All Of My Animal Friends Have Voices

December 30, 2011

My inside dogs, my outside dogs have voices of their own.  They talk to me and I talk to them.  I can’t imagine how lonely I would be during the day if my friends didn’t talk to me.

Shall I tell you about them?  Okay, I will.  In order of appearance:

Sugar Plum: She was dropped off here with her brother when they were puppies.  I wasn’t here yet.  She was probably between 9 months and one year old when I moved here.  Her brother had been shot by a neighbor for trying to eat their dog’s food.  Sugar got away.  But she was starving and no one wanted her…..until we came.  We consider her our good luck charm.  When we decided to buy the house, we came one day to just hang out and get used to the place.  Sugar Plum was very friendly and playful.  She was also very hungry, skinny,  and scrawny. ( She was sooo hungry in fact, that she ate my cell phone!  Ever after she would occasionally roll around on the ground and make really strange noises.  We decided that she was answering the phone when she did that. )  But I digress.  When we came to hang out that day, she was under the plum tree eating plums.  Hence the name Sugar Plum.  She speaks in a gentle, witty, sweet, wise, strong, fun loving voice.  Underneath it all is a will of iron.  She can climb a chain link fence.  She teaches all the babies how to survive.  She will defend herself and her friends against anyone and anything. She plays with the babies when they are little.  Her favorite treat is bird seed.  I love her with all my heart.

Jeremiah: Jeremiah (Jerry) came to us because The Buddha made a lil slip up.  The neighbors were going on vacation and he was given the job of feeding their dogs for them.  He was supposed to keep Fat Girl locked on the porch and keep Boy fed and watered too.  What wasn’t explained to him in detail was that Fat Girl was in heat.  And Boy, being a boy, was desperate to get to her on that porch.  Well, the vacation was over and all was well until we were informed that Fat Girl was pregnant!  Questions were asked, answers given and the mystery solved.  Seems that The Buddha felt sorry for Fatty and Boy because they were really lonesome for each other so he let Boy onto the porch to give Fat Girl some company one day!  We felt duty bound to take one of the babies.  As we walked into the yard to pick one out, this tiny fat lil rolly polly fella came running right out to us and checked us out.  On the spot My Dearest Husband chose him.  And that is how we got Jeremiah.  He was tough, sweet, very protective, and he snored.  He also taught my baby Dash how to act like a big dog.  He would find a bone, give it to Dash(who was all of six weeks old), and then come take it from him.  Dash would just sit there.  He would bring it back and give it to him again.  Then take it very slowly, gently growling while he did.  Dash would then growl his tiny baby growl.  Jerry would lick him and give him back the bone, then start all over again until he taught Dash how to defend his food or rag or stick or pebble or whatever Dashie had picked up to play with.  Jerry spoke in a strong, loud, protective, country voice.  He went missing and I miss him still.

TT: TT stands for Tiny Tot, which she most definitely isn’t!  She is Sugar Plum and Jeremiah’s baby girl.  We didn’t intend to keep her.  We went to Wal Mart parking lot to give the babies away and a girl said, “PLEASE PLEASE hold her for me while I go inside and do my shopping. I will pick her up when I come out!”  So we held onto her through three or four people who wanted her.  The girl never came back.  But when we got home, Sugar Plum was beside herself with joy that one of her babies had come home to her so we kept her.  She spent her first year being very quiet, unassuming, and watchful.  Since then she has become friendly, funny, outgoing, and smart.  She plays like she’s making up for lost time. She speaks in an exuberant voice that is strong, quiet, and vigilant. 

DeeDee: DeeDee was the only dog we ever bought.  Right after The Buddha and Princess Bella came to join our family, MDH decided that the kids needed a dog.  We decided on Rat Terriers because they are very tiny and also incredibly smart.  A lady who was selling babies was located and we went to pick one out.  We fell in love with her immediately.  Rat Terriers come in two shapes, with tall legs and with short legs.  DeeDee has tall legs.  We also fell in love with her brother, who had short legs and looked like a miniature tough guy.  He was going to someone else though, so we made our deposit on Dee and left to wait til she was old enough to leave her momma.  When we got there, the lil boy dog was still there too.  The breeder said that his girl never came and we could get him too if we wanted to.  WE DID!  So we bought both dogs and took them home to the kids as a surprise.  They were so tiny that we had both of them in a cat carrier and the kids had to peer all the way to the back to find them.  Theo died in the house fire, but DeeDee survived.  She speaks in a quiet, dominant voice that is occasionally girlish and silly.

