Humans' Critters

The gory dead armadillo was gone the next day, as well as the turkey buzzards. In the fall and winter, those turkey buzzards hang out in the trees of Farmer H and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill. Hundreds of them! We see them all the time when driving home as the sun is near to setting. I'm not sure when they'll return. Maybe they are always there, and we don't see them because we're home when the sun sets around 8:00 in the summer.

Anyhoo... this week I've seen two new critters down by the mailboxes, on consecutive days. They were lurking a short way up the gravel road, after I passed the three parked cars waiting for their kids to be delivered by the school bus.

The first was a cat. Fully grown, not a kitten. A gray striped tabby, standing on the left side of the road, who backed up into the underbrush as I drove by.

The second was a dog, a bit further up the road, by where there's a little waterfall in the creek, and a short path to get there. He was on the right side of the road, standing with all four feet on the gravel. He was definitely part German Shepherd, from his coloring. The other part must have been some kind of hound. He had longer legs than a shepherd, and a shorter back, and a less-feathery tail. He had a collar, with tags. As I passed, he RAN AFTER ME! Not alongside, barking, like a car-chaser. He ran up the middle of the road, following me. Like a lost dog, looking for his people.

I don't know anybody out here with a dog like that. If somebody dumped him, surely they would have taken off his collar and tag, which might trace him back to them. Maybe he was just curious and out roaming. 

I told Farmer H about the dog, so if he came to the Mansion, we could check his tag and see if we could find his people. Doggy stopped chasing after about a quarter mile, just before I got to the Badly Blacktopped Hill.

Farmer H said, "Did he look like Pepper?"

"No. I told you, he looked like part German Shepherd. He was brown and black. OH! I get it! Like the neighbor called you about a dog down by the mailboxes, saying it was Pepper!"

"Yeah. I guess she'll have to find somebody else to complain to about her dogs barking now. And you know, they never even said, 'Thanks for stopping your dog from coming over.' They ain't never gonna say anything good about it."

"Probably not. I almost hope some other animal makes their dogs bark at night!"

We're terrible, I know. It's our responsibility to keep Pepper from annoying people. But still, I refuse to admit that the barking problem was solely due to Pepper.

The Drag Boys Come For Fave

There were some old cars parked at the pumps of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday. It was a bit unusual. I wondered if there might be a car show in town. When I entered, three great big guys were standing at the register. Beefy guys, late 20s, in shirts with sleeves cut off. Shorts, crew socks, muscular tanned calves. TALKING LOUDLY!

Also, the two guys waiting were antsy. You know, when people sway from side to side, shifting their weight, doing a disorganized waltz step while marking time. The guys were perfectly polite, having assorted conversations with Fave, talking over themselves while filling in parts of the story.

Apparently, they were from out of state, in town for the drag races. They're held on the "flats," which are tailings left over from the lead mining days. Back when I first met Farmer H, and we were tooling around in his Fred Sanford truck, with me spotlighted in the one painted door, we went to the drag races. Several of us from our apartments would load up a cooler and lawn chairs. It wasn't frowned upon to ride in a lawn chair in the back of a pickup truck back then. 

Anyhoo... since those days, some apartments have been built near the drag strip. There's also a Super 8 Motel there. From eavesdropping (which was unavoidable at the decibels they were exuding), I gathered that Fave lives in those apartments, and had been awakened by the loud revving of their race vehicles. Though you would think most of them would have been hauled on trailers.

It was all I could do to stay there in line. If I was less addicted to my scratchers, I would have left. I don't like big loud people milling around in tight spaces. There was nothing wrong with the behavior of the drag guys. I'm just an old lady who has retired teacher ears, and unstable knees.

My interaction with Fave was short that day, as two of the guys who had left came back in for something else. Fave made up for it the next day by asking if I was still losing weight. Flattery gets her everywhere!

Apparently, Fave's dad is doing okay now. She said he told her: "You know that 23 pounds you lost? You look like you've gained it back." Poor Fave. I told her that didn't need to be mentioned, heh, heh. Oh, and Fave won $60 on the tickets I gave her Thursday. Things seem to be looking up.

I Wonder If That Varmint Got Peppered

Pepper has been adjusting to his new boundaries, with the assistance of Mr. Zapper. Mr. Zapper packs a stronger punch than Mr. Shocky, who was used to train little Jack not to chase the neighbors' horses. Mr. Shocky was controlled by hand. Funny how the boys also tested Mr. Shocky on themselves, before deciding on a setting for Jack. I'd put the collar on him when I started my driveway walks. 

Juno and Jack loved those outings, and would rove up and down the driveway with me, wrestling each other. Then Jack might make a dash across the road into the horse field when we got to the end. I'd yell, "JACK! NO!" If he continued into the horse field, I pushed the button to give him a "reminder." It only took a week of walks for Jack to completely stop his chasing.

