Mrs. HM Is The WAH-WAH Teacher Voice To Farmer H's Charlie Brown Ears

I don't know why Farmer H just can't listen to the voice of reason. Which of course you know is MY voice! I actually have some common sense. Ideas that are practical.

For example, back when my Sweet, Sweet Juno went over the Rainbow Bridge to live on a big farm upstate... I told Farmer H that he should dump out the bedding in her doghouse that sits by the kitchen door, in an alcove out of the wind. I figured Jack might start sleeping in it, rather than in a hollow he dug out of a haybale over on Shackytown Boulevard, by the old goat pen.

Juno had not been sleeping in her house as her health declined. She had some trouble getting around, leaking pee sometimes. So I suppose she abandoned her cedar shavings, and moved into one of the big plastic doghouses on the opposite end of the porch, outside our bedroom. Both dogs sometimes went to those houses, and had the shavings all scratched out between them. It used to annoy Farmer H. They'd lie on the pile of shavings, rather than in the houses, heh, heh.

It's been over a year now. Whatever remains in Juno's house has definitely dried out, but I imagine it might still contain some of her scent. I told Farmer H again, right after he let Scarlett loose for the final time, that she might use that house if he cleaned it out.

Well. Scarlett wanted nothing to do with any kind of house at that time, having just gained her freedom, not wanting to be trapped again. But over her first winter, she used a doghouse by the bedroom, one of which Farmer H had used in the yard for her when she was tethered there.

Anyhoo... a couple mornings ago, I heard a terrible commotion outside the kitchen door. I figured it must be Scarlett, pawing at the doormat, getting ready to lie down. When I left for town, I saw a bunch of blue crumbly stuff there. Which I presumed to be insulation from inside Juno's house.

Saturday morning, sitting on the short couch talking to Farmer H before he left for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), we heard that commotion again.

"It's something in Juno's old house, I'm pretty sure. Probably Scarlett!"

Farmer H went to look. I did not hear him speak. But he returned and said it WAS Scarlett.

"See? It's getting cooler overnight. I bet she'd use that house if you'd get Juno's old pee out of it. You just dump it off the porch. I don't know the big deal. I think Scarlett's trying to dig it out."

"That insulation is on the walls! The pee wouldn't be on the walls!"

Huh. I don't know how insulation repels pee that might be along the bottom of the walls. But I guess I'll take Farmer H's word for that. I still don't know why he won't just tip that doghouse on its door, then sweep the shavings off the back porch.

I guess it makes too much sense. Better to keep an unused doghouse outside the kitchen door, with cardboard boxes stacked on top that he's been meaning to put on his burn pile.

I think that would make a good house for Scarlett, and Jack would probably join her in there. Jack and Juno were pals, but didn't sleep in the same house. Jack follows Scarlett around like a lost puppy, and will lie down right next to her on the porch. She tolerates him pretty well, unless food is involved. I'm going to keep WAH-WAH-ing at Farmer H until he gets that house ready for habitation.

Meanwhile, I've also got to persuade him that he's putting out too much food again, or not buying the kind they like.

Everyone's A Comedian

We all know that Farmer H was born without a funny bone. But like how the sun even shines on a dog's rumpus some days... occasionally Farmer H spouts something funny.

Farmer H's paid assistant Old Buddy has not been feeling well. With his car broken down, Farmer H picked him up and drove him around for the work they were doing on Thursday. When they left Lowe's, Old Buddy told Farmer H he needed to stop somewhere, QUICK, because he was feeling a bit indisposed. They were working on something at Farmer H's "new" storage unit, so Old Buddy used the Port-A-Potty there.

Old Buddy did not want Farmer H to pick him up to go to the SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) on Friday. He had a doctor's appointment. Supposedly a friend was taking him. Farmer H called to check on Old Buddy. 

"I'm just waiting for the cab to come take me to the doctor."

"I would have taken you! All you had to do was tell me! I thought your friend was doing it."

