rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the tag “Humor”

BEWARE OF DEAD PLANTS

We are in the middle of a drought, or so the meteorologists are prone to declare. You see, there are various stages; no drought, dry, moderate, severe, extreme and exceptional.  Today, August 22, 2018, we are in a moderate drought not quite severe but mostly dry.  The locusts are not even chirping, they always make a lot of noise in the summer, but the crickets are, chirping and noisy and smelly. The trees are losing their leaves, called transpiring.

Most of the ponds around our rural area are drying up or already dry. Our pond is no exception. In fact, it did go completely dry about two weeks ago. We since had a little rain and a few inches collected in the pond. However, it is quickly shrinking. The geese are blaming me. In fact, all the animals are blaming me. The one that seems to enjoy this predicament the most are the pesky flies. No matter how hard I try, I cannot get them to at least move away from here. Go back across the fence where there are cattle with tails that swish.

 I try to keep the geese satisfied by furnishing them with kiddie pools. We have three Sebastopol geese and each has their own pool. They waddle through the mud and any remaining water in the pond, then immediately waddle into their kiddie pool and of course muddy the waters.

Then they waddle out and stand around and watch me empty the filthy water and wait, not too patiently, (geese have no patience) while I clean and refill them. I slowly lift the pools to empty. I say slowly, because last week I lifted one and discovered a Copperhead snake underneath. That will get your attention very suddenly. The geese were not very empathetic about the situation. They just want their pool filled.

 If I understand geese talk, the conversation went something like this, “OK, Dad, hurry up. What’s taking you so long? Can’t you see we are waiting? It’s only a little snake. Are you afraid of a little snake?” The answer is emphatically YES, all snakes and all sticks that look like snakes. And this conversation is over.

So, I’m letting the geese out of their pens this morning, I notice a small brushy thingy in the almost dry pond. It is moving ever so slowly, stops for a bit, moves a little more and repeats its maneuvering. Is it a snake? It is leaving a trail in the humidified, algae infested water, which causes more algae to grow and hide such creatures as snakes.

By now my curiosity is peaked. Should I go get the rifle and shoot the darned dead plant out of the water?  That seems to be an oxymoronic statement. Dead means dead, yet the plant was moving. (Well, everyone knows DEAD plants don’t move) Come to think about it, LIVE plants don’t move either. But snakes do move until they are dead.  Some even continue moving minus a head.

I stalled while I continued about the chores of feeding the chickens in the coops and the dogs in the kennels, neither of which seems concerned about snakes or dead plants floating in the few inches of water. They all have the same mindset as the geese. “Hurry up, they crow, cackle, bark, honk!”                                                         

I’m fixated on the dead plant. It continues to move ever so slightly. I go into the supply room and fetch my 22 rifle. However, I do not want to shoot until I know what is causing the movement. Then I pick up the rake and the shovel. One can’t be too prepared for dispatching a moving DEAD plant. Slowly I reach out to the DEAD plant with the rake. It has a long handle and I place the prongs around the thing and begin retrieving it to the bank. Suddenly, it moved quickly. So did I.

Well, the geese are watching from beside their kiddie pool, content to observe from a distance and not willing to help in the least, laughing in their honking way of conversing. They want their water changed. Most geese are extremely vocal about any unusual activity. These three weren’t the least bit concerned about my welfare. Occasionally, when a chicken misbehaves I simply yell, “Chicken Nuggets” and that usually will quiet them down. It doesn’t work with geese. I can’t wait until the rainy season.

All I know, is watch out for floating dead plants. There may be a turtle pushing it around.

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A Perfect Dad, II

As I post this, Father’s Day 2018, is upon us. Seven years ago, I wrote this to celebrate Father’s Day. Since that time I have become a Great-Grandfather to five fantastic children. The first four are boys with the last one being a girl.  What I wonderful feeling.  I am truly blessed. But so are the fathers of these wonderful kids.  I post this in honor of all the fathers in my family and everywhere.

While the great-grandsons are well past the “diaper” stage, the great-granddaughter is still in the midst of “change”. Obviously, the skills needed for girls are quite different than for boys. I am certain “Perfect Dads” have figured that out.

The children we father makes us fathers, the love we show them makes us “Dads”.

