Thank The Gummi Mary, The Pony Doesn't Like Long Noodles

I've been reading about a food recall for the past few days. It's not a product I buy, so I kind of glossed over the various articles. The more I saw it, I grew concerned. The product is ready-to-eat Chicken Fettucine Alfredo, sold at the Devil's Playground. I think it's for microwaving, from the deli case. Or maybe frozen. Again, I didn't read the details, but realized that THE PONY LOVES PASTA!

I know The Pony shops at the Devil's Playground. I know that The Pony most often makes pasta at home, but has in the past bought the prepared deli version, like tortellini filled with cheese. Of course I had to warn The Pony! Hear those helicopter blades warming up?

"Pony! You haven't been eating Chicken Fettucine Alfredo, have you?"

"No. Why? Is there a recall?"

"Yes! It might have listeria. Seventeen people have died, and others have been sickened! Of course maybe they were elderly and infirm. Or infants. But still, 17 people have died! Or wait. Maybe it was in 17 states, and less than 17 people have died. Or MORE! Anyway, don't eat Chicken Fettucine Alfredo from the Devil's Playground!"

"Sheesh! I won't! But you don't have to worry. I don't like fettucine. I don't like a long noodle."

Well. There's that. The Pony is safe for now...

Pony Needs A New Set Of Wheels

I tried to call The Pony yesterday, but there was no answer. Only an option for voice mail after many rings. That's not like The Pony. My call is always taken. Farmer H's... not so much. I would have worried, but I thought perhaps The Pony was in the shower. So I waited.

Within 15 minutes I had a return call. The Pony had been outside, cleaning out the car.

"What? Are you going on a special trip?"

Let the record show that The Pony is a car slob. I can't imagine a reason to suddenly clean out that Rogue. Let's not forget that The Pony's Bestie, in college, got into the passenger seat and found a cookie on the floor under some old food wrappers. AND ATE IT! Even though The Pony cautioned that it was most likely a year old. Anyhoo... Bestie survived.

The Pony reported that there was no special trip on the horizon, but that Farmer H had commanded that the car be cleaned out, because he was taking it to get inspected and get it licensed. I suppose The Pony fell for that ruse, even though the inspection is not of the INSIDE of the vehicle, but pertains to its mechanical soundness. More likely, The Pony didn't want to get a lecture from Farmer H, whose SilverRedO is filled with empty bottles of Diet Mountain Dew and sundry junk food wrappers.

Farmer H reported that evening that The Pony's car needs a new set of tires, and they have been ordered. Now all I have to do is convince Farmer H that T-Hoe's warning system keeps clamoring for an oil change. That's easier than tires.

Let The Bludgeoning Begin

Last week, Farmer H came home early a couple of days, because Old Buddy was not able to work in the mornings on Bargain House. Farmer H did what he could, and then had time left over. He mowed some of the Mansion grounds. Then he said he was going to spray. Farmer H mixes his own insecticide, and has a canister and metal spray thingy that he uses while walking around the perimeter of the Mansion.

I don't know what the deal is, but we have not had an issue with invertebrate intruders until after the spraying! Sure, there are occasional spiders spotted, and flies that get in when the door is open. But we really don't have a problem with pests.

This week, I have seen TWO CRICKETS inside! I hate crickets. HATE, HATE, HATE! Not only is their sound annoying, but I despise their evasion tactics, and their bodies full of guts. The two crickets I saw MIGHT possibly have been only one, in different locations. I'm not willing to accept that theory. I must remain on guard.

Let the record show that I did not HEAR a cricket. I was in the kitchen, getting my supper ready while Farmer H was at the auction. A CRICKET walked across the floor! WALKED! Didn't jump. Just walked, creepily, its large body suspended by those jointed legs. 

I can't move quickly. I'm not good at standing on one leg. My intention was to step on that cricket, and put an end to him. As I was positioning myself with a hand on the counter so I could lift my foot, that darn cricket walked under the stove! There's no retrieving a cricket from under the stove. No way to get at it. No way to kill it. 

But wait! It gets worse!

As I was sitting on the short couch between midnight and 2:00 a.m., I saw ANOTHER cricket walking across the carpet. It came from the corner by the TV cabinet. Walking. So creepy. Walking. Across the floor, and under the marred coffee table. I could see it standing under there. I weighed my options. I cannot arise quickly from the short couch. Once I'm up, I have to get my balance, and let my legs unstiffen. I knew that cricket would be gone before I could get to it. Besides, what could I do with it under the coffee table? Take off a Croc, maybe, and bend over and whack it.

I watched. That cricket eventually turned and went back across the open floor, heading for Farmer H's recliner. I was afraid it might take a turn and come at ME. Maybe get onto the fleece throw I was covered with, given to me by The Pony when he returned home from OU. But no. That cricket walked under Farmer H's recliner.

I fell asleep watching TV. When I awoke around 4:00 a.m., I saw that cricket coming towards me. Crap! What to do? I picked up the large red metal flashlight on the TV table. It's there in case of a power outage overnight. About a foot long. Cold heavy metal. As that cricket walked, I leaned over.

BAM! BAM, BAM, BAM!