"Well, we found out she had to work. So it was too late to call anybody else. I'm getting a test. They're going to stick a tube down my throat, and a tube up my butt."

"I hope they're going to use two different tubes." Said Farmer H, the stand-up comedian.

My Hero Is Not The Brightest Bulb In The Marquee

Wednesday night, Farmer H's attention was caught by a bug flying around his recliner. He reached up his arms and clapped his hands, trying to smash it.

"WAIT! That's a WASP! It was in the kitchen yesterday, buzzing around the windows. I didn't have my flyswatter within reach. It's going to sting you if you clap it!"

"Huh."

The wasp retreated from the air wave from Farmer H's clapped hands. 

"It's over by the TV! Up on the bowling trophies!"

Farmer H picked up an envelope from something important I had given him to read, that he'd never bothered to throw away. He got up and went to the TV area. The wasp took flight again. Farmer H batted at it with his envelope several times. 

HOME RUN! Farmer H hit the wasp, and it went spiraling over to a cushion on the long couch. Farmer H went after it.

"WAIT! Don't pick it up! Here. Use this." I handed him a tissue from the box on the table beside the recliner. Tissues he had won at Senior Center bingo.

Farmer H grabbed that stunned wasp with the tissue, crunched it, and took it to flush in the boys' bathroom at the end of the hall.

MY FEARLESS HERO. Though not a mental giant sometimes...

Like Water Off A Duck's Back, Responsibility Is Repelled By Farmer H

Farmer H brought me a Senior Center pulled-pork lunch for my supper on Tuesday. That was a good deed, though requested by me. But don't let that cloud your thinking! Of course we're here to complain about Farmer H!!!

That lunch came with an actual slice of cake this time. The menu listed it as "wedding cake," as it had before, when they sent some weird cheesecake thingy. We all know that the elderlies are not getting married on a monthly basis and serving their cake with a $5 meal. It's just that when a menu says CAKE, I expect cake. And this time, they came through. Except that I did not want the cake.

Oh, I was interested in the cake. I asked Farmer H to open it and tell me what was in the container. He was at the cutting block, unpacking the plastic bag he had brought home. He took out two small square foam containers, then the larger container with my lunch/dinner. I didn't really pay attention as Farmer H was fiddling with those containers, to put them in FRIG II.

"Huh. This one here is my leftover pulled pork. I'll have that tonight. Here. This is your cake. And yes, it's really cake! Here, I'll show you. Huh. How did THAT happen? It's upside down."

Farmer H carried it over to the counter so I could see what was in the container. Indeed, it was a piece of white cake, which looked like it had white icing. Since the icing was on the bottom, I couldn't quite tell.

"Oh. You can have the cake. It's okay."

"Are you sure? I already had some for lunch. It's good."

"Yeah, but it's upside down and all messy. I don't want it."

"I don't know how that happened."

"You probably turned it upside down when you took it out to open it. You have a habit of opening those containers from the bottom. You don't look at how the tab slides into the slot. That's how you can tell."

"I didn't do it! That gal must have done it when she put the cake in there!"

"So you're saying that instead of you making a mistake trying to figure out how to open it, the lady who makes up the carryout meals PUT THE CAKE IN UPSIDED DOWN? Or maybe that she FLIPPED OVER THE CONTAINER TO PUT IT IN THE BAG?"

"No. I'm just saying I know I didn't do it."

Sweet Gummi Mary!!! Which scenario is more likely? There's no way that cake could have turned itself over inside the container, because it was a big square that didn't have room to tip over.

It's not a big deal. I probably would have given him the cake anyway, maybe after a taste. I usually give him the desserts (not that I'm trying to kill him, of course). Farmer H has done this with containers for years, mostly with things that don't matter, like breadsticks or rolls. How hard is it to say, 'Yeah, I might have turned it over.'" 

Is Mrs. HM The Rumpushole: Horse Festival Edition

As The Pony and I headed towards the Mansion, passing a multitude of vehicles parked at Barn Neighbor's field for the Horse Festival... I could see something in the road. 