“A Perfect Dad”

I am a father of two daughters and one son, as well as a grandfather of four girls and two boys, AND a great-grandfather to a lad named Judah, A fine old biblical name. This year, I received my share of Father’s Day cards. As I read the little poem written inside one card, I could not help but feel very inadequate, for I am anything but a “Perfect Dad”.

Way back when my firstborn (she would dispute the “way back” part) made her initial appearance, I was based on an aircraft carrier in Japan and unable to be there for that ultimate experience.

Later, when my second born arrived, I was there, however, not allowed in the delivery room. I probably would have fainted anyway. She arrived with as much fanfare as did the firstborn.

I know for sure that I went through the burping, feeding, rocking phases, more so with the second child than the first. However, their mother attended to the diapering functions. You have to understand the times in which we were living during the early 60’s. Most men did not attend to such details. However, times, they were a’changing.

When children are born, they are like a piece of cloth. They sag in places, they have a lot of wrinkles, not much hair, at least not my children, and it looks like they were dyed red.

Wrinkled and red.  Skin so soft you’d think they were covered with silk. And everything needed support.

When my son was born, he was no exception. But, like I said, times were a’changing. Through a series of discussions (coerced, I’m sure), I was ready to accept my responsibilities of being a father. Except, my hands were not equipped to handle such difficult maneuvers. I was very deficient in providing this needed aid.

Later, when I felt I had acquired at least some of the necessary skills, I was allowed (?) to take on a few basic functions of caring for him. Feeding him at 2 A.M. was my first privilege. Burping him was another. Always have an extra cloth diaper handy for placing over your shoulder. Notice, I said “cloth diaper”. Disposable diapers had been invented some years before my children were born; however, they were not as prevalent as today. They were expensive, as well.  Thus, we used cloth diapers.

As my skills became more proficient, other responsibilities were given (?) to me. One task, though, was overwhelming. Considering the times when my poor child had to go around with a diaper halfway to his knees, it was obvious.

I laughed, not at the amusing sight, but rather at the very thought of my inexperience of placing the diaper on him in the first place. Of course, there were no instruction booklets attached to the “cloth” diaper. I often wondered how his mother did that. I think she wrote a book titled, “How to Change a Cloth Diaper,” which I of course, never read.

Intelligent as I am, I devised a special method for cleaning cloth diapers. (I’m not sure if I was the first one to use this method.) You simply place the used diaper in the toilet, and while holding to one end, very carefully, you flush. The way to do this is to use some sort of device to your nose or you may hold your nose with one hand, the diaper in the other and use your elbow to hit the flush handle.

However, when I received the bill from the plumber I surmised that the flush method for cleaning cloth diapers was not necessarily a proper decision of a “Perfect Dad.” But, trial and error will teach you the proper technique. It must be noted that “Perfect Dads” have a very sensitive gag reflex.  I often wondered if one could not use the same method for cleaning the child as well, but I was informed that it was not allowed.

Then, too, the cloth diaper method we used required two safety pins, one for each side. This was not easy. Making the folds while holding the squirming child down required a third hand, which I did not have. I never saw a third hand on his mother, but somehow she always managed to pin the diaper on the child without sticking the pins in his skin.

I might also mention that you need protective equipment, such as goggles when changing diapers on little boys. If I were “A Perfect Dad”, I would have known that. (I should have read the book!) As I said, times have certainly changed over the years. Child rearing in this day seems much simpler to me. How hard could it be to change a disposable diaper? Tape it on?

Fathers, Grandfathers, relish in this day. In someone’s eyes, you are a “Perfect Dad.”

My Dad has long since passed on but I recall a plaque I once gave him for Father’s Day. It was purchased on the spur of the moment, a last minute decision.gift.  It featured a pair of shoes with the inscription, “No one can fill the shoes of my Dad.” My Dad loved that small gift. He placed it on his table where he could see this everyday. He was my step-dad but the only dad I ever knew.

