Monday, March 30, 2009
So, I had a bout of insomnia this week. This is a cruel thing, since I have two babies and never get enough sleep anyway. At three in the morning, both kids were sound asleep and where was I? Watching "King of the Hill" on Adult Swim. My mind was full, and I was too antsy to sleep. Three nights in a row "King of the Hill" was my only friend. I watch this show every afternoon with Barrett, since we both enjoy it. Of course I was thrilled to get an extra dose at an ungodly hour.
We watch all the animated shows here: "The Simpsons", "Southpark", "King of the Hill", "Aqua Teen Hunger Force", "Robot Chicken" and my husband watches "Family Guy", but I hate it! In one "Southpark" episode they suggested that the writers for "Family Guy" are actually manatee and I suspect they are right. I'm sorry to alienate any of my three readers, but "Family Guy" is just not that clever. It's not!
Why do I love "King of the Hill"? I love it, because Peggy Hill is the best television character ever created. She's a substitute Spanish teacher who can hardly speak Spanish. She does things like write a paper for her thirteen year old son, and then get angry because he received a "b". Peggy Hill's claim to fame is that she is the state boggle champion. She is constantly seeking acceptance, only to be disappointed. I relate to her awkwardness.
My favorite episode is when she gets the job as the "helpful hints" columnist in the local paper. The first hint that she comes up with is to mix bleach and ammonia to make a stronger cleaner (Ammonia and bleach yield toxic chlorine gas, in case you didn't know). She figures out what she has done after the paper has gone to print. The next morning she decides to go buy and steal all of the papers, so that no one can read her mistake. Oh, that Peggy!
Peggy's witty sayings:
"They're always in the last place you look, because once you find them, there's no reason to keep looking."
"Would you please tell Boomhauer that Swiss cheese is not Mehican, it is American."
"My rose-colored glasses are off and the world looks flesh-colored and unappealing."
(Peggy's rejected ideas for "musings":) - Lots of cookies will make you fat. - Thank goodness for plexiglass. - Sunburn, too much of a good thing. - Nothing is dirt cheap, because dirt is free. - Give a donkey the chance and he will bite you in the ass.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Later in the day Jason comes in and reports that one of the goats has escaped.
Me: "What? How?"
Jason: "I don't know"
Jason spent three hours driving through the nearby creek bed and the surrounding pastures. No sign of her. We removed a fraction of a 2 by 4 hanging from a post that we assumed the goat jumped onto, then onto the roof of their living quarters, and then to freedom. We figured that this would eliminate the possibility of the other goat escaping.
We went to town and bought sweet feed, hoping to attract our wayward goat back to its new home. I was hopeful. When we returned home, the second goat was gone too.
Me: "Are you sure she is gone, Jason?"
Jason: "Yes, I am sure."
Less than twenty-four hours since I had gotten the goats and they were gone. Their pen consisted of five-foot "cow panels" about the best fencing that money can buy. They still escaped. The pen where they were being held at the place from which we purchased them was not nearly as well constructed, or as tall as the confines we had made for them. So, we were falsely confident that they couldn't leave.
It turns out that the goats had been allowed to roam free on 160 acres. They only came up to their former owner's home to eat at night. They were never handled, except to be moved. They were only penned to be sold...to morons like us. From what I have read....... a bit too late, you can't keep a goat unless it wants to be kept. The tame goats are bottle-fed from the beginning and identify their owners as family. These goats were wild as hell. They will not likely come back. I have hope that they will assimilate into a nearby cattle heard, so that they will survive. It's a terrible thought, but a lone goat is no match for a coyote pack.
I feel responsible for them. I feel terrible that they got out, and that I failed at keeping them safe. Fortunately they escaped before I had time to become emotionally bonded to them. We will only by newborn goats from now on. I am still getting some baby goats within the next couple weeks. I have a twinge of hope that my wild goats will be returned, as every farmer within twenty miles has been made aware of their existence.
Antonio, my beloved rooster, has been missing since Saturday. The ornery little turd went down to the creek bed (beyond our property) and has not been seen or heard since. He is too dumb to run from anything. He used to challenge my 100 pound dog, so I fear the worst for him. All of my other poultry is accounted for, but not him. It's not as much fun collecting eggs without having to fight off his attacks with a stick. I miss him.
The only reason that I agreed to move to the middle of nowhere, without a Target, or Kohl's within a reasonable drive was because I was promised lots of animals. I wouldn't care if my chickens stopped laying eggs tomorrow. They are my pets. I wouldn't care if we never yielded as much as a drop of goat's milk. I would just like to have a goat that I could call my friend. We have lived on our property for almost a year, and we are still learning a lot about having a hobby farm. Even though I am down about the loss of my goats and my rooster, the farm lives on. My bevy of hens are still in the yard eating bugs. My elusive barn cat is still lurking....somewhere. My dogs are still hunting mice in the woodpile. The horses are still soliciting me for treats. I hope that one day Jason and I will sit around and laugh about our first year on our little acreage and all the things that went wrong.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
I adore him. Despite:
- the food flinging
- furniture climbing
- shrill screeching
- dog chasing
- dish breaking
- magazine shredding
- clawing my face
- biting my butt (he's done it more than once, people)
- grabbing the dog's weiner
- throwing himself on the floor and screaming bloody murder
He's quite charming and a constant source of entertainment. It's a good thing, because it more than cancels out all of his naughtiness.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
We have a new vehicle in our "collection". We call her Super Turd. Jason bought her from a farmer down the road for $200.What a steal! He has put $100 into her and she purrs like a...a...bobcat with rabies. Another farmer offered us $800 for her. Who knew we could turn a profit on this beauty? Jason doesn't want to sell her, though. We have a shortage of crappy vehicles here.
This is our vehicle roll call:
- 2 Vietnam era military jeeps (one runs)
- An 80's something Jeep Cherokee that is lifted to the sky. AKA: Jeepzilla (runs)
- A very rare 1968 Jeep Gladiator (This one is fully rebuilt, but is in aprroximately 185 pieces. Guess whose name is on the title? mine)
- A 2000 Jeep Wrangler.It's lifted, has a bunch of bells and whistles, and is actually worth more than $1000. Why do we own this?
- A 1991 Chevy Suburban. It is actually in premo condition. It's our "grocery getter".
- Super Turd...eh whatever she is.
There is an old Jeep truck that my husband has been eye-balling, and it goes up for auction next month. Dear God, Please let someone with a really deep wallet show up and way out-bid my husband.
Gee, a comic book collection seems like a great hobby now, huh?
Monday, March 9, 2009
Last night we went to the Oklahoma City Thunder game. It was a good time, except the fact that I spent half the game trying to figure out what in the world the mascot was supposed to be. We had good seats and he was all of twenty feet away, but it was still baffling. He lowered from the ceiling, in a dramatic fashion, right before the game. My reaction was: "What the f*&4@ is that? Teen Wolf?"
Turns out he is "Rumble the Bison". That was what a sign indicated "This way to get Rumble the Bison's autograph". Jason wouldn't let me go get his autograph, though. Party pooper.
Tell me you don't see the similarities.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
The crazy thing is that this Vietnam era Jeep actually runs. My husband bought it for sixty dollars. Lucky girl am I to find such a savvy collector of vintage vehicles (sigh). Oh, my baby always did want a car farm.