At first I was more concerned about the people walking along the road, and didn't dwell on it.

If you look really far, you can see it. Something blue in the middle of the road. Our 10 acres next to the BARn field start where that group of trees is on the right.

Getting closer, I saw that blue object was a portable shade tent thingy. A man and little boy around 6 years old looked like they were setting it up. 

I crept along, not wanting to spook any of the horses that The Pony so skillfully avoided photographing! Here is a zoomed-in photo to show that blue object.

Here's part of that wild crowd, heh, heh. Behind the vehicle and 4-wheeler and side-by-side ATV is a white portable shade tent thingy, with four or five women sitting under it, sipping beverages. You can see the white roof of the Port-A-Potty. I guess being close to it was better than being farther from the smell, if they had to go in a hurry!

I realized that this guy was putting that blue portable shade tent thingy onto our land. Huh. What in the Not-Heaven? I may not stand up for myself when people cut in line, or a cashier throws my bananas, but I'll be danged if I don't investigate somebody appearing to make themselves at home on our property.

"Pony. Put your window down. I'm going to ask this guy what's going on. He's on our land."

"Okaaaayyyy." Said The Pony, with a heavy sigh that comes out when he would rather a problem just go away. The Pony has never liked confrontation.

"Hi. Are you planning to leave that there?"

"Oh, no. I was just getting it out of your way."

"That's a relief. Because it's on our property, and we're not having a party! So I wondered what was going on."

"We're going to move it over there."

"That's great! You all have a good time!"

"Thanks! We will."

See? Problem solved. But then I started wondering if I WAS THE RUMPUSHOLE! When Farmer H got home, we told him, and I asked if he would have stopped to talk to the guy about that portable shade tent thingy being on our land. And Farmer H said probably not! I call shenanigans!

Here's the thing. If they set up one shade tent over there, how did I know they wouldn't have other people set up shade tents? Or park there. Or move a camper up in the field where it opens up past the trees. Or ride those 4-wheelers and side-by-sides around there. Then somebody might go off exploring down in the woods, and fall into the big sinkhole that's in there. Or somebody could get hurt, or Jack could go investigate and bite them. So much COULD go wrong. You never know. That's why we have a million-dollar umbrella insurance policy. Even criminals and trespassers can sue you for an injury on your property.

Anyhoo... I was polite. I only asked that guy's intentions, and made it clear we did not expect anybody to be on land during this event.

Does that make me the rumpushole?

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Upon further relection, I'm wondering why that guy couldn't just move his shade tent out of the way on HIS SIDE OF THE ROAD? Since that was where he was supposedly going to putting it anyway...

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The Great "Dog Track" Mystery Is Solved

When I started to town at noon on Sunday, to pick up The Pony for our Labor Day grill feast... I immediately discovered what was going on in our neighbor's field(s). Cars, trucks, and trailers were lined up along our gravel road. Parked with two tires on the grass, but still cutting our road down to one lane. 

Our across-the-road Neighbor had parked her car in her driveway, thus blocking people from driving down there and parking at her house or in her field. I'm pretty sure she had a hand in this event, since I saw her walking back to her house along the road, a walkie talkie kind of implement in her hand.

I made it past all the vehicles. The two fields were teeming with people and horses. I bet there were 100 people, and at least 20 horses that I observed on my way out.

Once I had The Pony riding shotgun, I told him he was responsible for getting me pictures of the event as we returned home. The Pony DID get pictures, but they don't nearly convey the true range of this spectacle! In the hour it took me to pick up The Pony and return, most of the vehicles parked along the roadway had either left, or been parked in front of Barn Neighbor's house, or in the bottom half of the second field.

The Pony barely got pictures of any of the horses. Their riders were wearing numbers, so apparently it was some type of jumping competition. I was worried about where the horses would get water. It was hot, and the creek on that side where the Barn Neighbor and Neighbors live is only a wet-weather creek. Sure, the riders could have walked or ridden the horses down the gravel road to the main creek near the mailboxes where there's access without getting on someone else's property. I don't know how problematic that might have been for the horses on hilly gravel.