On this Father’s Day, take a few moments to reflect upon your father, even as you celebrate being a father. Know that our Heavenly Father is the one truly, “Perfect Dad”, who produced a truly “Perfect Son. God’s Word tells us to “honor our father and mother, that our days will be long upon the land that God has given us”. Ex. 20:12

“How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” I John 3:1

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY

June 19, 2011

NO Rooster Necessary

So the “Rancherette” arrives at the post office unannounced with two cardboard boxes of chickens for shipment to Oklahoma. Why these birds wanted to go to Oklahoma in the first place is beyond this Texan’s imagination. I mean no disrespect to the great citizens of Oklahoma, but the best thing ever to come out of Oklahoma was the musical, “Oklahoma”. I’m a sucker for musicals.  I love that musical and Shirley Jones singing. Then there is Mickey Mantle and Johnny Bench.  And I must never leave out Native Americans, the backbone of the state. However, it is not Texas, I’m just sayin’.  And I am now trying to dig myself out of a hole. Before I get mauled on social media, I maybe should change the subject.

As I was saying, the “Rancherette” is shipping “Mille Fleur D’uccle bantams and Silkie bantams to Oklahoma. These birds are show quality and are headed for distinction. “The Rancherette”, herself is a person of distinction and especially in the chicken world. She is an expert, knowledgeable and very professional at raising chickens. The “Rancherwriterpoet” is not a biased person, he is however, rather smart.

Well, she queued at the post office, (which one shall remain anonymous for fear of retribution from the USPS) to ship the birds. While waiting in line, several people were inquisitive about what was in the cartons. Never missing an opportunity to discuss chickens, the “Rancherette” was quick to respond. The conversation went something like this, “Chickens”, she said. And that was all she needed to elaborate about what was in the cardboard boxes. I venture to say, before she left the building, every person in the place knew so much more about chickens than before they came in. They also had in their little hands, “The Fuzzy Chicken Farm” business cards in case there should be any further dialog.

When she approached the counter, the clerk recognized her and mentioned how much she likes chickens.  The “Rancherette” mails all her chickens from this post office. As you might expect, the hens are cackling, I mean the ladies are talking chickens, when the clerk commented that she would like to have a few chickens so she could have fresh eggs but she did not want a rooster. She thought she needed a rooster in order to have fresh eggs. This obviously opened the door (to the coop) for a discussion about when a rooster is needed and when not. In her calm and mentoring demeanor, the “Rancherette” explained that a rooster was not needed for a hen to merely lay an egg. The clerk was dumbfounded at this information.

This is going to take a lesson in chicken biology at which the “Rancherette” is very well versed. I can imagine that the subject was covered in full explicit detail so I want further complicate your day by revealing those elements. If I did, this would need to be rated X. Needless to say, the line behind the “Rancherette’ grew longer as the seminar continued. I find myself wondering if there was participation from those behind her. There was certainly curiosity. I am confident that viable information was presented by a Master Professional and all went home having learned that a rooster is not necessary for eggs or you can buy eggs at the super market. I don’t believe they have any roosters in the back.

Next week, there will two more shipments of birds to some far away land like Idaho and Illinois. Idaho has potatoes and Illinois has the Cubs. The “Rancherette” can’t wait. She will be holding another tutorial at the same USPS facility. She anticipates another great discussion about chickens. Hopefully she does not have to repeat last week’s lesson.  The “Rancherwriterpoet” was not there for confirmation of this conversation, but the expression on the “Rancherette’s” face as she was relating this was hilarious. I found this to be very informative. If you can’t stand the cackling or crowing stay out of the coops.

IT’S COLD OUTSIDE

“Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, so sang Johnny Mercer and Margaret Whiting.  Other artists have recorded this song over the years. It is a Christmas song written by Frank Loesser in 1944. It is an interesting song and delightful to hear.  However, the message is concerning.

I awoke this morning to a chilly 39° out here on “The Fuzzy Chicken Farm.” Wasn’t expecting that. Yesterday it was near 80° and me out there sweating away while mowing the yard. But this is what you get in North Texas. After this past week at a Physicians Cardiology Symposium, for which the “Rancherette and the RancherWriterPoet” were the subjects of the focus group, I fell far behind in my yardly duties. It is amazing how quickly grass grows. With a rear view mirror on my riding mower, I could actually witness grass growing. The evening before the vicious return of the bitter winter, it rained. The grass sucked it all up. You know what that means.

