Her wish is my command! I’ll admit, I cracked up when I re-read the entry, is that wrong?
Yay! Simon’s cat is back!
The others can be seen here, if you missed them first time around.
Before 9:00 yesterday morning, I:
1. Had to run out and herd the chickens back into the chicken yard. Half the damn flock got through a gap in the fence (on the church side of their yard) and the adults were smart enough to circle around the garage and try to get back in through the big gate (though why they didn’t just go back through the gap they went through in the first place I haven’t any idea).
The adult chickens were easily coaxed back into the chicken yard when I started tossing pieces of cinnamon/ raisin bagel on the ground (I bought cinnamon/ raisin bagels last week and then remembered I don’t like raisins in stuff, so set them aside for just such an occasion). The younger chickens were fairly easy to coax back in through the gap they’d gone out through, but Charlie. Goddamn, motherfucking Charlie, with her twisted up crippled toes IS AN IDIOT.
She flapped and squawked and ran away from me, and I had to chase her through the undergrowth between the chicken yard and the church property, and I later told Fred that if I get poison ivy from the experience, I’m going to go out there and wring her stupid fucking neck myself.
One of the featherheads (what we call our three fancy chickens with the poofs of feather on top of their heads) managed to get her head stuck in the fence while I was chasing Charlie, so I had to rescue her from the evil fence, and she repaid me by squirting a long stream of poo at me as she went squawking and flapping away from me.
I repeat: GODDAMN CHICKENS.
2. Coaxed Joe Bob out from under the duct in the back yard that runs between the air conditioning unit and the house. Tuesday, I was in front of the computer when I heard an odd sound coming from the front room. It was annoying enough that I got up and went into the front room to see who was doing what, and I found Stinkerbelle sitting on her cat tree staring at the floor.
“What the fuck?” I said, and then I heard the sound of a distinctly unhappy cat. It was coming from UNDER THE FLOOR, and I said “What the FUCK?”, and opened the front door and stepped out. I heard it again, this time from under the porch, and I got my shoes on and went around the side of the house and then I worried that perhaps one of the kittens had pried off the cover to the air vent in one of the downstairs rooms and was running around in the air ducts in the house, so I ran upstairs and counted kittens. They were all sleeping (and thus easy to count) and accounted for, so I went back outside and looked through the grate covering the vent on the side of the house (side note: there are vents on all four sides of the house, all covered with grates so, one assumes, nothing living can get under there and set up shop. This includes the porch – nothing can get under the porch from the outside, because it’s bricked off.). I could see and hear nothing. I opened the little side door leading under the house so I could look under there, but I was very wary about actually going under the house because (a) I wasn’t completely sure it was a cat I’d heard and (b) If it was a cat and not one of ours, I didn’t want it to claw my face off. Ultimately, I decided to just wait and see if I heard it again.
Meantime, I realized that Joe Bob was nowhere to be found. I called and called and he never came running – he’s been jumping the fence a lot lately despite the fact that he wears a collar because he’s an ASSHOLE – and finally I just went inside and waited to see what would happen. What happened was that I heard the sound of sheet metal moving around from right outside the computer room window, and when I went out to investigate, I saw Joe Bob’s nose sticking out from under the duct between the air conditioning unit and the house. I called him and he meowed pitifully, and then I backed off and he eventually crawled out from underneath and ran inside to eat.
Turns out there’s apparently a way under the house if you get under that duct, and he’d figured it out. I put an empty litter bucket in front of the dug-out spot next to the duct to block his entrance, and made a mental note to block it more permanently at some point. Of course, I didn’t, so yesterday morning when I couldn’t find Joe Bob and a minute later heard the moving sheet metal sound, I knew he’d pushed the bucket out of the way. I went out with some baby food to coax him out, then grabbed a cinder block from between the garage and workshop (What? Where do you keep YOUR cinder blocks?) and put it in front of the dug-out place so he couldn’t get back in there.