Anyhoo... here are some of The Pony's pictures:

Some cars parked in front of Barn Neighbor's house and barn.

Another view of the vehicles parked on both sides of Barn Neighbor's driveway, as we start up the hill towards our BARn field.

Past the Barn Neighbor's driveway now, and you can see some of the trailers, and other vehicles in T-Hoe's mirror, that were in front of Barn Neighbor's yard.

You can see the roadside is basically empty of vehicles by now, but people have set up their lawn chairs along the road, to watch the happenings in the field.

I can't believe The Pony got almost NO PICTURES of all the horses in the two fields! This was definitely a horse-jumping competition, and nothing to do with a dog track!

Tomorrow, we will discuss an incident...

Farmer H Needs A Tomato Refresher Course

Farmer H has been receiving tomatoes from his buddies who have gardens. He brings them home in a plastic bag from the Devil's Playground. You would think that somewhere during his many years in The Universe, Farmer H would have accrued some information about home-grown tomatoes. Then again, he must have been snoozing on the day it was revealed that goats are herd animals...

Garden tomatoes are more fragile than the hard-as-a-baseball store tomatoes. Flopping them around in a plastic bag does them no favors. So far, they have survived the rough treatment.

Saturday morning, Farmer H came out of the bedroom and went directly to the front door. That's unusual. His first stop is usually the back door in the laundry room, when he gives water to the dogs. Then he comes to sit on the long couch to wait and "secretly" listen in on my phone conversation with The Pony.

"Where are you going?"

"To the truck. I forgot, I had some tomatoes to bring in."

"So they sat in a bag in your truck all day, in THIS HEAT?"

"They weren't hot. They were in the truck!"

I heard Farmer H rustling the plastic bag as he set out the tomatoes. He inconveniently puts them on a sturdy paper plate. The one resting atop the stack of sturdy paper plates that Farmer H uses each night to eat his supper. So if I set out a plate for him, I have to first lift off the plate of garden tomatoes. Heh, heh! Starting last night, I told Farmer H he needed to get his own plate. To which he replied, "Huh."

Anyhoo... after Farmer H left for a day of selling at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), I went to the kitchen to get my banana. The bananas are in a large fruit bowl sitting behind the stack of sturdy paper plates.

There were two large tomatoes in this batch. I picked up a little one, looking like a Roma tomato, to set aside for my supper salad, and it SLIMED ME! What in the Not-Heaven? It looked perfectly fine. I looked at the plate. It was wet. I picked up the biggest tomato. It had apparently sprung a leak. No visible hole in it, but it was seeping from the bottom, where there were some creases in its skin. 

No way was I going to harbor a leaky tomato in MY Mansion! Once upon a time, when I rented a ramshackle house in Cuba, MO, my grandma had sent me a box of tomatoes when my mom and dad came for a visit. They were in a box like a flat of strawberries would come in. A waxy kind of brown cardboard with low sides. I set it on the floor by the cabinets, since I didn't have much counter room. Mmm... those fresh tomatoes were SO GOOD. I ate a couple every night. 

The following weekend, I left on Saturday morning to go to Springfield and visit a friend. Upon returning Sunday afternoon, a terrible smell hit me as I walked in! One of those tomatoes had gone bad, and most of its fluid had seeped out into that cardboard box. Thank the Gummi Mary, the cardboard was waxy, or that liquid would have soaked into the carpet of the kitchen floor. Yes. Somebody had actually carpeted a kitchen floor!

Anyhoo... I have since grown cautious about inspecting tomatoes daily, to make sure they're not leaking. In this case, I checked the other tomatoes, and the next-biggest had a bruisy dark mushy spot. Out it went with the leaker, off the back porch, good riddance!

I'm sure Farmer H thinks the day closed up in a plastic bag in his truck did not affect those home-grown tomatoes. I'm pretty sure it did.