So, on this cold morning, the baby fuzzy chickens, not used to this arctic condition (well, it feels Artic-y {new word}), were conveniently clustered together for warmth, like football players huddle.

baby chicks

These very young fowl have been hatched in an incubator and have no identity with a mother chicken. The “Rancherette” fulfills that role with much enthusiasm. She is the heroine on the Farm. Occasionally, her birthing skills are required to help the little chick crack open their egg and arrive in this new world right on schedule. Peering into the incubator is like choosing a pastry from a bakery window, so many choices. It is a smorgasbord of different breeds, sizes and shapes.  The “Rancherette” tends to each and every one personally and quite surprisingly, they respond. So on this cold morning, she is certainly like a mother chicken, protecting, hovering and cajoling her flock.

Not being sled dogs from Alaska, the kennel dogs weren’t too keen about racing into the cold air; however, the geese have no fear of such weather. After being released from their nightly quarters, they made a beeline (or is that geeseline?) straight to the pond.

heading for the pond Geese 1

 

Braving the elements, honking and squealing, they wasted no time diving into the icy water as though it was the middle of summer in Puerto Rico.

I, being the bus driver and handyman on The Fuzzy Chicken Farm, spend part of my daily time watering and feeding the flocks. And on this chilly morning, I feel much like those baby chicks. When the quarterback breaks the huddle, everyone scatters to their assignments. Me, I just wanted to stay in the huddle.

Monday will be in the 80’s and the grass will have grown to new heights. mowing the grass

 I need gasoline for the mower but, “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”.

I have it on good authority that the Physician’s Cardiology Symposium Report will be forthcoming this next week. Sure hope that doesn’t give me a chill.53321-Its-Cold-Outside

Stay warm, wherever you are.

Cardboard Boxes

Spring is springing and it is raining today. That’s ok, trees are budding, grass is growing, flowers are blooming, redbuds are beautiful, birds building nests and laying eggs, and our menagerie is fulfilling their destiny. The geese are nesting. Ahh, the geese!

They arrived in a cardboard box through the U.S. Postal Service about a year ago, this thundering herd of geese. Namely three Sebastopol goslings, which have since become like full grown Geese, two males and a female, depending on whom is making the assessment. The “Rancherette” presumes the opposite of my viewpoint. We are sure about the one named Indie, a gander and Shya, a female. I find it odd that a female goose does not have a specific gender name other than a “goose.” The one named Bailey, is the one in question, a “goose” or a gander? But it is a gender neutral name.

Regardless, they frequent our lives on a daily basis, honking, nibbling at the pants legs, flapping their wings in a not-so-subtle way of discouraging your presence or demanding your attention.

  flapping wings

They can untie your shoes, strip the cushion ties from the patio chairs, scare the bejabbers out of you and clearly intimidate you, all the while creating an atmosphere of amusement.  During the mating season, this becomes much more prevalent. You do not want to turn your back on these obstinate, two-legged, pillow-making waterfowl.  Things could get ugly in a heartbeat.

When they were younger they were trained to go into their pen on command. Utter the words, “Geeses, let’s go home” and they would immediately walk ever so slowly into their pen. Actually, they do not walk, they waddle. They stumble over any obstacle in their path, be it a pine cone or a tree root. But the going home part, not so much now they are grown. Resistance has become the norm. Hence, the pants-leg gnawing. We use a child’s rake to guide them home. They will wrest it from your hands, believing it is an orange-colored predator and will bite it to death. If your finger is substituted , they can gnaw ‘til it’s raw. They make excellent guard geese. We already have Poodle Home Security. Now we have a subsidiary company, as well, the Geese Patrol.

Much like the Postal Service, rain, sleet nor snow will not discourage them from their appointed duties, like  swimming in their ¼ acre pond no matter the temperature. They do not mingle with the chickens or dogs, although there is occasional  interaction between the pens. They are very curious birds and intent on observing everything you do.  Always watching, they do not miss anything. The kennel dogs roam freely throughout their portion of the back yard, taking care not to violate the demarcation line next to the fence that separates one from the other.

Alfie, our resident Airedale troublemaker, who has a personal relationship with hardheadedness, can report first hand the effects of encroaching too close to the fence. The other kennel dogs must have observed that infraction and thus, are very reluctant to repeat Alfie’s action. If you ask Alfie, she will show you her scars.