Mini: AKA Minimum, Miniature, Mini Mouse.  She is Dee’s baby and she was incredibly tiny right from the start.  She was half the size of her siblings at two weeks.  She stayed the same size for months.  One or more of her siblings bit her head when she was little, and bit her tail and broke it twice.  I had to take her out of the pen and keep her away from the other pups.  I was going to give her away too but I could never get in touch with the guy I was going to give her to.  I would call his shop (at 2:00 AM) and he never answered.  I would drive by there with her in a carrier (at 6:00 pm on Sunday) and he wasn’t there.  Eventually I just had to keep her!  🙂  She is built like her mother, with long legs and slender body.  She is all speed.  She can lap every dog here running around in the field.  She can jump higher, run faster and go longer than every dog we have.  She is also mildly retarded, from the bites to her head when she was little I guess.  She speaks in a squeaky voice at hyper speed, often and long.  However, she speaks a foreign language and most of the time we can’t understand her at all.  But she’s funny and fun and amazing to watch.

They all talk to me all the time.  I wouldn’t change that for the world.

 

 

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Cat Burglers…..Only With Dogs?

March 18, 2009

Okay, this is going to sound soooo strange but I think my two outside dogs have stolen some puppies.  My Dearest Husband and I went to the elementary school today to eat lunch with Princess Bella.  And let me just say……they have rockin lunch!  Anyway, when we came back to the house all of our inside dogs, who we had left outside to enjoy the beautiful weather, were going insane.  They were so discombobulated that they didn’t know whether to wind their watch or scratch their ass!  They were jumping, whining, barking, and just generally milling about in high lather.

I didn’t immediately get it because the inside dogs are insane most of the time anyway.  They are small dogs to begin with, then you have to take into account that they were raised with The Buddha and Princess Bella as daily companions.  Add to that the fact that they spend an inordinate amount of time alone with me and you have the consummate recipe for insanity in all small animals.

However, it did seem odd that outside dogs were totally calm.  They had that suspiciously innocent look on their faces, like…..Whatever could be wrong with them????  That gave me a hinky feeling right there. 

As we’re walking up the walk the little dogs fly into the bushes in the front flower garden.  We looked to see what it was and I was stunned.  There, all curled up and wide eyed with fear, were two of the cutest little puppies!  Normally this wouldn’t have hit me like a sledgehammer, however, we just got rid of fifteen puppies and now here are two more!

It’s like the canine version of Groundhog Day.  I can’t get out of this nightmare.  Every time I think I’m done with the puppy thang, I end up with more of them.  None of this is helped by the fact that Ditto is now hugely pregnant.  *sigh*

I have to add here that this reminds me of my life in general.  Every time I get done raising a child to an acceptable age, I get more of them!  WTF???

But, back to the alleged theft……Jeremiah and Sugar Plum(the outside dogs) are still all calm and serene.  They are NEVER calm and serene.  And here is something even more suspicious……We put all the dogs in the house so that I could get a better look at the new arrivals.  While I was outside trying to coax the puppies out of the bushes, Jeremiah was in the house acting out the fact that he didn’t want me out there alone with his new acquisitions! 

He stood at the door whining and barking.  Then he ran to MDH and looked at him.  Then back to the door.  Then he stood up on his hind legs and watched me out the window.  Then he ran back and put his head in MDH’s lap, ran to the door again and looked pointedly back at him.  Needless to say, he was NOT happy. 

It is my theory that he was worried that I would take those two puppies and not bring them home just like I did the other fifteen.  This in turn leads me to believe that he and Sugar Plum, who had been licking, grooming, playing with, and generally taking care of the puppies while I tried to get them out of the bushes, know what is going on here.  I further believe that they went out and found them a couple of pets of their own. 

All I can do is hope that I don’t get a visit from the law wanting to know if my typewriter matches the one that the ransom note was typed on.  *gulp*   God forbid they come up with a paw print match from the FBI.  Or a DNA match on the paper that the ransom note was written on.  Or worse yet, that we will never find the rightful owners of the two alleged puppies and have to try to find new homes for them too! 

Until then, Jeremiah and Sugar Plum are going to be feeding, walking and pooper scooping.  And I’m not taking no for an answer either!

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Playing Taps For Jackal

January 10, 2008

I’ve been trying not to write this post since 3:oo pm this past Saturday.  That’s when the unthinkable happened. 

It had been an incredibly successful day up until then.  Rocky, The Buddha, Princess Bella and I had finally gone to find a house for Rocky to put on our land.  It was the first time we went to look for one in person.  We had previously looked on Craig’s list, on the internet, ect.  However, Christmas is over, everything has settled down and it was finally time.  We left with only about an hour to spend in the actual process of looking once we got to our destination.  This was to be a half assed attempt at best.

