Mrs. HM Was Almost Killed With Kindness

I'm not trying to discourage people from doing good deeds. I just want them to do good deeds within reason! So the good deed does not become a burden. Like that neighbor who kindly hauled our trash dumpster back to the Mansion, necessitating us to find a way to get it back to the end of the driveway.

The Veteran did a good deed on Thursday. He accompanied Farmer H to his follow-up surgeon appointment. Farmer H did not NEED any help this time. He drove himself last week when he was in considerable pain, and using a walker. This trip was easier, since his pain was less, and he only took a cane.

Anyhoo... Farmer H said he planned to leave home at 9:45 for his 11:00 appointment.

"I hope The Veteran doesn't come early. I don't feel like entertaining people before I've even gone to bed."

"He won't get here early."

"Sure. I bet he's here by 9:00, and I have to sit around and talk to him while you get ready."

I said that, because when The Pony and The Veteran were driving Farmer H to his surgery, The Veteran got here a half hour early.

Anyhoo... Farmer H wanted me to wake him at 7:00. He went to take his shower, so I could put the betadine on his back scar. Then he started getting dressed while sitting in his recliner.

Around 8:00, the dogs started barking their fool heads off. It was the STRANGER bark. Copper Jack was especially fierce, with my little Jack joining in with his yips.

"I hope that's not The Veteran already. It's way too early."

"That's not him, HM. It's only 8:00."

Farmer H's phone buzzed with a text. He picked it up mid-pants.

"That's him. Saying he's here."

"CRAP! I'm not sitting here talking for an hour and 45 minutes! I'm going to bed!"

And I did. That's pushing the envelope, showing up that time of morning, almost two hours early. I appreciate him accompanying Farmer H. But let's be reasonable. 

Straight From The Pony's Mouth

On the ride home from the casino on Tuesday, The Pony mentioned that he and his co-workers have instructions to put the CHEAPEST gas into the post office vehicles now.

"I'm pretty sure the new vans are supposed to have mid-grade, but we're supposed to use the cheapest gas now. I think it might ruin the engines."

"Well. It will affect performance. I don't know if it will ruin them." Said Farmer H, an accomplished mechanic.

"Pony. You wouldn't have to cut corners like that if the post office would stop spending so much money on their commercials, and the song rights!"

"Huh. I don't know. I don't watch TV that has commercials."

"There was that old one, with the Johnny Cash song. Where it says, 'I've been everywhere, man, I've been everywhere.' And it shows carriers delivering the mail. Now there's a new one, with a guy directing a whole fleet of vehicles, and the song 'I Like to Move It.' They're really good commecials. I even watch them!"

Seriously. That's gotta cost a pretty penny for the rights...

Too Little, Too Soon

Welp! Only a couple days after my plan to help my little dog Jack reduce his stuffed-sausage girth, we seem to have a case of TOO LITTLE, TOO SOON.

Tuesday morning, The Pony came out to join us for a trip to the casino. The plan was to leave the Mansion at 8:30, so we could get home before bad weather was supposed to arrive.

Farmer H had The Pony outside, moving auction items from the back of A-Cad into SilverRedO. The Pony came back in to tell me they were ready, and help shut things off and lock up the doors.

Jack was not on the porch when we left. I noticed that his food dish, and Juno's old food dish, were both empty. 

"Huh. Jack must have really been hungry this morning. He polished that off quick!"

About halfway to the casino, another scenario dawned.

"Did you feed Jack when you went out this morning?"

"Oh. No. I forgot. I was telling The Pony what to do."

"Poor Jack! He must be starving!"

Indeed. Jack must be thinking we've put him on a fast. When we got back, he rushed up to jump on my legs before I could get out of A-Cad. Farmer H poured 3/4 cup of dog food into Jack's bowl. He took a few bites. Then followed me to the door. I felt so guilty that I gave him a whole slice of bread that I had wiped in the grease left on the foil where Farmer H had stacked the grilled sausages.

Poor little feller.

The Little-ing Of Jack

Now that my Sweet, Sweet Juno has gone over the rainbow bridge, to that big farm upstate... there's no need to have dog food sitting around in the hopes that she might eat it and gain back some weight. The dog-feeding can go back to its regularly scheduled routine. Dry food poured into the bowl in the morning. Then a 1/4 slice of bread as I go to town, and a small treat of leftovers when I return.

That should work. In theory. It will allow my little Jack to return to his former lithe and svelte self. 

However... Farmer H is not a good instruction-follower. I told him that Jack does not need a full bowl of food. Farmer H said that he only gives him a cup full. I said he can do with 3/4 cup. It's a metal cup like a camper might drink coffee out of, not a regular measuring cup.

Jack's metal food bowl is smaller than Juno's. Hers is a regular dog dish with a flared-out base. Jacks is smaller, with straight sides. A full cup fills Jacks bowl until it heaps over the top. A full cup is level in Juno's dish.

Anyhoo... Farmer H moved Jack's food bowl over to the side porch, next to Juno's bowl. I think this is a cruel reminder of her absence, but Jack has not complained. He sometimes shies away from that area, because he was so used to Juno bullying him out of her space.

Anyhoo... for the first few days, I saw that Jack's food bowl was empty when I left for town. The weather has been warm. No need for him to have extra fuel to stay warm. So it seems a balance had been reached with Jack's feeding.

NOW I see that Farmer H has put Jack's food in Juno's bowl! AND that bowl was half full when I left for town. I have a feeling he has been dumping in a whole cup of food again. Or more, to fill Juno's bowl. I guess I should just remove it, and leave only Jack's smaller bowl.