So, here on the Fuzzy Chicken Farm, there is an assortment of poultry and canines. Until the cardboard boxes arrived last year, it was a peaceful co-existence.  We still co-exist; however, it is a delicate arrangement. After all, they are the royalty of the Fuzzy Chicken Farm.

Spring is springing. Beware of cardboard boxes arriving in the mail. It could be a thundering herd of geese. Honk! Honk!

The Geese say, “Early Spring”

Well today is the famous (or infamous) Groundhog Day. This is the day when Punxsutawney Phil, from the city by the same name, burst forth from his lair after hibernating over the winter months. Supposedly, if he sees his shadow, the winter season will last six more weeks.  Of course, if he doesn’t, then winter is over and spring is forthcoming.  I’m here to tell you that the little critter from the north did see his shadow this morning.

Living here in North Texas is not the same as in the utterly cold Northeast or Midwest, but, I do not want to see any more winter. I bet my counterparts in those areas of the country are in agreement with me on this. I have a different method for predicting the forthcoming spring as you will see below.

These days, Punxsutawney Phil is treated like “royalty,” so says, William Deeley, president of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club  But when Groundhog Day first came to Pennsylvania, that likely wasn’t the case. “It was a social party,” Deeley says. “They basically got together and instead of him being the honoree, he was the entrée.” Yes, that means they “probably ate the groundhog,” Deeley clarified.

I don’t know about you but I do not fancy eating a groundhog (woodchuck), although I believe Alaskans living off the grid fancy these rodents as a delicacy. However, being raised in the piney woods of East Texas, I have been known to eat squirrel. So I guess it is appropriate.

Around our place in North Texas, we do not have groundhogs. I am thankful for that. No shadow-seeking critter for me. However, I do have an abundance of gophers. The critters have little mounds all over my yard.  Since we have nine dogs, seventy-five+ chickens, Sebastopol Geese AND numerous neighborhood free-ranging chickens, I am reluctant to put any chemical on the ground for fear of the animals ingesting the stuff and leading to their demise. So I spread repellant. It is supposed to help in the relocation of these animals. Doesn’t work. And in the rare case where it did help, the moles just seemed to like it even so.

I am wondering if I could convince a gopher to forecast the weather. Naaa…, but maybe one of our Sebastopol Geese? We have three of these beautiful birds. Adorned with their long feathers, they look like a bride in a wedding dress.

Three geeses

They have about a ½ acre to roam complete with a pond and other features to occupy their time. The “Rancherette” gave them names upon their arrival here at the Fuzzy Chicken Farm. “Indie”, for Independence, “Shya” for shyness, and “Bailey”, just because it sounded good. They are smart and know their names. When it is time for them to be put up at night, we simply call out, “Geeses, let’s go home”. They usually go straight into their goose house.

So I’m betting I could train them to predict the weather. Of course, they love cold weather and cold water, so this might be a challenge. Even in the middle of the last cold snap here in North Texas, (15°) they did not falter about going into the pond. However, it was frozen and about all they could do was to ice skate. But the moment the pond defrosted, cold as it was, they were smack dab in the middle, dunking their heads and throwing water over their back.

I’m going to work on weather forecasting by geese. We know for sure that Indie is a Gander (male) and Shia is a Dame, (female) and Bailey, well I am not sure. Sometimes the goose acts like a Gander and sometimes acts like a Dame.

Anyway, I decided that training them to prognosticate is not so hard. I laid it on the line yesterday that if a goose egg was discovered in their pen it would mean an early spring. Well, guess what? The very first goose egg was found this morning. Yea, an early spring.

Goose egg

The challenge for you is to determine which egg it is.

Forecasting weather is a complex and serious matter. It takes many years of study and dedication to get it right, most of the time. The longer one prognosticates, the more experienced they become. Take Punxsutawney Phil, for example, his knowledge dates back to 1887.

But geese have been laying eggs and hatching goslings since time began and certainly after the great flood. You remember, two-by-two. It stands to reason that laying eggs is in their genes. this can be used as a prediction for an early spring. We’ll see how this works out.

Interestingly, the young groundhogs are known as “chucklings” which is what I am doing about now. All this begs the question,

“How much wood would a woodchuck chuck
if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
A woodchuck would chuck all the wood he could
if a woodchuck could chuck wood!

