We don't play nice...

I want to premise this story by stating that our little girls are very good with children and very well behaved in public.  That being said....

Last night the two little girls went outside to play last night in the dark and barked up a storm.  Grandma C. even called our house to let us know that she could hear them barking and she thought they were having a fight to the death, trying to kill each other (although Wes and I both knew better). 

We couldn't see much in the dark when we put them in their pen.  Well, we could see enough to know that neither one of them were bleeding, and that was good enough for us. 

Wesley and I woke up this morning to find a decapitated coyote head on our back door rug and a litter of dead baby raccoons in our yard.  I tried to ask questions but everyone has been very tight lipped on the situation thus far. 

I think its safe to say that "we" don't appreciate having critter infringe upon our space.  Remaining critters of Greenwood County, let this be a warning to you...

Ammendment

So if you read yesterday's post and correctly guessed the answer, I'd like to let you know there have been some changes to your prize package.  You'd get to take care of me, not my husband.  Gotta love these 24 hour killer bugs. 

I've been on house arrest all day with my two wardens, Loopie and Laurie, under strict instructions from Wesley not to let me out and keep pouring hot tea down my throat.... much like my instructions to them yesterday.  Paybacks really do suck - who knew?

A huge storm just rolled through 30 minutes ago and the one time I snuck outside today I got to see some of God's great work. 

Not only did I get to see my first ever full-arc rainbow, if you squint on the left side of this pic you'll see that this is also a double rainbow. 

Well done, God.  Well done. 

Game Time!

Let's play a game. 

I want you to guess something that has:

the temperament of a teething baby

the attitude of a teenager

the uncooperative nature of a mule during a parade

the whines of a newborn puppy. 

What does this all add up to?

If you guessed a sick husband, YOU'RE CORRECT!!!!

You're grand prize is a two day, three night stay at our home, taking care of the aforementioned husband's whiny butt! Congratulations!!!

Feel free to call and claim your prize at any time. 

Why I'll never be pretty

I must admit, I often get jealous of pretty girls.  I covet their knee-high boots, perfect hair and delicately painted nails.  True, I have knee-high boots too, but their are either mud boots or my good 'ol boots that I work cattle in.... and happened to wear when we married. 

But I digress.  Because I get jealous of pretty girls I decided that I should start painting my nails too.  Sure, I look a bit odd when lugging feed buckets across the yard to feed calves, I look a bit out of place when loading pipe onto a pickup bed to go build fence.  Nothing compares to this afternoon. 

I was seated at the rear of a cow laying in a pasture in the middle of nowhere.  I had previously been elbow deep trying to fish out two legs... preferably two front ones.  I found the necessary parts and exited her hindquarters.  At that moment I realized that I looked absolutely ridiculous with my once-perfect manicure and covered with afterbirth. 

I think I'm cured of wanting to be a pretty girl for the foreseeable future. 

Soooo Romantic

When Wesley and I started dating several years ago we still felt the need to act affectionate towards one another.  I was in Texas at the time and he drove 10 hours on Valentine's Day so that we could spend some quality time.  We butchered hogs together.  No joke. 

This Valentine's Day I hauled a calf to the packer so we'd have meat.  Also, we had another, much smaller calf break its leg and Wesley asked me if I wanted to skin it out.  He'd be kind enough to hang it for me. 

Seriously, guys, this is our life.  We don't try to be honky, sometimes it just happens. 

We're having a heat wave...

We have had an absolutely lovely winter for the most part.  In January I even turned off the heat for a few days and opened the windows in the afternoon. 

Today was not one of those days. 

We're currently experiencing a bit of a "chilly period" and, frankly, it sucks.  The ground froze absolutely rock-hard solid and it makes a funny sound when you walk over it.  And.... fun fact.... cattle recently imported from Georgia that have never walked on frozen ground before FREAK and blow through any sort of fence in their path when they hear the akward pitter-patter of their feet on this unknown-yet-must-be-dangerous-so-I'll-go-bonkers ground. 

Sorry for all the backstory.  I digress. 

Today the high is 24 degrees, sustained windchill of -6.  As I was walking along and re-clipping fence this morning, taking the occasional pause to beat my gloved hands on my legs to regain feeling I got a song stuck in my head.  Anyone ever seen "Grumpy Old Men"? 

"We're having a heat wave, a tropical heat wave..."

White Lightning

Last Saturday morning Wesley and I got up and got ready for our day.  He, fully dressed, went outside and started doing his feeding chores.  I wore my usual Saturday morning winter attire: shirt, sweatshirt, and white long underwear bottoms.  With socks, of course.

Its not that I don't care what I look like its just....

Wait, let's try that again.

I don't care what I look like.  It was Saturday morning, we live in the middle of nowhere (yea!) and we're married.  If that's not a trifecta of not unfashionable factors then I don't know what is. 

Wes called to say that there was a calf in my yard and I needed to run outside and get him back in - he was already blocking off one end of the road in his pickup.  Like any good rancher's wife I immediately dropped what I was doing, slipped on my mud boots and ran outside.  Running the calf in was not a big task, it probably took all of thirty seconds.  After I ran the calf in I started to walk back towards the house and I heard Wesley's evil, maniacal laugh.  I was so surprised because I usually only hear his loving and adoring chuckles (oh I crack myself up).

I turned around to find that he had whipped out his cell phone and was trying to take a picture of me.  Two options immediately flew through my head.

1) Find a blunt object and beat him to death, but there was nothing close enough.  Alas!

2) Find the nearest object larger than me and hide behind it.

The latter was still a tall order but I made a mad dash across the yard towards the fire pit I built last fall and hunkered down behind it till Wesley finally gave up on his photography project.

When he came in for lunch I immediately stole his phone and clicked my way through it till I found "the picture".  The entire screen was only a blur of white from my tookus kicking it into high gear.  Fear is an intense motivational tool when running... fyi.

And thus I earned the endearing nickname, White Lightning.

I am opposed to cheating

No, this is not a political slam against Newt Gingrich.  I'm not referring to any sort of political scandal.  I'm talking about something much deeper, folks.  Appliances. 

Men might not get me so much on this one, and its fine if you want to stop reading.  (Replace "power tools" with appliances if you must.  I can sympathize with you all the same on that subject.)  Women, I hope you'll share my sentiments. 

My mom was the craziest woman I knew growing up because she CARED about her washer and dryer.  It was my older sister's weekend chore to clean them and every week I would silently laugh and thank goodness that it wasn't me having to do that.  These days I carefully dust the outside and clean the inside of my washer and dryer so they're always spic-an-span.  For all the quality time that we get to spend together I like them to look their best. 

Last week my washer started to miss and sputter on some of its cycles.  When I explained the situation to Wesley he told me that I should probably just go get a new washer.  NEW?!?!?!?!  I thought back over the years and realized that this washer had seen me through 6 years, 3 states, 6 moves, 5 roommates and one husband.  Whew.  Too much history to just part like that.  I made several frantic phone calls and limped it back to its former glory and hard working self.  I plan on keeping my 17 year old washer for many happy years to come.  *Side note:  Some of you may be questioning if my affection for my appliances could also be contributed in part to my frugal nature.  You would be correct in your assumption.*

Last month my little sister sent me a text saying that my parents microwave had finally died.  Bit the bullet.  Kicked the bucket.  Gone to a better place.  .....Sigh.....  After 27ish years my parents are having to introduce this new item into their lives.  I go home now to visit and stare at the cupboard where our old trusty microwave used to sit.  Every time I silently purse my lips and shake my head.  Its just not the same. 

Like I said, I'm opposed to cheating.