Mr. Zapper will not be ignored! After the unfortunate SilverRedO incident, Pepper has only received that shock four times. The last was two days ago, and the squirrel-hunter breach was two days before that. Pepper hasn't even gotten the turn-back at the warning track notification for two days.

The last breach was on Monday morning. It was down on the other end of our property, in an area with cedars where Farmer H keeps the grass mowed. Not in the woods, not on the gravel road. Just the property line where The Pony has set the fence. Over the weekend, Pepper had been in that cedar area, barking. It's past the Freight Container Garage. Pepper had also spend a lot of time over by the BARn. We could see him on our app, and he would come running from that direction to greet me at the driveway. We didn't know what the attraction was over there.

I think I know!

When I came home Tuesday afternoon, I saw what I thought were turkeys on the gravel road by that lower section of our land. Getting closer, I saw they were TURKEY BUZZARDS! As big as turkeys, but with that rubbery red head. They grudgingly moved out of my way. Not flying, mind you. Just kind of walk/hopping. As I went by, I saw why there were there.

On the edge of the gravel, barely over on the neighbor's side, was a dead armadillo! It was so fresh that the gaping hole in its side was bright blood red. I don't know if it was dead or dying when the turkey buzzards hacked through that hard armor-ish shell.

I wonder if that's what Pepper had been fascinated with in that area. We found a dead armadillo out by the carport weeks ago. Farmer H says that when he's outside, sometimes the dogs are obsessed with something under one of his Shackytown Boulevard structures. So maybe that armadillo has been living here, and Pepper stalking it. Probably chasing it when he breached the fence over there on Monday.

I don't know if maybe Pepper got ahold of it and injured it, then it crawled across the road. Or if another animal like a fox or coyote got it. I don't know if their mouth is even big enough to do damage to that shell. Pepper's mouth is pretty big.

That's just my theory. I think the other armadillo was already dead when they drug it behind the carport. It didn't show any sign of trauma.

A Sticky Problem

I'm so glad I chose the right bandaid to cover up my ugly arm hole during time spent in public. I knew I had finally found a kind that didn't make my skin turn red and itch. I just couldn't remember WHICH kind. I knew it was some type of supermarket bandaid, not the real brand. The problem was, I had two varieties on my kitchen counter.

Don't go thinking I use my food prep area for treating wounds, heh, heh! Even though the last few pictures were posed on my cutting board. The kitchen counter is where I charge my phone, so handy to pick up up and take a photo there. Also, the kitchen is where I'm most likely to need a bandaid in a hurry. It's not like I'm going to injure myself in the bathroom, and fetch one out of the medicine cabinet. By the time I made it to the bathroom with a dripping wound, there'd be a suspicious trail of blood across the carpet. Maybe I should stash some bandaids on the mantle of the fake electric fireplace!

Anyhoo... here's the best-ever bandaid for my papery thin old lady skin:

I found this kind at 10Box. I think I've figured out why they don't make me itch.

See that last line before the fine print? "Not made with natural rubber latex." I think I might have a sensitivity to latex. Or natural rubber. I need to read the package for that clear tape I used around the gauze bandage. Because that made me VERY itchy, just like other bandaids.

Here's the other bandaids that were on the kitchen counter. I need to move this box to the bathroom medicine cabinet. Farmer H can still use them. He's not at all sensitive, heh, heh.

This came from Country Mart. Of course I didn't know at the time I bought them that they would make me itch. Both boxes say "Comparable to Johnson & Johnson"(this one), or "Comparable to Band Aid" (the other box). Both referring to the Johnson & Johnson Band Aid brand. I don't know if I've tried the actual Band Aid fabric version to see if I can tolerate it. No need, as long as I have my 10Box bandages.

No mention of natural rubber latex on this one. Or should I say no mention of not containing it.

I don't know when my skin decided it was allergic to the stickiness of bandaids. I never had a problem when I was younger. I guess it's like with the ampicillin reaction, and the cefprozil reaction. I wasn't allergic until I WAS.

The Healing Is Almost Complete

The hole in my forearm is closing up nicely. Or not so nicely, depending on whether you're the person with a hole in your arm, or a person who has to look at it. The injury happened on Sept 15, when I stood up from my OPC (Old People Chair) and caught my left arm on the corner of our fake electric fireplace. Now it's been two weeks. The "grape jelly" scab has maintained its integrity.

I have left it open at home. I told The Pony that I don't like to subject people to seeing it when I go to town, and got the reply, "You're right. It's hideous!"

The Pony has a point. It looks like I had a giant wart or mole burned off! AND it's at that stage where a loose thread or an unfortunate bump could knock that scab loose. 

I didn't want to get out the big gauze pad again. But I was reluctant to use a bandaid, because so many of them make my skin turn bright red and itch. Even that clear tape had given me the red itchies.