None, he saw his shadow and scurried back inside his warm den.

Have a great “early” spring.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

I awoke this morning to a dastardly chill in the air. When I went to bed last night (long before the New Year arrived) it was 24° and expected to drop even further. Now my friends in the Northeast may be saying, “What’s your problem with 24°?” Well, I live in Texas where it is possible for one to experience four seasons all in the same day, depending upon which part of the state you reside. Me, I’m in North Texas and I can tell you we are in the winter season. It is cold at 24°.

So, when I did finally awake at the distasteful hour of seven a.m., the temperature had dropped to 18°. The weather prognosticators have this saying, “remember the five P’s. Protect People, Pets, Pipes, and Plants. Sounds like good advice to me.

Since out here on the Fuzzy Chicken Farm, we have a motley, hodgepodge, eclectic order of a pack of dogs, a gaggle of geese, and a flock of chickens, we must prepare them for a cold winter’s night.

Now the CEO of the Fuzzy Chicken Farm, i.e., “the Rancherette” , has some significant notions about the feathered friends. Of course these poultry participants are grouped according to their gender, (illegal) the color of their feathers, (illegal) their nationality, (illegal) and the number of toes, (I think illegal)). Because of the grouping, some (those that have crests that cover their eyes), require more attention than do others. (Probably illegal). Me, I just call them chickens and run the dogs.

The dogs are protected from the elements with indoor kennels and radiator type heaters. Earlier this week I wrapped all the outside pipes and placed the fragile plants in the garage, (except the pineapple plant, lost it to the freeze) and prepared all the coops with windbreaks so as to protect the birds from the wind chill. Inside the coop buildings are radiator type heaters that will keep the temperature above freezing. We have outdoor pens as well. These birds are of the more hardy breeds and require less maintenance. Their pens also received windbreaks.

So this morning, at 18°, the “Rancherette” and “the “Rancherwriterpoet” ventured out in the frigid temperature to soothe the birds, calm the dogs and appease the geese. Did I fail to mention the first two P’s in the order of P’s, was to Protect People? I wore long Johns (where did that name come from?), layered my clothing, put on my gloves, and set out to the task at hand, with the “Rancherette” tagging along behind me, saying, “It’s not too bad out here”. She is not native to Texas, she comes from a distant land, Memphis, I think. Tennessee not Egypt. They think differently in Tennessee.

Calming the dogs is a more difficult task. They run freely each day outside their pens and they like it when it is cold. They don’t want to come back to their inside pens, preferring to romp wildly about the back spaces. Of course, it takes them longer and I get colder. The geese are quite adapted to cold weather. They like to swim in the pond even at this cold temperature. I could not appease them this morning. They could not swim today, so they ice skated. But, I was cold. The outdoor chickens did not seem to mind the cold either. However, it was impossible for any outdoor animal to drink water this morning. I had to change out all the waterers due to frozen conditions. That made me even colder. I suppose if I had feathers or fur I might not be so cold.

The temp is expected to stay in the middle twenties until the latter part of this week and people will ask, “what’s going on at your place,” . To which I will say, “Oh, nothing much, I am cold.” To which my friends in South Florida will be agreeing with me. I can say, unequivocally, I am ready for the next season to enter North Texas. Winter has lasted long enough. In the meantime I will be lounging around in my long johns in the warmth of my recliner. It is a New Year, the sun is out this morning, and I hope each of you have a healthy, prosperous and A Happy year ahead.

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING

Christmas Eve, Eve! That’s today. Have you finished your shopping? Well, you are almost too late, but not too late to fight the crowds. Time is fleeting! As I write this it is 10:11 AM, here in Fruitvale, Texas. We have one convenience store, a Post Office and a small school. Oh, and a Laundromat. There’s not much to pick from for Christmas Gifts. Of course we could drive to Walmart in the nearest town, but that would involve driving. And there is that traffic problem and the crowds. And all the handicap parking spaces are taken. There is, however, a Whataburger next door.

I ventured to the internet shopping malls for my gift buying. Since the “Rancherette” and the “Rancherwriterpoet” share almost all their experiences together, it is nigh on to impossible to purchase a gift in secret. So I did involve her in selecting her gift for Christmas. She was in agreement with my choice.

