Since it is a holiday and the lists are
somewhat quiet, I have a story to tell.
I am sure I am not unique in what I have to
say, but I am equally sure I am not the only "jonnie come lately to realize
this"
So for my uniformed sisters, and the dudes that
I like that may not be on to it, here it goes.....
Girls, know how to get your "significant other"
to do all your horsey stuff? Not clean tack, or groom, that is easy, but to
clean the stalls, the pastures, move hay, fill in pot holes, trench, mow the
weed infested fields?.........
Buy the guy a tractor! DANG........I should
have done this 15 years ago. Thanks to DeAnn Schnepple, who was wiser than me
and bought her hubby a tractor, then had to shame me because all I have done is
"talk" about wanting one, so to keep up with the Schnepples and to beat out my
neighbor I did some home work, went on my own to the New Holland Dealership and
bought hubby a hellava tractor and implements.
It was a surprise for his upcoming birthday,
and for that matter, every birthday for the rest of his life. He was truly
surprised when it was delivered.
Well, he had forgotten about his "train"
project, and his telephone company. And when I say this, I mean not an HO scale
Train, he is building the real Mc Coy, two semaphores, a search light that will
beam to Mars before it leaves, crossing arm, wig wag, and all this junk is going
to actually work, he has all the mechanics for it too.
And the phone company is an antique switching
station that he made three trips to Wisconsin to an old phone company and
brought back all the goods that clutter up my beautiful horse ranch. It also is
going to work off a switchboard in the house. Plus, he has a generator that we
could light up the entire valley with, and I ain't a kiddin, it is as big as my
Dodge Ram long bed.
Okay, so two members of the So. Cal Pan Am team
are going to stay with us next Sunday on there way to Trout,
Wa.
Well, this is like having Royalty come to
visit. Can't have a pasture full of llama and horse poop. Can't have any algae
in the water troughs, can't have black widow spiders peering out every inch or
two in the barn.
Just how does one woman get the place as near
perfect as can be?
Buy the old man a tractor and get yourself a
pressure washer.
Randy is so stoked to be a real "farmer" on his
toy that I don't have to ask twice for him to have an excuse to show up Bill,
our rich neighbor that doesn't yet have a tractor. evil
grin.
We now have a mountain of manure, which I will
put a rainbird on, and get nice and juicy with tons of big nightcrawlers like
you have never seen, and then make ten bucks a pickup load selling to the
hippies that are always pestering me for my poop, but are too lazy to shovel it
themselves into their 60's VW van. BTW, my S*~T is all organic, just what the
witch doctor ordered.
In the meantime, I am looking very busy myself
with my pressure washer. I am going to town on the Barn, getting all my lovely
Black Widow Spiders blown out with their webs and chitlins in the sack. I cried
when I had to stomp a few. I actually love the Black Widows. I like their MO.
So I am huffin and puffin every pass Randy
makes by me on the Machine. Acting like I am really working harder than
him.
Pressure washing is a blast......hey a pun
again, dang, I am getting to be a punster! I got my barn floor so clean I
could see my puss in the concrete, my kitchen floor should be so
clean.
Got all the murkey algae and frogs out of my
horse troughs, even they sparkled like fine rubber china.
Even bleached the troughs for the Pan Am team,
we don't want anything to happen to those horses, and especially at my place,
the house of horrors.
(gosh, I hope they arn't on RC, or they might
be passing me by)
All the bird droppings on the side of my barn
and all there happy little homes are gone! And I hope they know now that I mean
business! I just put the red nozzle on and it shoots a stream up and into the
rafters and all the feathers and fur and hay are gone!
I even got behind some of Randy's phone company
stuff and couldn't figure out what this yellow "rag" was doing stuck back
there.
Being quite the marksman with the pressure
washer by now, I angled the spray and the dang rag came flying out, first up to
the rafters, then smacking the concrete floor sounding like a piece of
leather.
I went to salvage it, and it was a good thing
the washer was on and the tractor working. I let out a girly girl scream that
would have made the neighbors call the cops, of which I don't need any further
contact, as most of you know.
It wasn't a piece of leather, or maybe it was,
but it dang sure weren't a rag. It was a petrified RAT!
EEEEEKKKKKKKKKKK! and that is putting it
mildly.
But I regress, ladies, every man wants to be
macho man at some point, get him a tractor, see how fast your place will look
great, and just when you think the thrill is about to wan, you look into his
beleaguered eyeballs and say in your most sickening sweet voice........That's
okay dear, I know you have worked for 48 hours straight, and I want you to rest.
Don't even worry about the lower forty. I will do it tomorrow while you are at
work, just show me how to turn the tractor on.
Oh man!! You want to see fear in a mans face,
just let him THINK you are going to try to run his toy. And when you are sweet
in saying it, he has no choice but to save face and be sweet back and say,
Honey, like Emmett in the South, we don't let our womenfolk do heavy machinery,
you just go into the cottage and make sweet tea.
Har Har Harrrrrrrrrr. Works everytime. Men are
so easy, really.
Happy "Labor" day. yuk
yuk
amber
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