We got to the lot, saw a gorgeous place, went inside, Rocky fell in love, the rest of us fell in love, the kids picked out their sleeping quarters for when they spend the night, and it was on.  Rocky asked the price.  The guy left to find out and we slumped.  We knew it was going to be WAY out of her price range.  We steeled ourselves for the letdown. 

He came back with a lot of explanations about how it had just come onto the lot, they didn’t have it on the website yet, once people found out about it it would go fast, you know, salesman talk.  Rocky and I looked at each other thinking that the price was going to draw blood when he finally spit it out.  Then he asked his final question: are you planning to finance it or will this be cash?

Rocky says cash.  I swear I think the man had an organism right there on the spot.  Then he told us the price.  I think WE had organisms right there on the spot.  He recited exactly the price Rocky was wanting to pay for a place.  My game face went out the window on the spot.  Rocky lit up like a Christmas tree.  Rocky put down a deposit to hold it until we could get it checked out by My Dearest Husband who is versed in all things mechanical.  We left singing and doing the car seat dance all the way home.

And that’s when things got ugly.

As we pulled into the lane, all of the hill dogs came running to escort us up the driveway.  One of them was Jackal.  Jackal loved to ride in the truck.  He would jump in to go with you every time you got in the truck.  It broke his little heart if you left home without him. 

The dogs run circles around you when you’re driving up the driveway.  I was going about negative five miles an hour up the drive when I feel the right front wheel rise and fall.  At that point all hell broke loose.  Jackal started to scream.  All the other dogs broke and ran.  The kids started screaming from the backseat, “You ran over Jack!  You ran over Jack!”

I lost it.  I put the truck in park and jumped out.  I ran over to Jack, who is half sitting/half laying on the ground, squealing.  I started to check him out when I notice that one of his testicles is hanging out.  Nothing is broken, he can walk, all that seems to have happened to him is that his scrotum has split open and his testicle has squeezed out.  I’ll wait for a second while all the guys catch their breath.

I’m crying, I’m apologizing to him over and over for running over him, I’m afraid I’ve killed him, I drive a Suburban for God’s sake!  Jack is screaming, the hill dogs want to smell him and every time I push one away three more take it’s place.  MDH is sleeping, the door is locked, Rocky is trying to keep the dogs away, the kids are hysterical.  It was a mess.

Finally, The Buddha gets the keys out of the truck and goes to get MDH out of bed.  We bundle Jack up to the house in a towel, I give him Benedryl, (yes you can, by weight just like a kid) and aspirin for the pain, (again yes you can, it only kills cats) and start the vigil.  I don’t have the cash for an emergency visit to the vet.  Call me callous if you want I have a house payment and kids to feed, I’m not going into debt for an animal.

Jack spent the weekend watching all the pretty colors that the Benedryl showed him, sleeping when the aspirin kicked in, and crying.  It was horrible.  I spent the weekend laying on the floor of the laundry room with Jack petting him and giving him subliminal suggestions not to die while he was sleeping.  When he wasn’t sleeping, crying, or tripping he was running around outside like nothing ever happened.  I, on the other hand, spent the entire weekend crying. 

On Monday morning first thing Jack went to visit the vet.  The vet tells me, surprise surprise, that his testicle has squished out.  Um, DUH!  He said that he could take them both out if I wanted him to.  Now, I worked at a vet.  I was a surgical assistant for six months.  This ain’t my first rodeo.  But I’m flummoxed.  So, against my better judgement I feel compelled to ask.  “What other possibility is there?”  He informed me that he could remove just the one.  Or…….get this……we could just leave it like it is and he’ll eventually just chew it off.   That’s right!  Another moment for yall to catch your breath.

You okay now?  Alright, so I tell the vet that I would prefer that he simply remove both testicles please.  Cripes almighty!  Like we weren’t all traumatized enough already.  Now I’ll forever have that image floating around in my head! 

Now Jackal, during the weekend, had to go outside to do his business at one point.  His stupendously large cojone was hanging out, but the Benedryl is doing it’s work and he’s moving around at a pretty good clip.  Our other dog, Sugar Plum is in heat.  Thaaat’s right.  Jack discovered his “special purpose in life” just as SugarPlum comes wandering by and, nut hanging, starts trying to hump her!!!!!!!

Jack is a MAN!  The boy had nuts the size of…..of….let’s just say they are HOOOGE!  Or at least they were.  And I didn’t get to bring them home in a jar.  I wish I could of because I’m pretty proud of him.  He hasn’t realized yet that he’s got no bullets in his gun.  He’s still trying to hump SugarPlum.  But we’re not playing Taps for Jackal. 

