The Turning Of The Screw

You may recall that T-Hoe had an issue with a clicking/popping noise when the back hatch opened. Farmer H said he had discovered the reason. I figured everything was good. Nope! The next time I opened the hatch, after Farmer H "fixing" the problem by removing a small light bulb left behind by Mick the Mechanic's crew after they replaced a taillight... that noise was still there.

Thursday when we returned from a lunch date with my best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel and her husband, Farmer H agreed to stand and listen at T-Hoe's rear while I opened the hatch. He heard the noise. He pinpointed the location. Tried a couple more openings and closings. Then decided the issue was:

The plastic cover of the taillight catching on the side of T-Hoe's hatch.

Farmer H went to get a screwdriver. "There's only two screws holding it on. I guess maybe them guys didn't screw it on tight enough."

Several turns of those two screws, two more openings and closings, and the job was done. No noise when the hatch is raised. 

Farmer H can usually solve a mechanical problem. Even if it takes two tries and lots of nagging.

Pupsie Gets A Scolding

I've been extremely careful not to scare our newest dog Pupsie. Sweet talking, petting the other two fleabags, moving slowing (well, that's a given), not lunging to grab hold.

Wednesday when I got home, Pupsie and Scarlett both came into the garage. Scarlett came out when I exited the people door, but Pupsie stayed inside. I stood on the sidewalk, trying to coax Pupsie out. Scarlett herself jumped off the side porch THREE TIMES, to prance into the garage, and herd Pupsie out. They would start trotting together, Pupsie on the far side, but then Scarlett would continue up the steps while Pupsie hesitated, then went back under T-Hoe. Finally Scarlett gave up, and gave Pupsie a look like, "You're on your own now, kid." Pupsie ran past me like I was a cartoon dogcatcher with a net.

Thursday, both dogs again came into the garage. Jack had asserted his possession of me by standing up to put his dusty paws on my black pants leg, then went around to the porch. Scarlett and Pupsie waited by the people door. But then Pupsie ran back. Even set off the electric eye when the garage door was closing, so I had to let it go back up and re-set before closing again. That's a no-no! Since Pupsie was running around the side of the garage to get to the porch, I let it go.

I had set most of the grocery bags on the chair on the side porch, while I went back into the garage for my purse and water bottle and the mail. When I came out to fend off crazy Scarlett, I caught Pupsie sniffing the grocery bags, and possibly nipping at one to pull it off the chair. 

"NO!"

Pupsie looked right at me. In the eyes. Like: "What's this? Are you talking to ME?"

Yes. I was. No dog of mine will get into the groceries if I have any say in it! Pupsie did not look skittish at that admonition. Stopped. Trotted away. But came back to try again several times as I petted Scarlett. Each time greeted with my "NO!"

Pupsie seemed to understand, and ceased molesting the grocery bag. And also got close enough to touch my proffered fingers with a muzzle. Taming might be underway.

Two Unneeded Cents

Tuesday, Farmer H was looking at our enclave's Facebook page, and saw that our across-the-road neighbor had a picture. Of Scarlett! Saying that she saw this dog on her porch on her RING camera, and did it belong to anybody.

Farmer H responded that yes, it was our dog, and he was sorry if she caused any trouble or tore anything up. Neighbor replied, "Dog, sweet dog."

But THEN another guy out here responded to her statement with: "That's bullshit!"

Not sure what his point was. He responded to another innocuous comment with: "There was three of them."

Okay. So Scarlett, Jack, and Pupsie (I assume, unless it was Copper Jack) run around together. We've not had any complaints of mischief. Most people know who the dogs belong to.

It would be different if our dogs were on this guy's porch, and caused problems. Not sure why he thinks he has to insert himself into our business. Neighbor's dogs (the crazy Rottweiler and killer Poodle) are the ones who killed our 32 chickens, several per day. Farmer H just told them he would shoot the dogs with a paintball gun if he saw them in our field after the chickens. Also, their horses escaped and trampled through the only garden we ever planted. We didn't hold it against them. Animals will be animals.

If something happens to our dogs, I'm pretty sure I know who will be to blame. And it's not Neighbor. She's a dog groomer, and has rescue dogs as pets. I'm thinking she probably was wondering if Scarlett needed a home.

It's the country. Dogs run free. Copper Jack virtually lives here. We don't complain to that neighbor.

Farmer H Sees The Light

On Monday, I picked up a few items for my Christmas Dinner preparations. I couldn't get it all, because I don't have a complete list yet, but mainly because I knew I didn't have room in T-Hoe's rear for too much stuff. It's filled with about 10 six-packs of Farmer H's Diet Mountain Dew. I get it when it's on sale, and he only brings in a couple six-packs at a time.

When I came out of 10Box and hit the clicker to open the rear hatch, I heard a terrible noise! Like a POP or a CLICK. Something that I shouldn't hear. Sweet Gummi Mary! That's the last thing I needed! I could probably stuff the groceries on the passenger seat and floor, and some in the back seats. But I sure didn't want to drive home with T-Hoe's hatch flapping open, dropping Diet Mountain Dew along the countryside.

I didn't know what to look at as the source of the noise. In my mind, I thought it might be something wrong with the hydraulic thingies that lift the hatch. One went bad before, and I had to manually lift up that hatch, and balance it on my head (!) while trying to put anything in or take out. Then Farmer H gave me an old crutch to prop it. He's a peach, that Farmer H.

Anyhoo... when I got home, Farmer H was at least there for once, to help carry in groceries. As he was walking through the garage, I pushed the button to open the hatch.

