Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Rodney Dangerfield and me

One month ago
TC: I think that cow is pregnant.
Hubster: The only way to know that is to palpate her.
(For the rurally uninformed, "palpating" involves sticking a gloved arm inside the cow's nether regions. Obviously not a task one knocks off between other household chores. "Hey, while I'm waiting for the socks to dry, I think I'll go palpate that 1200 pound cow.")
TC: Well, I still think she's pregnant.

Three weeks ago
TC: I definitely think that cow's pregnant.
Hubster: The only way to know that is to palpate her.
Danger Boy: She's just fat.
TC: No, I really think she's pregnant.

Two weeks ago
TC: That cow is pregnant.
Hubster: The only way to know that is to palpate her.
ChopTop: Mom, you think every mammal is pregnant.

Ten days ago
TC: That cow is going to have a calf soon.
Hubster: The only way to know that is to palpate her.
FashionBug: Will you take me shopping?
Sasquatch: What's for dinner?

One week ago
TC: Well, the cow had a calf. Looks like he was born early this morning.
Hubster (after a silence while he picks his jaw up off the floor): What?! She was pregnant?
ChopTop: You mean you were right?
Danger Boy: Huh.
FashionBug: Did anyone know she was pregnant? Wait, we're not going to eat him, are we?
Sasquatch: What's for dinner?

TC: You know, I think that other cow is pregnant.
Hubster: The only way to know that is to palpate her.

Norman, born 9/1/09.

Friday, September 4, 2009

In which Skippy saves the day.

When one lives in the country, one must realize that, occasionally, one's home will be invaded by a creature that God never intended to be an indoor, domesticated pet. But then one gets used to having a husband around.

Later, one must realize that the ongoing critter invasion problem is compounded when one lives in a home with more holes, cracks, and crevices than a Happy Meal box that's been laying in a roadside ditch since Beanie Babies came with the cheeseburger. Our house's foundation is so decimated as a result of poor construction and the effects of weather, there could be a gang of homeless Amway salespeople living in there.

So we've had our share of crickets, bees, wasps, scorpions, spiders, and mice - the latter being my least favorite, and the animal most likely to get screamed to death by yours truly.

We've also been visited by skunks, coyotes, and copperheads, all of who seem to think they belong inside just as much as the husband and the mice. And these are the animals that make it necessary to have a dog to serve as an alarm system and protector.

Of course, you get what you pay for. Here's the dog we purchased at the StuffMart parking lot:
Skippy the Wonder Pug is cute and all, but I always figured the most he could do to protect us would be to eat crickets and maybe let an ant get lost in his wrinkles.
So you can imagine my surprise when Skippy actually alerted me to The Dangerous Thing that was recently lurking in our pantry.

Skippy's dining area is next to the pantry door, and he was just making a leisurely stroll over to his food bowl, probably hoping that someone had mistakenly dropped a carton of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey into it, when he spotted The Dangerous Thing peering at him with one of its monstrous eyes.

Well. To his credit, he didn't pee on the floor. No, Skippy jumped back several feet (which, in dog feet, was about 9 inches) and let loose with barking loud enough to wake the Pope or make a bear poop in the woods or whatever the analogy is. His call to action brought several of us running to the scene, with Danger Boy hoping that this would finally be the event that would call for him to discharge a real weapon upon said Dangerous Thing.

Our fear as we approached the pantry was almost palpable. And, here, my friends, is what we found:
That's right. Skippy was protecting us from a potato.

At least I can sleep soundly at night, knowing we won't be carbohydrated to death by a rogue spud.