I sure was afraid we would be.  I keep having these horrible images of that huge suburban running over one foot tall Jack.  It makes me shudder.  I also keep having terrible images of Jack chewing off his nut.  Holy Crap I’m glad I’m not a dog! 

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The First Time Blackie Died…….

December 29, 2007

So My Dearest Husband, my mom Rocky, and me were sitting around the dining room table telling stories, which is what you do in the south in the evenings after dinner.  We had already discussed why MDH and Rocky didn’t ride horses: MDH because every time he had ever gotten on one there ended up being a bad story to tell afterwards, and Rocky because she had one when she was young and it had taken off running into the barn and knocked her off by slamming her head into a rafter.  (yikes!)

This started us talking about pets.  MDH had a peculiar series of pets, so to speak.  They were Blackie.  Blackie were cows.  His stepdad ran a van conversion shop that MDH worked at when he was young.  They kept a black cow in the yard out back.  This was done because they spent long hours at the shop and they could care for Blackie better if he was at the same location they were at.  Every year Blackie was taken to the slaughter house and *gulp* dealt with.  He then resided in the deep freeze until such time as he became dinner.

At this point another black cow was purchased, named Blackie, deposited in the yard at the shop and they started all over again.  Rocky and I were horrified to say the least.  I asked MDH how he felt when they took Blackie off to the slaughter house.  His reply was, “The first time Blackie died I felt pretty bad, the second and third times I felt bad but not so much.  After that I got used to it.”

Holy Crap!  I envision this never ending line of Blackie dying and reappearing again over and over while I’m simultaneously eating him on a sesame seed bun with cheese and a dill pickle!  Talk about things that make you shudder! 

After that we got on the subject of how it’s getting to be hog killing time.  If you know anything about the subject you know that it has to be coldto accomplish this particular task.  MDH was describing his first big boy job in the hog killing field.  He was finally old enough to go outside and help the menfolk kill hogs.  This was a yearly happening because his uncle had a “hog parlor”.  That’s right.  A place where hogs are kept in large barns, that have a huge pond where the hog …..um…..crap is dumped to fester and ferment, a place that stinks enough to knock a buzzard off a shit wagon, is called a “hog parlor”.  Cute ain’t it? 

Anyway, his first big-boy job at the hog parlor was when he was about 12 years old.  The hog is ……I’m trying to find a way to put this delicately………de-lifed, then hefted aloft by a piece of heavy equipment and dumped unceremoniously into a huge vat of boiling water.  This is done in order to scald the hair off of the carcass.  MDH’s job was to use a large paddle that resembles a boat oar, and push and turn the hog carcass under the water in order to make sure all the hair was scalded off of the dead hog.

Yeah.

I just picked fruits and vegetables, sold stuff, you know, things like that.  I was a townie.  None of my first jobs involved carcasses of any kind.  As a matter of fact, only one of my jobs ever involved carcasses, and that was just incidentally.  That was when I worked at the vet.  My first job there was squeezing dog butts.  Yeah, you heard me.  I squeezed doggie and kitty butt-holes for a living.  And you thought Blackie and the hog parlor were bad!

When I first started working at the vet, my job was bathing the animals when they first came in.  One of the most important parts of bathing them was expressing their anal glands.  There is actually a reason for this.  The anal glands contain the pure essence of dog and kitty shit smell in its most concentrated form.  It’s where that ever so distinctive scent comes from.  If it is expressed when the animal comes in, their feces doesn’t smell so bad while they are there.  Considering the number of doggies and kitties at the vet, this is a good thing.  It’s the Martha Stewart kind of good thing in the vet biz.

So, my job was to accomplish this ever so desirable state of affairs with each and every creature that graced our doorstep each and every day!  Yippee!  A little secret you might not know about doggies and kitties.  They take deep exception to having their butt-holes squeezed!  Yep, it’s true.  They really didn’t think much about it when I put them in the bathtub to bathe them and dip them, it was nuttin but a thang to them.  When I lifted their tails they sort of cocked their heads sideways as curious animals are wont to do, but still it was only a little out of the ordinary.  But when I took hold of that butt-hole and started to squeeze that baby like half an orange on a juicer………about seventy different kinds of horrified came over them all at once.

For the most part, the dogs were willing to forget the whole thing as long as I was willing to agree not to tell anyone that they cried when it happened.  The cats on the other hand…….a totally different story.  They gave me the sad, crybaby eyes like Puss N Boots in Shreck.  Then they went for my eyes.  It was like being inside of a blender.  All spinning and blades and blood.(mine) 

Yep, after dinner in the south is story time!  Yall come! 

