWW! Right there!"

"I don't feel anything. But there's a place in the skin where it's kind of peeled back. Like something WAS in there, but came out. It's red, with a little skin flap."

"I swear it feels like it's still in there."

"Where exactly did it happen? Okay, I'll go in and see if I can find anything."

"It feels like maybe a staple from Dad's prescription sack receipt."

"I didn't see anything like that. But here's a TOENAIL!"

"NOOO! Do NOT bring that out here for me to look at! NO!"

"Or maybe it's a fingernail..."

"I don't care. That should not have pierced my tough heel skin."

"And there's this stick/splinter thing, that looks like the end is broken off. It's the size of that little hole in your foot."

"Okay. Does it look like a cedar chip?"

"No. Just a little stick. I'll throw it away with the toenail."

"Thanks. It hurts SO MUCH! I'm not sure I'll be able to walk in and get my scratchers and 44 oz Diet Coke!"

I said to The Pony with a broken ankle...

My Fledgling Has Flown The Recliner

Now that he has a boot, The Pony is like a baby who has learned to walk. He lurches around in a manner too fast for safety. Yesterday afternoon he whacked that boot on a kitchen stool under the cutting block. It's not like he felt anything. The boot is sturdy, with a lot of padding.

He has picked up and moved from Farmer H's recliner back to his bedroom. I am mourning my again-empty nest. The Pony only comes out for food, bathroom, and soaking in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom. He says it's nothing personal. He's perfectly happy living in one room (which certainly comes with gracious amenities). 

 

He bears us no ill will, but does not like watching Farmer H's TV shows, and doesn't want to unplug all his chargers to move his electronic gewgaws back out to the public area. He has to crawl under his bed, he says, to plug in those chargers in his room. I'm pretty sure that's a partial truth. I think there's a lot of junk in the way under the bed, and he can probably stick his arm down between the bed and the wall to plug in.

Anyhoo... as you probably predicted, The Pony did not get his continuation of pay put into the system to get a paycheck this pay period. So it will have to go two more weeks (don't think I'm holding my breath) at the earliest. There will have to be a re-adjustment back to the time it should have begun. 

The Pony is fortunate to have the soft hammock of Mom and Dad's support system to fall gently into. The other broken ankle does not, being an adult woman with bills to pay at the beginning of the month. She is NOT happy. The union rep said she can come in and sign up for an advance on the money she is owed for this time she's been off so far. I guess it's like a loan against your wages. There better not be interest!

The Pony is kicking up his heels, and enjoying his newfound mobility. He is resigned to waiting on compensation.

The Hand That Blocks The Playful Rues The Bird

The Pony went out to lunch with his cousin Niecy on Monday. They went to Colton's Steak House, over in Bill-Paying Town. Of course The Pony had a ribeye. He brought home part of it for later, which turned out to be Tuesday morning at 6:30. I was on my way to bed as he was warming it in the oven. When I got up around noon, The Pony pranced over to the table where I sat with Hippie, and waggled his BAD finger. The bird. On his right hand.

"Oh, Mom. You know how we can't seem to have any luck lately? Well, it continues. I was almost done with my steak, and the last three bites were all gristly. [Don't feign surprise. They went to COLTON'S, not RUTH'S CHRIS!] I tried to eat it, but I had to spit out one bite after I couldn't chew it any more. I went out on the front porch, where I heard the dogs. All three of them were out there playing around.

I had a piece of steak for each of them. Poor Jack got the worst one, the bite I already chewed--"

"That probably made it more tasty for him. And he has such a tiny mouth!"

"Anyway, I gave a piece to Juno, and I was trying to give a piece to Copper Jack, and keep Juno away from him. He got all excited and grabbed it out of my hand, and his teeth scratched my finger."

"So Copper Jack BIT you?"

"Not really a bite. He was trying to eat the steak, and my finger was still on it."

"I hope he doesn't have rabies! If you start foaming at the mouth, don't come at me!"

"I came in and put a bandaid and triple antibiotic ointment on it. I didn't get my prescription ointment for my knee, because I was trying to get it to stop bleeding. I mean... it wasn't really bleeding a lot. I was holding pressure on it with my one hand while I used the other to get the bandaid open. I washed it with soap and water first. I'd show you, but we only had a couple of those big bandaids left..."

"Eww! I don't want to see it! Leave it covered. I guess you'll be all right. He's not a mean dog, but you never know when there's food. Juno will do that to you in a heartbeat! She is so afraid somebody else will get her share, and their own rightful share, that she will snap at the food whether your hand is in the way or not!"

Farmer H said, "Copper Jack BIT you?"