"Hear that??? It just started. In town, and now. I don't know what's wrong with it. I haven't opened it in a while. I'd been putting stuff on the passenger seat because it's easier to get to when I have to carry it in."

"Huh. Here it is." Farmer H was looking at his palm. "It's a light bulb. I had them put a new bulb in the tail light when I had your car worked on. Looks like they just laid down a bulb, and it rolled over into the latch area."

What in the Not-Heaven??? Is that even possible? It was just tight enough to make that sound, without breaking, and without impeding the operation of the latch.

I never would have seen that.

Dog Does Not Live By Bread Alone

It's no secret that the treat my dogs receive most often is bread. Stale bread that Farmer H says he can smell the mold forming. Maybe he can, or maybe he can't. But a few days after the use-by date, I move the leftover loaf from the cabinet to the kitchen counter. It has become DOG BREAD. Never mind that in the past, Farmer H, being the type who likes to conserve his energy, has eaten such designated dog bread for a sandwich, rather than reach up into the cabinet, and didn't know the difference until I asked why he was stealing food right out of the dogs' mouths.

Anyhoo... I even go so far as to buy the cheapest loaf of whole wheat sandwich bread, just so the dogs will always have something. I know a lot of bread is not good for them. But at least they're not going to be constipated, heh, heh! Besides, they only get a quarter-slice as I leave, and a half slice when I return. The best days are when their bread has been swiped in pan drippings. They really eat it up!

Anyhoo... Sunday evening, Farmer H came through the kitchen door after his day of SUS2.5-ing, and asked an unusual question.

"Do you have anything to feed the dogs?"

"Why? Is little Pupsie out there? I just have bread. But they've already had it twice today."

"No. Not bread. Their feeder is out of dog food. I don't have any food for them. 

I guess they'll be okay until morning. I can go get them some around 7:00."

See there? Didn't I tell Farmer H that I didn't think the self-feeder was a good idea? First of all, you don't know who's eating it. Maybe Scarlett gets more. Maybe it's not even our own dogs. Copper Jack has been back up on the porch lately. And the squirrels and birds are always around. When I got back from town, I know there was food in the feeder, because Jack was munching on it. So within 30 minutes, SOMETHING finished eating that food.

Of course Farmer H doesn't see anything wrong with his plan. But when he was giving the dogs food in their bowls every morning, he never ran out of food for them.

Savory Smells, Savory Smells, It's Chex Mix Time In The Mansion

I started the first of my four batches of holiday Chex Mix on Saturday. Sometimes it takes five. I'll be exhausted. My knees are already complainy, although it's not like I squat down to peer into the oven. It's the up and down every 15 minutes for two hours to stir, and the initial 30 minutes standing to fill the pans.

Mmm... if only you could take a whiff of these heaping pans of my world-famous Chex Mix fresh out of the oven. Too bad smelleblogging isn't a thing.

I tried a new kind of pretzel this year. Not sure I will use them again. They don't seem to pick up the flavor like the twist pretzels. Also, the generic cheerios are not my preference. I usually get them at Save A Lot, but this time I used the kind from 10Box. How much difference could a plain little toasted oat make, you ask? It's not the taste. This kind wanted to stick to the bottom of the pan in the first two stirrings.

I thought it might be the pan that is oldest, not quite as non-stick as it used to be. But no. I happened in all three pans. Then I thought it might be my oven not working right. There's a 25-degree play in the knob that controls the temperature. I try to wiggle it and get it set right in the middle of the wiggle. Chex Mix requires 250 degrees. No more, no less. On the second batch, I was extra-careful in setting the temperature. That was not the solution. I assume it might be the powdery stuff on these cheerios. Anyhoo... only five or six per pan stuck, and didn't affect the flavor of the rest of the batch. They soaked off easily when I washed the pans between batches.

It's heaped in the middle here, but that's because I stirred when I took the pans out for the final time, to help with cooling. When putting them in the oven, the particles have to be lying flat, or some will get scraped off by the rack above them. That's no good! Not just wasteful, but they burn on the bottom of the oven.

That paper plate you can barely see is where I set my stirring spoon to rest, and also pile the particles that escape onto the cutting block during stirring. That's what Farmer H gets when he asks for some. Until I have enough for my gifts, he's out of luck aside from that pittance, or the crumbs from the bottom of the pans.

Two down, two (at least) to go. That has to wait until I buy more ingredients. It takes three boxes of cereal per batch. I'm also down to one giant bag of Bugles. And out of Worcestershire Sauce and mixed nuts and cashews. I have enough pecan halves to get by. They cost almost as much as a bargain flip house!

Another Portal To Not-Heaven

Most people can go their entire lives without having a portal to Not-Heaven open up in their living quarters. Am I right? I've never seen one here at the Mansion, nor in any other residences where I have resided. Yet The Pony is on his SECOND!

Way back in 2017, I told about the first one on my not-so-secret blog. While I was talking to The Pony on our 6:00 a.m. phone call Tuesday, another such portal appeared!

"I'm going to send you two pictures. I was just laying here in bed talking, and my whole kitchen lit up. I thought you'd like to know that I might have another hellmouth where I'm living!"

"That's the window over my kitchen sink. Not my freezer. My freezer is fine here, as far as I can tell. But then I looked at my bedroom wall, and saw more."

"Dang! What kind of energy do you attract?"

"Don't worry, Mother. I figured out what it is. My new neighbors park sideways in their driveway. One of them is leaving for work, and the tail lights were shining through my kitchen window when he backed up."

"Good to know!"

Such an unusual life The Pony leads, for being a simple mailman living in a corner house on a quiet street.