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Youth Deficiency

April 17, 2007

I suffer from a terrible, terrible disorder.  It affects millions of people the world over.  Sadly there is no cure.  *sob*

This horrible malady causes a melting effect of the face that is frightening to little children and disheartening to the sufferers.  It leaches all color out of the hair, and causes an extreme overgrowth of the skin that creates a sagging effect on the body of the afflicted.

Strange lines and grooves appear in the faces, hands, arms, even……yes, even the legs of these poor, poor individuals.  Tiny dark spots show up out of nowhere.  They bend over as if weighted down.  Yet no weight shows up on any photograph or scientific test.

But the most debilitating of all of the symptoms of this terrible disease are the mental ones.  Imagine putting on your glasses to hunt for your glasses because you can’t see to look for your glasses without your glasses on!  Oh!  How horrible! 

Try, if you only can, to imagine burning the hair in your nose because you tried to light a cigarette that you forgot to put in your mouth!  *gasp*

Sad……so sad.  😦

Imagine going to a fast food drive thru, taking your false teeth out and wrapping them in a napkin while you eat, then tossing them out with the trash.  *sigh*

This malady is the scourge of millions worldwide.  It has no cure.  Send no money.  There is nothing we can do but cry.

Youth Deficiency!  Damn You!  Damn You!  Da  Hey Look!  I found my hair brush!  I’ve been looking for that!………Uh…… What was I saying? 

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Red vs The Steam Roller………..Or, No, Red, It’s JUST YOU!!!!

April 6, 2007

I used to live on a very busy corner in town.  (see Great Quest For The Head Of The Possum post)  The house was at the bottom of a very steep hill, ” A very steep hill”.  When it snowed,  all you had to do was look at that bit of road and you could tell how much because no one would drive up it. 

One nice summer day I was sitting on the couch in my living room reading, while my dearest husband was sleeping.  He worked night shift then and he slept during the day.  It was a normal day.  As much as you can call any day with me in it normal.

It slowly came to me that something wasn’t right.  I wasn’t sure exactly what it was.  I looked up, I looked around.  I didn’t see anything wrong in the house.  I looked back down and started to read again.  Then it seemed like the couch was beginning to vibrate…..but no, it was the house that was beginning to vibrate.  Now that was odd. 

I got up, pulled aside the curtain on the door and looked out just in time to see a steam roller knock one of the brick supports out from under my porch roof, ride up onto the porch, hit the house, and then fall through the porch floor into the hole underneath it.

Well howdy!  I turned and walked halfway into the bedroom, turned and walked back to the door to look again, walked halfway back to the bedroom again, back to the door.  I realize that I have absolutely NO “a steamroller just hit my house” etiquette.  I have no idea what to do.  I am saved by my dearest husband’s voice calling from the bedroom inquiring as to what the !@#$%^ just occurred. 

I walked into the bedroom to explain and he is halfway out of bed and halfway into his pants.  I told him a steamroller hit the house.  He asked if I was OK.  I said yes.  He said OK.  He then proceeded to add to my already vociferous bad word vocabulary by leaps and bounds.  I was impressed!  And pleased.  You can never have too many bad words to choose from.  Especially in a situation like this. 

We went back to the door and gingerly went outside.  Not easy since the door bumped the part of the steamroller that was still above the porch floor when we opened it.  As we came off the porch a very pale, agitated, wet and odoriferous gentleman scampered up to me asking if I was OK.  Not quite in full grip of all my faculties yet, and not realizing who he was, I simply told him that I was fine.  Turns out he was the man driving the steamroller. 

People began showing up fairly quickly.  As I said in a previous post, the entire world passed our door 3 times a day at this house.  A steam roller sitting where the porch used to be drew a fair amount of attention. 

It just so happened that our landlord had a business just across the street and he saw the whole thing.  Bless his heart, I believe he nearly had apoplexy on the spot.  Everyone was very excited.  Especially that poor smelly fella that was driving the thing.  Eventually he began to explain to my dearest husband what happened.

He had driven the steam roller to the top of the very steep hill to use it paving a parking lot that was located just below the top.  As he got near the driveway to the parking lot, the brakes gave way on the steam roller.  He tried the emergency brake, but that gave way as well.  By that time, the steam roller was well on its’ way down the hill.  He decided that he would turn the roller towards the curb, with the idea that rubbing against the curb would stop it, or at least slow it down.  No such luck. 

By the time he realized that it was getting away from him and he wasn’t going to be able to stop it, he was fast approaching the intersection.  He couldn’t see beyond our house to see what was coming andhe was very frightened, so he bailed out.  The odoriferousness came from the fact that after he bailed out, he realized that what could have been coming was a bus load of children.  The imagery was too much for his bowels. 