"No. Not really a bite. Just scraped my finger getting the piece of steak in my hand."

"Eh. I'm not afraid of him having rabies. He's over here all the time."

I suppose the Mansion has a magical force-field that prevents rabies from flourishing...

Farmer H May NOT Be The Worst Driver Out There

When I came out of the Gas Station Chicken Store last week, I observed a driver more reckless (or uncaring) than Farmer H. Such insouciance for the rules of the road was magnified exponentially with this driver, since his vehicle was many times larger than A-Cad.

 

I shudder to think what it would be like to ride in a big rig with Farmer H! I'd probably be throw out of the cab with such a magnitude of sweaving. Or maybe I'd lie down on the bed behind the seats. STRAP myself down, perhaps. Like in an ambulance. And give myself a morphine drip to stay calm. Oh, the pipe dreams I have! We all know that I'd never make it up those steps on the side of the truck. I'd better not show this picture to Farmer H. I'm sure he'd want a big truck to put his name on!

 

No. He is NOT merely parked at the light, awaiting his turn to proceed through the intersection. If you look closely, you'll see that this truck is is taking up the regular lane, the left-turn lane, and the oncoming traffic lane. And maybe the entrance to the liquor store! Here. Let's look at a wider angle:

 

Behind the truck is the liquor store. That truck driver was coming down the road beside the liquor store, and turned onto their lot, and came out on the main street to wait at the traffic light. Not sure that is any easier than getting in the left-turn lane from the road he was on. In fact, I think this maneuver is more difficult. But I don't drive a semi truck. Only T-Hoe.

That gray building over the cab of the truck is my pharmacy. The orange-roofed building is Dairy Queen. Across the moat is the striped roof of Farmer H's pharmacy. Country Mart is over behind my pharmacy. That's my world. A nicely-condensed business neighborhood to service my addictions.

Welp! My Right Arm Fell Off Last Night...

Don't extend your sympathy! I will be okay. It's just an arm. My last remaining arm. On my favorite rolly chair that Farmer H gave me for Christmas about 20 years ago. It was the best gift EVER!. The left arm fell off a few years back. Now it was the left's time to go.

Not the whole arm. It's not like Genius's Goodwill rolly chair, the high-backed office style, mesh, with a single arm remaining. Mine only lost the plastic sleeve armrest. It had been weak for a while. Sometimes it would shoot forward, and I'd have to yank it back into place. Like sliding that part of a pump-action rifle to cock it. Not that I've ever shot a rifle. I HAVE watched a Western or two.

Anyhoo... this time when I slid my arm back, it twisted sideways. Like the skin of a human arm spinning around the bone. As I tried to straighten my arm, it came off in my hand.

Goodbye, old friend. You were a good source of support, while you lasted.

Storage Unit Store Battles

Farmer H has a mission to accomplish on Monday. He's expanding his Storage Unit Store. You know, because he has too much junk to cram into his current double locker. He has a prime location, about halfway down the first set of lockers, on the main aisle as you go through the gate. Almost all the lockers in that area are rented to people who sell their stuff at the flea market on Saturdays and Sundays.

There is one exception. Next door to Farmer H, on the gate side, is a locker rented by an old man and old woman. Farmer H has been there three years. He says in all that time, he's only seen the old man and old woman open up their locker for selling TWO TIMES. They have quite a bit of stuff stored in it, but are not regular sellers.

The guy who owns the storage units has been promising Farmer H since at least the beginning of the year, and maybe longer, that he is going to tell the old man and old woman they need to either sell stuff on flea market days, or move into a locker farther down. He says he talked to them a couple of times. More than that. But Farmer H tells his buddies that he doesn't think the owner is making it clear to them.

Anyhoo... both Farmer H and the oldsters pay their locker rent on time or in advance. So it's not a matter of replacing them with a paying customer. Farmer H said that the owner finally made it clear that the oldsters would have to relocate, or be evicted at the end of the month. Mrs. Oldie went ballistic, but Mr. Oldie didn't seem to care much.

"My buddy said she finally calmed down. She thought SHE was going to have to move all that stuff down to the other locker. But he pointed out that WE are doing the moving. She can just sit and watch."

Yes. Farmer H is part of the moving crew. He has to be up at the lockers at 10:00 a.m. on Monday. I hope he doesn't reveal that HE is the one taking over their storage locker. But I bet they figure it out. They might be old, but I don't think they're idiots.

"Yeah, Monday will be a busy day for me. I'm going to the auction that night, and I have to help them old people move to a different locker in the morning."

"You mean, 'I have to evict an old lady so I can use her space for my store.' There. I fixed it for you."