I smashed that cricket. But still, it refused to give up. It tried to JUMP and get away! I grabbed a Puffs With Lotion and covered it and squeezed. I know some guts were already coming out. I wiped up any of the goo that might have touched the carpet. SQUEEZED that dang cricket inside the Puffs. Wiped off the end of the flashlight. 

Then I deposited the Puffs in a plastic bowl that I use to hold regular Puffs if I blow my nose overnight, and throw away the next morning. I got up and grabbed the cricket Puff and took it to the bathroom for flushing.

My problem is 50 percent solved! Maybe it was the same cricket, taking a tour of the Mansion, while I had been at the kitchen table for a couple of hours. Maybe not. I have my flashlight ready.

The Main Purpose Was Probably To Annoy Me

Farmer H sent me a text on Monday that a guy would be over in the BARn field cutting down a couple of dead trees. Not actually the BARn field, but the one next to it, I figured it out when I came home from town and saw the stump. Which was three feet tall, with two surfaces.

"That dead tree you told me about doesn't look very dead."

"It was dead, HM! In a couple of places. I thought it might fall on the power line."

"If you burn all that wood I see on your burn pile, you'll burn down the woods and your BARn."

"I'm not going to burn it all at once. I have a section behind it that I burn."

"As if the whole thing won't catch on fire. It's a DEAD tree, remember?"

"It won't catch anything on fire."

"Did you pay that guy to cut down trees?"

"Yes. Well. No. He owed me money, so I had him work. You saw the tree. Did you see the fire hydrant at the end of the driveway?"

"What? No. A fire hydrant? What's the deal with that? Who put that in? Surely it's not hooked up to anything."

"I bought it. It's out by the carport."

"Why would it be there?"

"That's okay. The Pony didn't see it, either."

"I guess I'm too busy watching the driveway so I don't run over a cow pelvis or a hammer."

"Well, okay, I can see that. I just saw a fire hydrant for sale and I wanted it. I figured maybe Jack will pee on it."

"Jack has the whole 20 acres to pee on. He doesn't need a fire hydrant. I'm shocked that it's not on the porch with the 2000 other things that don't belong there."

No answer to that. I guess the Master Hoarder didn't have an excuse.

Farmer H, The Perpetual Blamer

Farmer H came home early on Monday, because he was planning to go to the auction around 3:30. He said he was going out to work on SilverRedO, to re-glue the side trim.

"Your car has the trim just sticking out. But mine flaps in the wind when I'm driving! I think Old Buddy must have hit it when he was getting in the other day."

Here's the thing. SilverRedO is a 2012 model. T-Hoe is from 2008. Vehicles age! They both have trim along the side. It's black, about 3 inches wide. Nothing really has to "happen" to that trim to make it start bending away. I imagine the adhesive gets weaker after all the years in the sun and the freezing temperatures. Not sure why Farmer H feels the need to blame Old Buddy.

I'm pretty sure that's not the correct scenario. Old Buddy is such a hypochondriac that if he'd brushed up against that trim, he would have needed the week off, and a couple visits to the ER. That's his physician(s) of choice. Old Buddy receives government health care and never has to pay a penny. So rather than go to a doctor's office, he goes straight to the ER, where a multitude of tests are performed, at nary a cost for him. There's no way Old Buddy could have bumped that trim on SilverRedO without getting checked out at the ER. Such an injury might have progressed from a bruise to blood clots to a soft tissue injury that could become necrotic and result in an amputation!

Farmer H needs to realize that everything is not about assigning blame. Sometimes, things just happen.

Pupsie Keeps On Pupsing

That dang dog! By 9:00 a.m. she had dug all the water out of both water dishes. And when I left for town at 10:30 to pick up The Pony for a Father's Day cookout, there was a new item in the driveway.

A HAMMER!

It was a full-size hammer, not some dainty lady-tool. A hammer with a metal head, wooden handle, and rubber grip. Except part of the grip was chewed off. I had just climbed into T-Hoe, and was in no mood to dismount and re-enter. I left the hammer. 

When we got home, it was still there. The Pony jumped out and got it. We left it on the floor of T-Hoe, and told Farmer H, fearing he would be quite displeased.

"I don't know where that hammer come from. It's not mine."

So much for that. I suppose if Pupsie was trainable, Farmer H could acquire a whole new set of tools. Farmer H is not happy with Pupsie, even though he gained a hammer.

My Sweet Baboo Clears The Path

Thank the Gummi Mary I looked up the driveway as I backed T-Hoe out of the garage on Saturday evening. Otherwise, I might have run over an obstacle and punctured a tire. Or flipped it up under T-Hoe's undercarriage, and caused a leak in some vital accessory.

Being forewarned, I drove through part of the yard to avoid hitting this object. I knew exactly what it was, having seen it in the yard over the course of several days.

I assume this skeletal artifact is a COW PELVIS. The latest chewtoy that Pupsie had dragged home. Of course Farmer H gives it a toss, thinking he will make it disappear. He overestimates his throwing arm. 

When I came home, the driveway was clear. My Sweet Baboo had gotten out of SilverRedO and picked up the pelvis from the driveway. Farmer H says he hung it up. I don't dare ask where! So Pupsie shouldn't be able to drag it into the driveway again.