When the steam roller was rolling down the hill scraping against the curb, I felt it shaking the house.  When it reached our driveway, it turned slightly and ran up into our yard, crushed a bush, abolished the brick porch post, broke through the brand new 2 x 6 flooring of the porch right before my eyes, hit the house about 3 feet to the left of me and the rest is history.

We made the front page of the paper.  The insurance put a new porch on the house and bought us a new table and chairs to put on it.  And we were known for years afterwards as the people who’s house got hit by the steam roller.

I ask people this all the time……….Is it just me, or do things like this happen to you too? 

 The answer is always………No, Red, It’s Just YOU!!!!!

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The Great Quest For The Head Of The Possum or “I just wanted to poke it with a stick”

March 31, 2007

I used to live in town.  The entire world passed my door 3 times a day.  My front porch was one push-mower width away from the road.  Across the street was a small ravine with a creek running through it.  Just one of those little areas that couldn’t be built up.  Just behind the ravine was the local crack house.  It was empty except for the middle of the night when all the local crack heads used to come and use it. 

Now, I told you that story so I could tell you this story.(vague Ron White reference)  When we lived in town we had a cat named Psycho Kitty.  She lived outside.  Her food was on the porch.  It came to pass that several nights in a row Psycho Kitty would fight with something over her food.  In the morning there would be much loose fur floating around on the porch.  Some of it was NOT Psycho Kitty’s.  It was beginning to fret me.  But try as I might, I couldn’t seem to catch sight of what PK was fighting with. 

Then one night I got lucky.  It was autumn and I had left the inside door open and the fighting began.  I ran to look and almost wet my pants.  It was a possum.  Holy crap!  Do you know how big those jokers are?  The only ones I had ever seen before were about an inch and a half tall because they were dead in the road and pretty mushed.  This thing was alive and as big as a medium sized dog!!!!!  I couldn’t believe they were that big!  And my cat was fighting with it!  And winning!!!!!!!! 

Now, Mr. Possum wasn’t remotely concerned with me.  I stomped, I yelled, I banged on the door.  It glanced at me once,  gauged my sincerity, and dismissed me completely.  Hurt my feelings something terrible.  Mostly because at that moment he was right.  I wasn’t about to come out that door.  I was in too much shock about how big that rascal was.  It did however, set a wheel in motion.  When this happens, it’s almost never a neutral thing.   (see Haircut post)

PK took care of things, Mr. Possum ate what he could and moseyed away.  He really did mosey too.  Only time I’ve ever seen anything mosey in real life.  He came back several more times.  Taunting me.  However, the wheels were spinning now.  It was only a matter of time.  I was working out a plan.  And this time……..it was personal.

The night finally arrived to put my plan in motion.  The Great Quest For The Head Of The Possum began.(now, I realize that really this was a quest for the butt of the possum, but the great quest for the butt of the possum just didn’t have the same ring, so I used poetic license here)  The whole idea was this.  I was going to go sit on the porch on a high stool that we had.  With a big ol stick.  I would be very quiet.  I would wait for Mr. Possum.  Being a dumb animal he would never divine my presence.  Then, while he was happily eating PK’s food, I would poke him in the nether regions with said big ol stick.  Thus scaring the living bejesus out of him, humiliating him, and discouraging him from coming back, red faced, onto my porch to eat in future. 

However, I happened to notice in our previous meeting that Mr. Possum had some nasty looking little teeth.  So, along with my large stick, I also had a small firearm, just in case Mr. Possum took exception to being poked in the nether regions with a stick.  You know, he might get testy on me.  He might also have rabies or something.  And he was picking on PK.  And I was mad.  And I was me.  And he had pissed me off with that look.

So, My Dearest Husband goes for a boys night out, and I put my plan in motion.  The Great Quest is on.  I slide outside on the porch with all my paraphernalia and sit quietly. Waiting.  I’m patient.  I’m slick.  I’m cool.  I’m congratulating myself on my brilliant plan.  I’m chuckling to myself about the look of embarrassed horror Mr. Possum will have when that big ol stick is half way to heaven with me on the other end ………..when suddenly I hear loud banging and loud voices.  They seem to be coming from the house just past the crack house. 

Sure enough, there is a feisty gentleman outside of that house banging on it with much force while simultaneously shouting to the folks inside about a certain kind of mayhem he would like to perpetrate against them if they would just come outside!  Dang!  This just might put a kink in my plan!  He sure is making a lot of noise!  Then many, many police cars arrive with sirens and lights.  Policemen begin to issue from them in alarming numbers.  There are folks on megaphones.  There is shouting from the feisty gentleman.  There is shouting from the inside folks who have now come outside.

