rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the tag “Writing”

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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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.

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.

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

RIP, DEAR PRADA

Yesterday was Father’s Day. It turned out to be an eventful day around our house. I received the customary phone calls and the usual assortment of Father’s Day cards. And I am so grateful for my children and grandchildren. So, thanks to all my family and especially to my “Rancherette” wife.    However, there was a moment of sadness yesterday. If you are a pet lover as we are, then perhaps you may understand. We have many animals around our home. Chickens, geese, dogs, and they all seem to cohabitate with each other, within certain parameters of course. We love each and every one of them. So it is with that certain sadness we grieve a bit over the loss of one.

Prada, a beloved standard poodle, lost her bout with cancer. She was two weeks shy of her 10th birthday. She was an exceptionally sweet dog with a like disposition. In all of her days, I never heard her bark. She never growled. If there was ever a dog that smiled, she was the one. She was shy, yet playful in her own way. Never a cross word with any other dog. She was small for her breed and never had puppies.  She loved peppermints as do all of our dogs. However, she was terrific at “helping” to unwrap the mint. When we let the dogs run from their kennels in the afternoon she would hang around in order to get an “extra”.  It was almost like a game with her. I’ll miss that.

I do not know God’s plan for animals. He certainly must have enough love for each. It is with a certainty that dogs bring about a sense of belonging in the world. They serve a purpose. In my life I have had many dogs and a few cats. I have loved each and every one and each has brought joy to my life in one form or fashion. The remaining dogs in our kennels must sense a loss in some sort of way. I suppose they grieve a bit as well. So this new day breaks and our lives continue and the days move forward.  This will happen again and again. I will never get used to it. RIP, dear Prada.

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

INSCRIPTIONS

Can you imagine sweethearts putting their initials inside a heart carving on the trunk of a tree? I believe that young people have been doing that since time immortal.  Perhaps, you have done that, etched your initials on a tree. It isn’t just for lovers. But it can be.

On occasion I confess to being somewhat of a romantic. A recent download caught my eye about writings on trees. I composed this poem for my own enjoyment and decided to share it on my website in honor of “The Rancherette”. I hope you enjoy it.

INSCRIPTIONS

Under the canopy of a weather-beaten old tree
stands an antiquated little wooden bench.
I sit serenely on this small resting place
studying the engravings on the bark of the tree.

I ponder the originality of those etchings
and wonder of the hands of these crafted designs.
It is a unique process that guides my thoughts,
mesmerized by the inscriptions of expression.

The impressive creations imprinted upon this trunk
were carved with great expectations.
It is the intuitive genius of the illustrator
to seek approval from the intended.

Immersed in the hush of my surroundings,
I am intrigued at the theme sculpted into the wood,
From my vantage point on this little wooden bench,
I derive inspiration and contentment.

My imagination runs the gamut.
Songbirds warble melodiously and pleasing.
Such creatures of tuneful sound and splendid beauty
should not remain hidden or dissuaded.

These charming feathered friends
submit that romanticism’s in the air
and from the little wooden bench
I perceive that love is written everywhere.

bird-singing

The carvings on this weathered tree of sublimity,
portray the many natures of relationships,
from the corny to the poetic to the sensual,
as I see it from my  little wooden bench.

tree-carving  Pete Robertson
i-love-you-heartFebruary 2017

The Travelin’ Fuzzy Band

I, being the bus driver for the Fuzzy Chicken Band concluded a bus trip this past Sunday with the band in Comanche Texas.  It was a two day gig with four performances.

 As with any trip we take, the bus must be prepared for the journey.  The “Rancherette” and the “Rancherwriterpoet” had packed their bags the night before. We typically wait until the last minute before departure to inform the Fuzzy Chicken Band. They get so antsy and uptight that we go to all lengths to keep them in the dark.  However, they must have suspected something was up. Probably it was the baths and blow dry the day before.

You could hear cackling cries of “road trip, road trip”.  Even the chickens who free range next door got excited. Their enthusiasm created more uproar around the neighborhood. Mind you now, the neighborhood fowl do not travel, except into the dog yard and that usually is not a good thing. Luka, our little rescue Italian Greyhound with a hitch in his get-a-long, can still chase down a free range chicken in record time. If that chicken cannot fly back over the fence, well, chicken nuggets.

All the band members were raring to go, except for Cowboy the Cochin. He was still miffed because I did not get him a new ride as he suggested last trip. He wanted to know, “what’s in it for me?”  “Ho hum, another show, another award”.   Reluctantly He agreed to go if I would program the satellite radio to his Bluetooth. Seems he is a huge fan of the Traveling Wilburys with Tom Petty and George Harrison. He loves “The End of the Line”.  You can listen here if you are so inclined.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwqhdRs4jyA

If you listen closely you can hear Cowboy singing along.

Well it’s alright, riding around in this Ford
Well, it’s alright as long as I’m not being bored.
Well, it’s alright doing the best that I can
Well, it’s alright as long as I’m pleasing my fans

Of course that’s Cowboy’s version. He’s got more but I refused to include any out of respect for my readers and of course, the Traveling Wilburys.

