Stuff happens, and when it does, I’ll post it here.
I was thinking about suburbia the other day. If you go back far enough–pre WWII ought to do it–you find that most of today’s suburbs were farms. So is it really that weird for me to do a little farming on my little piece of former farmland?
Payback’s a Bitch
Ben came over the other day. He’s something of an acquired taste, one that I’m still working on, but he’s been Ralph’s friend since high school, so there it is. Ben, on a good day, is only good for about 3 hours work, and that was before he had that heart attack and the doctor told him to take it easy.
So he came over and sat himself down on the sofa. Missy, our younger dog, was curled up next to him, taking a nap. He tweaked her ear. She woke up and looked around, then went back to sleep. He messed with her ear again.
“Why are you doing that?” Ralph asked.
“Heh-heh-heh” Ben replied.
The third time he woke her up, Missy gave up and went into the bedroom to finish her beauty rest.
When she came out, Ben had just begun his, and slouched, snoring, on the sofa. She went over to the wood box, picked up a stick, and ran across the sofa.
Whack! The stick met Ben’s head and he woke up with a shout. Missy stood there, stick in mouth, grinning at him.
“Very funny,” he said, and closed his eyes.
She did it again.
“Damn dog,” he jumped to his feet. She ran to the end of the room and turned. This was way more fun than she’d expected. She raced towards him. He lunged and missed. Whack! She ran between his legs and got him on his shin.
“Payback’s a bitch,” observed Ralph.
We may have to change her name.
A neighbor stopped by today. Looked at the fence Ralph and his friend Hugh had built six months ago, right after we moved in. Knocked on the door.
“You have to have a permit to build a fence.”
“Yes,” Ralph replied. Why bother telling the guy that we not only got the permit for the fence, and the shed and took the permit out of the living room window after the inspector approved them four months ago?
“I don’t see it posted anywhere,” announced Mr. Eagle Eye.
“We got one.”
“Hmph,” Mr. Eagle Eye harrumphed. “Well, I may just have to call Zoning.”
“Knock yourself out,” Ralph replied, shutting the door. “Nice to meet you, too.”
I can’t wait to get chickens.