After losing our former spouses to illnesses, The “Rancherette” and The “Rancherwriterpoet” first met in December, 2008. It was a bookstore romance, (another story). Sparks flew and one thing led to another and we tied the knot in May, 2009. So this will be our ninth Christmas together. Each season brings a challenge for me in selecting a Christmas gift. I have purchased the usual items such as chocolate, jewelry, fragrances, etc. and I believe she was pleased. But this year I am in a funk about that.

You know you have settled in to a married life when the husband purchases anything with a cord or tools for the kitchen as a gift, be it birthday, anniversary or Christmas. Far be it from me to attempt to purchase any form of clothing by myself. I can offer my advice as to what she might choose when we shop together but one has to be either a newlywed or married a lot longer than nine years to be so bold, otherwise.  Although a see-through piece of lingerie or negligee would seem to be a perfect gift. I’m of the opinion that these items would look good on her, just saying. A husband can live with tools for the workshop but it is unknown whether a wife can fully understand the gift selections from a husband.

So I ordered an “As Seen on TV” item for Christmas. I saw it on TV. She saw it too. We both agreed we needed that. I ordered it on December 14, with delivery scheduled for December 20th. As I said above, it is Christmas Eve, Eve and FYI, still no delivery. And now they say it won’t arrive until the second week of January. Backordered, they say. You can guess what I did. I canceled the item. But the “store” is closed and will not confirm my cancelation or get back to me until working hours on the day after Christmas. I ask you, is that any way to run a business? No!

So, I ventured again to the internet shopping mall. I found the exact same item at another “store”. At this “store”, they say it is in stock. I placed the order but too late to arrive before Christmas. No problem, I wasn’t expecting it that quick anyway. The good news is, I saved $7.47 cents, that is, when I get my refund from the other “store”. But my Christmas shopping is done. We will celebrate the gift exchange in January when the package arrives.

I am thinking, anything that has to do with chickens, dogs, geese, or travel trailers would have been an ideal gift for the “Rancherette”. But noooo, I bought tools for the kitchen. Hmmmmm, that see-through piece of lingerie or negligee is tempting. Ahhhh, just a fantasy.

Hope your Christmas shopping is complete. It is now 1:09 PM. Christmas Eve, Eve.

Merry Christmas

WHAT BUGS YOU?

In the wonderful world we live in, I have noticed several different varieties of bugs.In my latest edition of Cosmopolitan magazine, the term “fashion bug” is in Vogue, (pun intended). To be a “fashion bug” one must be up to date with the latest fashions. One could be described as a “Fashionista”. There are certain retail establishments that cater to “Fashionistas” or as I call them, “Fashion bugs”. They may not cure the “bug”; however, it is treatable with “medication”. This rarely attacks men.

fashionista

Another type of “bug” is the “Ladybug”. This is a petite little creature.  But it ain’t no bug. It’s a beetle. For my purposes, I’m calling it a “bug”. Of course, this is not the same kind of bug as a “Fashion bug”, in that there is no condition that needs treatment. I just threw this in for a little variety in my post.

lady-bugs-ladybugs-32773963-1800-1200

There is another “bug” in which you may be familiar. Youngsters of all ages have watched this movie star for generations.  He is the “Cwazy Wabbit”, Bugs Bunny, Elmer Fudd’s arch enemy. The “bug” brought many a laugh from me as I grew up. It was a wonderful time at a Saturday “pitcher” show to watch old westerns and Bugs Bunny cartoons.  Treatment for this “malady” is to sit through the Cartoon Network shows on Saturday morning.

bugs_bunny_by_rhibarb-d4o7cum

This time of year there is always the dreaded “flu bug” floating around. This is a difficult and sometimes dangerous “bug” to say the least and not a bug to mess around with. Get your flu shots.

The FBI and CIA and NSA and who knows what other government agencies use “bugs”. Of course if you’ve nothing to hide then there is nothing to worry about, (Or is there?)

If you travel often, stay in hotels, B & B’s, Hostels, then, you should know about to possibility of the dreaded “bedbug”.  This is not a subject I wish to spend any time writing about.  Just know that it is a “bug”. ‘Nuff” said.