So bags were packed, the bus loaded, the first class quarters readied for the Fuzzy Chicken Band and the traveling music is ready on their Bluetooth.

They were fluffed and primped and ready for the big trip and of course the performances. This would be the first time for two performances each day in a two day show. The manager, AKA “The Rancherette” had them at their best. She gets the most from these performers. You should hear her at times. She cajoles them; sweet talks them, bribes them with treats and in general persuades them to listen to her coaching. Notice I said persuades; I’ll leave it at that. But me thinks she could probably coach a hockey team with her sweet demeanor.She  taking notes, I’m staying clear.img_7121

On Saturday, before the judging began, The Fuzzy Chicken Band made the rounds meeting and greeting the other performers. They met new friends, renewed old acquaintances and in general were on their best behavior.  It is really interesting when the band jams with other bands. They make beautiful music together. Especially since they all speak in different dialects and foreign languages. The little Cochin Sisters performed admirably. A couple of newbies made their first appearance and did well. The “Rancherette”  is always on the lookout for new talent for the Fuzzy Chicken Band. Cowgirl did her best in spite of Cowboy’s lack of harmony. I think Cowboy was still not on his game. Sunday brough about two more shows and Cowboy’s attitude was a tad better.

The accommodations for the performers at Comanche Crossroads were excellent. img_7114They were the best the Fuzzy Chicken Band had ever experienced for these poultry shows. The staff, Dwayne and Melody,  are to be commended for their first-rate adherence to perfection.They took very good care of the humans with free donuts, cold drinks and a genuine attention to detail. As the bus driver for the Fuzzy Chicken Band I’m always looking for free food. It is a sure bet the the manager, AKA The Rancherette” will solicit an invitation to the next show in Comanche. The bus driver seconds that motion. Cowboy, not so sure.

Well, the trip home was a quiet one. After four performances this little band was very tired. Cowboy kept his mouth shut, at least low enough where we could not hear his complaints. I’m thinking now that it could be because “Zorba, not the Greek”, did not make this trip. The two of them usually collaborate on a duet at least twice during the trip. The two newbies tried, but they are too young. Yep, that’s it. No duet! Maybe next time, Cowboy.

No rest for the Fuzzy Chicken Band. They have already begun rehearsing for the next show in Beaumont and looking forward to jamming with other bands. Hope they get it together before we travel and not while we are traveling. I’m keeping very quiet about this next trip. Do not want to start any hubbub with the divas or the divo.

The Fuzzy Chicken Band sends HAPPY VALENTINE to all. And especially to the bus driver’s best helpers.

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COUNTDOWN

There is something about the human race and time that intrigues me. Seemingly, we humans are always counting down for some event to take place in the future. Those awaiting a birth of a child face a countdown to a time that is somewhat difficult to determine, nevertheless, the countdown cannot come soon enough, especially for the one giving birth.

Those facing retirement count down the days until it arrives, then wonder how it happened so fast. The students in school count down until summer. Of course, the teachers are much more in the countdown mode than the students. Those waiting to experience graduation, whether it be middle school, high school or college, all count down until the fateful day. In each case there is a transition from one situation to a different development. The middle school graduate counts down to becoming a teenager, the high school graduate counts down to becoming a university student and the college graduate counts down to employment.

New Year’s Day finds most of America and the world enjoying the countdown until 12 A.M., although many cannot remember it the next morning.

I noticed that those in the know have advanced the doomsday clock to two minutes, thirty seconds until midnight. This is a symbolic clock that sends a message of nuclear oblivion when it reaches midnight. That particular countdown is unnerving to say the least.

This past year 2016, social media light up the airwaves with a countdown until the presidential election. It doesn’t matter for which political side you were rooting, it mattered when it was to take place. And the time arrived. One candidate surpassed the other. Certain individuals threatened to leave the country if a particular candidate won. The other side began the countdown as to exactly when that would happen. As I write this the countdown has to be reset each day for I have seen no exits from these personalities.

Then the countdown began until inauguration day. It arrived. Half the nation is happy and half the nation is not. I’m thinking someone should start a countdown as the when the two halves can come together on a common goal. Naaa, too much to ask. But God is in total control. His countdown is the only one that matters.

Until then I have it on good authority that the baseball season is upon us. As I write this, the countdown until spring training is 16 days, 13 hours, 39 minutes, 34 seconds and counting. http://www.springtrainingcountdown.com/#sthash.BcTqhy1P.dpb

Texas Rangers pitchers and catchers report Wednesday February 15. Opening day for the Texas Rangers is April 3, 2017 at home against the defending American League champions Cleveland Indians. 65 days 2 hours 43 minutes 35 seconds and counting:    https://days.to/until/mlb-season-opening-day

Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd.
Buy me some peanuts and cracker jack,
I don’t care if I never get back,
Let me root, root, root for the home team,
If they don’t win it’s a shame.
For it’s one, two, three strikes, you’re out,
At the old ball game.”

Songwriters: ALBERT VON TILZER, JACK NORWORTH

This countdown works for me. What countdown are you working on?

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