So I have this little long-haired dachshund named Joe-Joe. I call him the hairy weiner. (A short-haired doxie is a weiner dog, so a long-haired much be a hairy one, right? Of course.) The problem with Joe is he thinks he's a Pit Bull.
And, speaking of bulls.... Well, let me backtrack a moment. Joe likes to run off if given the chance. Problem is, the new house sits on a road in the country with a speed limit of 55 mph. Not good for a dog with exceedingly stumpy legs measuring about 3" total.
So Joe got loose and darted off like a bat outta Hell. I'm screaming for him to get back (yes, there's a lot of screaming to be had in the country) and all of the sudden, he darts right under the barbed-wire fencing to the Longhorn Bulls.
Did you know that if a dog goes running and barking at a young, smaller calf that the big GIANT HORNED bulls will rush to defend it? Me either. Now I know though.
Joe, being a smart dog, felt his ass pucker all the way up the length of his long, stretched out dachshund body. Now Longhorns are tall, lanky things, so imagine their legs running after Mr. Three Inch Legs (that sounds like a title for a song...Hmm.)
The bulls have their heads down, aiming those long, long horns right at Mr. Stumpy who is high-tailing it as fast as he can, but it's really no contest. B tells me to go inside and make sure the kids don't walk out in time to see a Joe Kabob. I panicked just a bit at the visual and scurried inside.
Joe's saving grace ended up being his height, or lack thereof. The bulls' noses were longer than Joe's height so they couldn't get the horns down low enough. By the time B got out into the field (Of COURSE it was a rainy day), Joe was hunkered down in the dead grass, praying and whimpering to the doggy-gods. The horns were sliding a mere inch over his body. It was a close call, to say the least.
The bulls shooed off as B walked up to Joe, and from the window, I swear I saw Joe french B in thanks. B denies it.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Ruling the Roost
As most of you know, I now have a rooster. I had him in my mudroom at the other house and he stayed all the time in a large dog crate. Now that he has an entire backyard to play in, he's dang near obnoxious. His name is Rupert.
And he thinks he's human.
Off of the master bedroom we have a patio room. It's like a sunroom - all windows all around. Of course, we're in the country now and it's PITCH black outside at night. With the patio light on, I can't see into the yard.
Whenever I would smoke, I'd go out into the backyard to light up and I'd walk around and talk to Rupert and Choxie (the mini-pony). They followed me around, loving my stories and thrilled to being spoiled by this whacko-chick as I fed them treats while out there. Well, apparently Rupert is to the point that if he hears my voice at ALL, I MUST be talking to HIM.
I was sitting out on the patio talking to Shari on the phone. It was night, I couldn't see out, and just yakkin' it up and blah blah blah. Out of the blue, this SLAMMING vibrates all the windows. I crapped my pants then went outside to look at what was thrown against the window. There sits Rupert, cocking his head to one side and staring at me. The crazy freakin' rooster had body slammed the window trying to get in!!! I muttered, went and sat back down and figured, well, it's glass. Maybe he thought he could get in, but now he knows better.
Ha.
Five minutes later, when my heart-rate had finally gone back to normal, SLAM!!! I go back outside to shoo him away and he's sitting under the window literally shaking his head. My crazy-ass rooster almost knocked himself stupid. Man. But he hasn't done it again since. He may be a slow learner, but he's a learner, nonetheless.
Well, the younger two kids have a room "downstairs". It's this great big giant room that we used to put all the boxes in at first when we got here. We call it "downstairs" because you have to go down like two-three whole steps. We're weird that way. I sent Carly down there to get me something, and she starts screaming.
I'm thinking, "Good grief, NOW what?" B was on shift, so I'm home in the dark country with kids by myself - no telling what I was going to have to deal with. I ran to the door, three other kids right up my butt following me, and stop dead in my tracks.
There's Rupert.
Inside.
Apparently the door had come open from the backyard. He'd used boxes like steps til he was perched up on the highest one, so I was basically face and face with this big, honkin' rooster staring at me, content there with the heater on and giving me this look like, "Whatcha think YOU'RE going to do about it, lady?"