A few hours later, I heard the distinct sheet-metal sound from outside the computer room window and I was all “WTF?”, went out, moved the cinder block, and a minute later saw Maxi’s nose as she meowed pitifully at me. She finally squirmed out and ran inside to eat.
This time I did a cat count before I blocked the dug out area by the duct.
3. Vacuumed the house. I love my Dyson and I love seeing all the shit that comes up off my floors when it’s been two days since I last vacuumed. It gives me such a feeling of accomplishment.
4. Made Snickerdoodles for the pigs. Well. They were supposed to be Snickerdoodles (because I don’t like Snickerdoodles and so I won’t eat them when they’re meant for the pigs; chocolate chip cookies wouldn’t make it out to the pigs because they’d be residing IN MAH BELLEH) except I have the very bad habit of not reading recipes all the way through before I start them, so when I found that you’re supposed to chill the cookie dough and then roll each cookie in cinnamon and sugar, I was all “Fuck THAT, I’m not jumping through hoops for the goddamn pigs” and instead I tossed a big handful of raisins in the cookie dough (I think I mentioned I don’t like raisins in stuff, right? Well. I do like raisins in raisin bran, so maybe I should say I don’t like raisins in baked goods.) and scooped the cookie dough onto cookie sheets and baked them, and as far as I know, they came out just fine. I don’t know for sure, though, because I have no desire to eat any of them. The pigs seemed to enjoy them last night at snack time.
Why did I feel the need to make cookies for the pigs? Because we go out every evening after we shut away the chickens in their coops and give the pigs a snack and they’ve come to expect it, and we’re running out of chocolate and I didn’t want to haul my ass to the Russell Stover store. THAT’S WHY. Besides, a happy pig is a tasty pig, haven’t you heard?
5. Put many ears of corn in the refrigerator. Monday, I was sitting at my computer when I heard the sound of a horn in the driveway. I assumed it was the mail lady, so imagine my surprise when I walked out to see a couple of strange men getting out of a truck. I gave them the universal “May I help you?” look, and the driver of the truck came around the end.
“I know you have chickens,” he said, opening the tailgate of his truck. “I saw you sell eggs…”
“Oh, we don’t really have any eggs,” I said, assuming he wanted to buy some.
“No, no, I’m not here for that,” he said, and he pulled a big bag out of the back of his truck. It was filled to the brim with corn on the cob. “We have this extra corn and it’s too tough for us to eat, so I thought your chickens might like it.”
Instantly, I was interested. Our chickens LOVE corn. “Oh, they’d love it!” I said. “How much?” I was racking my brain trying to figure out how much I was willing to spend on a big bag of corn. I settled on a babillion dollars and not one cent more.
He looked off to the side and considered. “Well,” he said. “Um, free?”
My jaw dropped. “REALLY?” I squealed. He handed over the bag. I thanked him several times, he shrugged it off, and they left. I immediately called Fred to tell him about it, and he told me I should have asked where he lived, and told him we’d drop off some eggs later in the week. I hadn’t even thought of that, and I described the man and told Fred I was going to keep my eyes open when I drove to Closeville later and would let him know if I saw the guy’s truck anywhere.
And a couple of hours later, he showed up again with an equally big bag of corn. He seemed so embarrassed by my profuse thanks that I didn’t have the courage to ask where he lived. He handed me the bag, said “Well, it would have just been gone to waste, I’m glad you could use it!” and motored on out of there.
Living in the country is freakin’ AWESOME.
2007: My day in motherfucking pictures.
2006: No motherfucking entry.
2005: No motherfucking entry.
2004: No motherfucking entry.
2003: The motherfucking shit fit continued unabated.
2002: I guess I’d better keep these motherfucking babies to myself.
2001: Ever found yourself being a total unreasonable motherfucking bitch for no good reason, and even though you know there’s no reason for the bitchiness, you can’t halt it, can’t stop it, just have to sit back and let it happen?
2000: ‘Cause that’s just the kinda lazy motherfucker I am.