Suddenly,  the crack-house comes to life.  About twenty occupants decide that now is the time to decamp.  They all make a beeline for the ravine across the street from my porch, where I am sitting, patiently awaiting Mr. Possum with my big ol trusty stick. 

I find myself faced with a dilemma.  I fear that if the crackheads see me there, they will assume that I have alerted the authorities to their presence in the crack-house, thus wrongly developing ill feelings towards me.  Do I sit quietly hoping that they will not notice me?  Or do I haul natural ass inside the house, bolt the doors, and hope for the best?  As I sit there, frozen with fear, trying to decide what to do, the crack heads crawl out of the ravine one by one and scurry off into the darkness, until there is only one left.  I can hear him shuffling around down there in the dry leaves. 

Now is my chance.  I jump up, run into the house and lock the door.  But now……..I can’t see him!  What if he sneaks up on me?  I have to watch for him!  So I go to the dining room window, open it, put on my glasses, get down on my knees and peek out.  I’m watching across the street at the ravine.  Ha!  Can’t sneak up on me now!

And this is where My Dearest Husband’s headlights find me as they sweep across the front of the house on his way into the driveway.  He comes in the front door and this is how it goes:

My Dearest Husband😦in singsong voice modulated to calm lunatic) Hi Honey.  Whatcha doin on your knees lookin out the dining room window like that?

Me: Trying to poke a possum with a stick.

I think it sort of lost something in the translation.

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Posted by thought4food

Introductions

March 31, 2007

I thought maybe it was time for me to introduce you to my family.  We are the typical blended family.  Well, we’re not so much blended as pureed.  (that word looks so misspelled it’s pitiful, but the free on-line dictionary assures me that it is correct so think bad thoughts at them if it’s not) 

First there is me, AKA Red.  We won’t go into the other things I’m called.  It would be way too easy and for the most part this is a semi family oriented site.  I’m the one in the “About me” page.  Click on it, I was being pretty honest that day. 

Then there is My Dearest Husband.  He is my first and only husband.  The only man I ever wanted to marry.  He Rocks.  He’s DA MAN!  He says he married me just to see what would happen next.  He is one of the last truly good guys left.  We are friends with the most of the rest of them.  Anyway, he puts up with me.  That would be past the limits of most men, but he seems to enjoy it most of the time.  Which probably brings his sanity or at least his judgement into question.  But that’s OK with me.  Cuz, if he was sane, he probably wouldn’t be married to me and then I would be all sad and shit and not nearly as amusing and you wouldn’t be here reading this and (we could go on and on here but you get the idea).  He is DROP dead gorgeous, incredibly intelligent, down to earth, fun, funny, and my very best friend in the whole wide world.  He is every other beat of my heart. 

Then there is Possum.  She is my husband’s daughter with his first wife.  I adopted her.  She’s 16.  She’s just coming out of that surly, angry, enraged, snotty teenaged angst.  She is also drop dead gorgeous.  She is growing more and more concerned about people and situations outside of herself.  She is very good at giving advise,  and the advise is usually very rational and down to earth.  She is smart, funny, fun, down to earth, snotty,(OK she didn’t come out of everything) and every inch an almost 17 year old girl.  I’m kinda proud of that.  I’m happy to have been part of every minute I got to spend with her.  And like every good mother, I’m already beginning to develop my selective memory regarding her teenage years.  (bless my mom’s heart, she tells me all the time what a good kid I was!!!!!  LOLOL  even I know better than THAT!)  She is rapidly turning into a beautiful, self confident, independent woman.  It makes me very proud.  It also makes me want to drop to the floor, grab her leg and beg her to stop growing up right this minute! 

Next we have Buddha.  He is my grandson.  His mother is my daughter with the man I lived with before I married my husband.  He’s 11.  He grew three pants sizes in two weeks.  You think I’m exaggerating.  I’m not.  One second he was a size 10 slim.  Five thousand dollars worth of groceries(ok, now I’m exaggerating) and two weeks later we had to go out and buy him all new clothes.  Size 16.  REGULAR!!!!  WTF????  I thought all that banging in his room was him pretending to be a rock star or something.  Turns out it was him growing!  He is very smart, with a sly, dry sense of humor.  He’s thoughtful, but if you tell anyone, he will deny it.  He is incredibly handsome, tall, built like brick shit-house but hides it under baggy clothes like all the other boys his age.  We laugh at the stoopidest things.  We make up stories like….Remember when we were kids and we lived in New York and our mom used to take us to Yankee games?  It’s crazy but we like it and it makes everyone else look at us like we’re nuts.  Makes it even funnier.  He is turning into a thoughtful, sensitive, caring, sweet young man.  I want to grab his leg and beg him to stop growing up too. I’m going to start sneaking into his room at night and rubbing Crisco on his head.  Why, you ask?  Because, it’s shortning!!!!! LOLOLOL  I crack myself up sometimes!