Well, I didn't KNOW what I was going to do about it! I was a good 20 feet from the backdoor and the idea how to shoo him out! B had picked him up once. I'm standing there as Rupert stares at me with one eye (he always looks at me from the side... bugs me to no end) and trying to remember what all B had said. Thinner than he looks - all those feathers are really nothing. He put the wings between his index and middle fingers to keep him from flapping around. Okay, okay. Right. Finally, I just GRAB the damn bird.
He's squawking. I'm freaking. His wings are flapping a mile a minute, his little talons just a flinging in the air like he's running on the wind. I'm running for the back door so that if I drop him, at least I'll be close to it to shoo him out. Well, the kids were standing near there and here I come at them running with a squawking, flapping pissed off rooster at them, so THEY all start screaming and squealing and running in different directions.
I get to the backdoor and toss him out.
Then I called my mother and cried. She laughed and called me an idiot. I felt much, much better after that.
And he thinks he's human.
Off of the master bedroom we have a patio room. It's like a sunroom - all windows all around. Of course, we're in the country now and it's PITCH black outside at night. With the patio light on, I can't see into the yard.
Whenever I would smoke, I'd go out into the backyard to light up and I'd walk around and talk to Rupert and Choxie (the mini-pony). They followed me around, loving my stories and thrilled to being spoiled by this whacko-chick as I fed them treats while out there. Well, apparently Rupert is to the point that if he hears my voice at ALL, I MUST be talking to HIM.
I was sitting out on the patio talking to Shari on the phone. It was night, I couldn't see out, and just yakkin' it up and blah blah blah. Out of the blue, this SLAMMING vibrates all the windows. I crapped my pants then went outside to look at what was thrown against the window. There sits Rupert, cocking his head to one side and staring at me. The crazy freakin' rooster had body slammed the window trying to get in!!! I muttered, went and sat back down and figured, well, it's glass. Maybe he thought he could get in, but now he knows better.
Ha.
Five minutes later, when my heart-rate had finally gone back to normal, SLAM!!! I go back outside to shoo him away and he's sitting under the window literally shaking his head. My crazy-ass rooster almost knocked himself stupid. Man. But he hasn't done it again since. He may be a slow learner, but he's a learner, nonetheless.
Well, the younger two kids have a room "downstairs". It's this great big giant room that we used to put all the boxes in at first when we got here. We call it "downstairs" because you have to go down like two-three whole steps. We're weird that way. I sent Carly down there to get me something, and she starts screaming.
I'm thinking, "Good grief, NOW what?" B was on shift, so I'm home in the dark country with kids by myself - no telling what I was going to have to deal with. I ran to the door, three other kids right up my butt following me, and stop dead in my tracks.
There's Rupert.
Inside.
Apparently the door had come open from the backyard. He'd used boxes like steps til he was perched up on the highest one, so I was basically face and face with this big, honkin' rooster staring at me, content there with the heater on and giving me this look like, "Whatcha think YOU'RE going to do about it, lady?"
Well, I didn't KNOW what I was going to do about it! I was a good 20 feet from the backdoor and the idea how to shoo him out! B had picked him up once. I'm standing there as Rupert stares at me with one eye (he always looks at me from the side... bugs me to no end) and trying to remember what all B had said. Thinner than he looks - all those feathers are really nothing. He put the wings between his index and middle fingers to keep him from flapping around. Okay, okay. Right. Finally, I just GRAB the damn bird.
He's squawking. I'm freaking. His wings are flapping a mile a minute, his little talons just a flinging in the air like he's running on the wind. I'm running for the back door so that if I drop him, at least I'll be close to it to shoo him out. Well, the kids were standing near there and here I come at them running with a squawking, flapping pissed off rooster at them, so THEY all start screaming and squealing and running in different directions.
I get to the backdoor and toss him out.
Then I called my mother and cried. She laughed and called me an idiot. I felt much, much better after that.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Small Update
Manohman, still in the middle of the move and I only have five seconds to borrow a computer and give a small update. Bad news: Still moving stuff from old house to new house. I think it's a never-ending thing. Bad news: two weeks without internet SUCKS so hard I should orgasm from the strength of it. Good news: Farm life is providing me all kinds of little stories to share with you all. Good news: I should be back online in a day or two - on DSL. Should be interesting to see the difference between that and cable that I'm already so used to.
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