I took a chance. I know the brand name bandaids are not compatible with my tender skin. I have two boxes of grocery store bandaids on the kitchen counter. I had forgotten which brand worked for me. The Universe must have been on a break from making me miserable, because I chose the right one! I left it on for two days. It even went through a shower. And NOTHING HAPPENED. It was still stuck tight when I peeled it off. And my skin was perfectly normal underneath.

Tomorrow we'll look a the two bandaid brands...

Farmer H's Promises Are More Broken Than The Ceramic Tabby Cat On My Grandma's Coffee Table

Promises made, promises broken. That should be a plaque hanging over our front door. Once again, Farmer H has reneged on his promise to get repairs for T-Hoe. You'd almost think he's trying to kill me in a rolling deathtrap, with a withered hand that can barely grip the steering wheel.

For months (all summer, I think) T-Hoe's gas tank has been loathe to accept weekly gas from the Casey's pump. Any pump, really. Because there's some clogged filter thingy that won't let the gas tank breathe while gas is going in. T-Hoe regurgitates that gas after a few seconds of pumping. It takes a very slight compression of the pump handle, held steady, to force in gas for about 30 seconds. Then you have to let the gas soak down in again. And re-commence lightly pumping. It's such a lengthy production that The Pony was still pumping after I had walked into Casey's, bought scratchers, used their bathroom, and walked back out. I am not a fast walker.

Anyhoo... Farmer H had said he was getting an appointment with Mick the Mechanic. That he would sit and wait for T-Hoe to be done, so I wouldn't have to drive SilverRedO or A-Cad to pick him up.

That plan got postponed because Farmer H had to make a trip to Illinois for SUS2.5 merchandise. And also lunch with his buddy he took along for the ride.

The next week, Farmer H had to deal with the load of free kitchen stuff from the rich guy's remodel. Also, he had to re-do some things on a SIDE JOB he hadn't told me about.

When I pushed for a day when T-Hoe was going to get filtered, Farmer H sang a different tune.

"I don't know about Mick. I think I might just get an appointment and take it to the Chevy dealer over in Sis-Town. Mick said he didn't know how long it could take. He said maybe 4-5 hours."

I'm not sure that's the truth. Last time Farmer H backed out of the Mick appointment for the Illinois trip, he just said that Mick wasn't sure he could be done by 10:00 a.m. Of course I don't want to pay for 5 hours of mechanic labor, IF that's the actual truth. 

So far, Farmer H has made no appointment with the dealer. I told him I guessed he would just have to meet me in town once a week, so HE could be the one standing there for 15 minutes trying to put in half a tank of gas. He replied that he needed to make an appointment...

Can I Have NOTHING Of My Own???

I'm pretty sure we have visited this topic before. How I can't seem to have a single thing to myself in this Mansion. Whether it be food or scissors or Pioneer Woman Ceramic Paring Knives, or just empty space on a shelf in FRIG II. Nothing is safe from the invasion of Farmer H.

I think it was the day after Farmer H brought home a giant piece of coconut pineapple cake bestowed upon him by one of his adoring Harem at the senior apartments. A piece of cake so large that he divided it into four servings. 

Anyhoo... on the second day, when putting his cake plate back on the bottom shelf of FRIG II, Farmer H turned around and said excitedly,

"Do we have a new kind of little cakes?"

"NO. If you're talking about that box at the back of the bottom shelf, it's been there since before Christmas. It's my Little Debbie Mint Marshmallow Pies. [The Little Debbie version of Moon Pies. Marshmallow between two soft cookie-ish pieces, all coated in chocolate. These having mint flavor, as a Christmas novelty.] They are very stale, but I have one every now and then. They are MINE. You have plenty of other snacks. I buy them for you every time I go to the store. But now you want MINE! Six months old, stale, but that's what you want, because they're MINE!"

"No. No. If they're yours, that's fine. I just hadn't seen them before."

Yeah. There's a reason for that...

Let the record show that Farmer H currently had: 

Payday Mix (candy corn and dry-roasted peanuts)

Fudge Stripe Shortbread Cookies

Red Velvet Cake Chips Ahoy Cookies

Animal Cookies (regular)

Animal Cookies (the chocolate version)

Little Debbie Zebra Cakes

Little Debbie Star Crunch

Little Debbie Strawberry Rolls

Chocolate/Peanut Butter Fudge (from the Devil's Playground deli)

That Giant Piece of Coconut/Pineapple Cake

A virtual smorgasbord of desserts! Enough to kill any normal diabetic! But no. What was he interested in stealing sneaking treating himself to? MY MINI MINT MOON PIES!

I really need to wrap my meager treats in foil before stashing them at the back of FRIG II. My old teaching buddy Kelly kept a chocolate Easter bunny from her hubby for four months that way!