There are bugs all around us. Day in and day out, bugs everywhere.  There is one “bug” in particular that I have been having a bit of a problem with lately. It usually begins late into the night, somewhere between the hours of 3 and 5 A.M. I awaken to the nocturnal urge of having to go to the bathroom. This happens when one reaches a certain age, (To be determined). That however is not the “bug” I’m talking about.

When I return to the bed and attempt to fall back to sleep, I am deluged with thoughts of what I need to be engaged in on the following morning or other things that take over my mind. The “sleep bug” avoids me and that bugs me.

awake-in-bed

This brings up the subject of the “Napbug”. What is a “Napbug?”  When the “sleep bug” avoids us during the night before, then the “Napbug” attacks. Usually in the middle of the afternoon and especially on a Sunday afternoon. You may try to avoid it however, it is a strong symptom and very difficult to overcome. You may wish to simply give in. I find one of the best ways to “give in” on Sunday afternoon is to warm up reading the morning paper in the afternoon. This puts one in the mood and gently persuades the eyelids to falter. Be sure to put the television on a golf channel. This is unlike a football or baseball game. The crowd does not cheer a lot. They whisper and this helps with the mood. A leather recliner is of upmost importance. The “Rancherette” is probably in her craft room and thus the room is quiet. If the sun is coming in through the blinds, then close them slightly. “Voila”, before you know it, the “Napbug” has completely taken over your body. It is like the “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”.

As I write this, it is not Sunday afternoon, there is no golf match on the tube, the sun is not shining, I do not have a leather recliner only a fabric type and of course the Sunday Morning News is not out yet. But, somehow, the “Napbug” is attacking. I must end this conversation. I have something to do.

shirtless-man-asleep-chair-illustration-depicting-recliner-61805417                 a_man_sleeping_in_his_recliner_snoring_loudly_royalty_free_clipart_picture_110523-050164-966053

Be careful out there, it’s a “buggy” world.

Pete Robertson                                                                                                                                           March 2017

LETTER FROM THE GOVERNMENT

This is not intended to be any type of political statement. I merely compiled all my tax information to send to my accountant for the preparation of my income taxes. I had this idea to write about it and it is meant to be a humorous article. Perhaps at this time of year, you may also get a chuckle from it. I hope you take it that way. Of course, if you have to pay any additional amounts, then you probably are not laughing. Sorry about that.

To the agencies listed in this poem, don’t bug my phone, don’t track my tweets, don’t publish my private information across FB or Instagram or the local newspaper. Don’t mention it to any television station and by all means do not send this viral on YouTube. Keep my name out of it. Thank you and I appreciate it.

Letter from the Government

I got this disgusting letter from the IRS today
Said I owed them money and soon I better pay
First of all, I ain’t so sure I owe them folks a dime
and what they took from me must surely be a crime.

I called The GAO about stuff their Office buys,
using all my money which ain’t no big surprise.
They offered no excuse and sent me on my way
They said that maybe it’s just time for me to pay.

The DHS is famous for the safety of the land
But they declined to help me with my simple payment plan.
They said that maybe I should call the DOC
But the DOC said not to bother, unless I pay a fee.

So I called upon the FBI to check for DNA
They mentioned I should maybe call up the CIA
The CIA then told me that my stuff is classified
Then they asked me what it was that I was trying to hide.

I hung up my telephone in case I’m being bugged
If I’m thinking otherwise, it’s possible I’ve been drugged.
It was suggested that I could call the DEA
But they’re known to share their files with the CIA.

I could keep this up all day and for many days to come
But all these folks in government, they all think I’m dumb
Like EPA AND FEMA or maybe FANNIE MAE
Then there’s POTUS and FLOTUS and of course the FAA.

And don’t forget the BEP, the most important one I know
They’re the ones responsible for printing all the dough.
Sirs, I need a little more to pay my past due tax amount.
That way the IRS can settle up my account.

ist2_5855720-income-taxes

Pete Robertson
Feb 2017

If you are so inclined you may check out this link to see where the government spends your money. It is a list of ALL (hopefully) government agencies that have a budget.I think you may be surprised at the length of this list.

http://ucsd.libguides.com/c.php?g=90902&p=584912

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