Then there is Bella.  She is my granddaughter.  Also my daughter’s child.  Different father from Buddha.  She’s 8.  She’s too smart for all our good.  She’s 15 steps ahead of all of us.  She is as beautiful as an angel, and mean as a snake.  We like to remind people that the devil was the most beautiful angel in heaven.  You have to keep your wits about you around Bella.  She is the sweetest child on earth, until you make her angry.  Then God help you.  She has no natural stops.  And no indicators of when she’s mad until you get to know her…..well.  She is remarkably helpful.  She helped me allllllllll day once.  When I finally stopped shaking, dried my tears and crawled out of the corner, I called my mom and apologized for helping her when I was little.  They call Bella Red Jr.  I’m not sure why.   >looks at ceiling all innocent like<  She likes to hear stories about the old days and what it was like when I was young.  She is interested in finding out about everything under the sun.  She writes songs and sings like a pro.  Bella is funny, and sweet, smart and tough, and her sense of humor mirrors mine.  Nuff said.

And last but certainly not least we have DeeDee.  Our puppy.  She’s an insane clown puppy.  She’s a nut.  She’s adorable and smart.  She covers her face with her paws if you say daddy farted.  She puts her toys away better than the kids.  Her toilet habits are far and away better than the kids’.  Except for that butt licking thing.  I’m trying to break the kids of that but……….lol  just kidding.  She sticks her nose in the air if you tell her she’s rich.  She thinks she is a kid just like the rest of them and can’t understand why she can’t eat at the table.  Kinda makes me feel like an abuser when I put her food in a bowl and make her eat on the floor.  I fully expect to see her on the commode one day. 

So that’s us.  We’re usually pretty nice.  Stretched so thin we’re transparent most of the time.  Probably pretty much like you.  Last night we set up all the empty plastic bottles we’ve been saving (fifty some at last count) and were bowling in the hall.  You do that too, right?  ……..Right????

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Help!

March 31, 2007

I have this poem floating through my head and I can’t remember all of it and I have NO idea who wrote it.  I can’t find out what the rest of it is if I can’t remember the name of the poem, or the author.  Help me!!!!!!!  PLEASE!!!!  It’s driving me crazy!!!!!!  *sob*  This is what I can remember of it……..and I can’t guarantee that the words are even right but the gist of it is correct.

When you are home from the long road and the open sky

I wish it would be my house that you are passing by

I wish it would be my house where you would sit down

and tell your tales of the land and sea and the strange far town

Oh come you from the eastward, or come you from the west

Here’s good cheer to greet you and welcome of the best

Oh come you with your pockets full or come you home poor

Here’s a place by the fireside and an open door.

You’ll tell me where you’ve been since and the things you’ve seen

Up and down the wide world where so long you’ve been

………………That’s all I’ve got.  But there’s more….something about a storm……….criminy!

Anyone?  ANYONE????????????

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Dr. Seuss was just outside my house!

March 27, 2007

I’m having one of those days.  Those blah days.  Everything is slow and dim.  I’ve got no energy.  I can’t focus on anything.  I’m sitting in my lazygirl recliner when I happen to notice movement outside of the large window light next to the front door. 

For those of you who don’t know, window lights are those long narrow windows that flank the front door on older houses.  I’m taking poetic license here, using that term, but it’s my blog world and I can do that if I want to, so Nanny Nanny Boo Boo! 

I look outside and what do I see?  The truest Dr. Seuss stack of stuff I’ve ever seen in real life.  It’s all based on a rocking chair, followed by an ice chest on wheels, etc, etc!  It’s rocking back and forth, it’s teetering, it’s tottering, it’s dittering, it’s dottering!  And leaves are falling all around it.  Am I dreaming?  Am I hallucinating?  Are all those bad choices I made in the 70’s coming back to haunt me? 

I walk to the door, open it and look up.  At the very tippiest toppiest of the whole thing is my grandson,  gently weaving back and forth, pulling leaves out of the rain gutter.  I was actually surprised to see that he wasn’t wearing a red and white striped top hat. 

He was retrieving the tennis ball.  The ladder leaning up against the tree 10 feet away never occurred to him.  (insert screwball face here)  I swear sometimes when I’m having a bad day these kids are the only thing standing between me and a coma.

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