I will get my little Jack back to fighting trim. He does not need extra poundage, what with his long body, and penchant for jumping off the concrete carport to chase squirrels five feet below. 

When Did People Get So Stupid?

I'm starting to think that we won't have to worry any more about overpopulation. At least in Hillmomba. Some people are too stupid to live. They have no sense of self-preservation. They are walking death-magnets.

Sunday afternoon, I was backing T-Hoe out of a parking space at the Hillmomba Casey's. Actively backing. Backup lights on, tires rolling. 

A woman and her young daughter came out the door, stepped off the sidewalk, and continued across to their car at the gas pumps, while the mom glared at me! I don't know about you, but if I see a large SUV rolling backwards in my direction, I stop and wait until it has moved out of my way.

Of course I jammed on the brakes. Once they were across, I continued backing. I'll be ding-dang-donged if a middle-aged man didn't come out the door and do the exact same thing. Except he didn't bother to glare at me. Just kept walking like he had a force-field around him. I'm pretty sure he didn't. So I stopped again.

After that guy had cleared T-Hoe's rear bumper, I again began backing. Welp! Here came a 60-somthing man from the direction of the pumps, headed into the store. He gave me a glance, but did not slow his stride. 

SWEET GUMMI MARY! 

Is T-Hoe invisible? He's dirty enough, and has a piece of plastic trim hanging off, to show that anybody I run over is not likely to get a large cash settlement. So I can't assume these privileged walkers are looking for a sweet deal to fund them for the rest of their lives. With the different ages, I can't even blame it on a sense of entitlement from being raised with everyone getting a trophy for merely existing.

I hope nobody tries this with Farmer H. He DID run over an old lady with the city fire truck. And that was going forward...

SOMEBODY Must Be Feeling Better

Farmer H continues to struggle with pain in his right hip. The left hip seems to be on the mend, not hurting as bad as the right. He was up at 1:30 a.m. Friday night, sitting in his recliner, saying that he couldn't sleep because of the pain. I suggested that our mattress is doing him no favors. Farmer H sleeps on his right side. So that hip is being bent out of shape for 12 hours a day. Farmer H's side of the bed has a sag, because of his penchant for sitting on the edge every single day since we've had it, and putting on his clothes and socks and shoes. Mattresses are not made for side-sitting.

Anyhoo... I proposed that Farmer H try to sleep in The Pony's room. I went in and dragged the containers out of the way. Fetched a blanket for Farmer H. Got him settled and covered. Turned out the light. He slept the rest of the night, even without having his breather.

On Saturday afternoon, I washed the sheets and comforter, and put pillowcases on the two pillows left behind by The Pony. Farmer H took his own pillow, but he can use the other two to prop up his breatherless head. Although he DID take his breather in there when he got home.

We had Terrible Taters made with pulled pork on Friday night. Farmer H had some left, and was planning to have it Saturday night, over a piece of bread. I told him that when he warmed it, he should take it out of the plastic container, and put it in a glass bowl. I don't think some plastics are made for microwaving. Farmer H said he'd just put the pulled pork on a paper plate to warm it. I objected, saying that a paper plate is more expensive than the rest-of-my-lifetime supply of fake Dawn dishwashing liquid that Farmer H got me at the auction.

Flash to Saturday evening. Farmer H came to the kitchen, and took five minutes and much noise rooting out a giant glass plate, upon which he dumped his pulled pork.

"Wait a minute. What are you doing?"

"Warming my BBQ. You said to use a glass plate."

"I said to use a glass bowl. They're way easier to wash than a big plate."

"No. I told you I was using a paper plate, and you said to use a glass plate."

"I never would have done that. I figured you'd scoop your BBQ out of the bowl, onto the bread on a paper plate. Which would only use one plate. Not two."

"I was going to put my bread down first, then the BBQ on top to warm it."

"Well. You never said THAT. It would make the bread tough. And now you're not even putting bread under your BBQ. So how are you going to do that?"

Farmer H had a fit, saying that I give too many instructions that make no sense, and I only want to boss him around to do things MY way. To which I replied that HE is not the one who has to deal with washing the dishes by hand every single day of his life.

Yeah. I make HIS life so hard! Let him make his own alternate bed and lie in it!

The Piper: Price Gouger Or Scam Artist

It's time to pay The Piper. The Piper sent a bill. A bill for Farmer H's walker. The walker he was given when he left the hospital after his back surgery, because the staff felt it would make him more stable than a cane. How convenient. Farmer H has a plethora of canes that he has gathered from assorted storage units, auctions, and estate sales.

Anyhoo... I looked at the bill, as I am wont to do before writing out a check. 

Here are the specs:

Description: Wheeled Walker

Quantity: 1

Amount Billed: $306.84

Insurance Allowed Amount: $46.60

Insurance Amount Due: $37.28

Customer Amount Due: $9.32

How does that make sense? The Piper billed $306.84 for a Wheeled Walker, but is willing to accept only a total of $46.60? Which is the Insurance Amount Due, plus Farmer H's Amount Due.

What happened to the rest of the "worth" of that walker? Insurance pays 80%, and Farmer H's part is 20%. That's standard. But what about that whopping $306.84? How did that get "reduced" to $46.60? Don't get me wrong. I don't want Farmer H paying 20% of the amount billed. I'm just trying to figure out this system.

Insurance is crooked. And so is The Piper.