Farmer H's "Trying To Kill Me" Plan Might Actually Be Working

Have I ever mentioned that I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me? I think that I have. His latest tactic appealed to my appetite. He brought home a cheesecake from the auction Monday.

"There's a cheesecake in the fridge if you want some. I paid $25 for it, because it was for charity."

"That's a lot for a cheesecake!"

"Yeah. But since it was for charity, I didn't mind. It's like a Walmart cheesecake. With the different kinds."

Farmer H himself loves cheesecake. We usually have it in the freezer, and take out one piece at a time to thaw or not. I don't care that he bought this cheesecake. It's his auction money. Didn't cost me (or us) a thing. It was generous of Farmer H to offer me some, though he almost always does this with auction food.

Farmer H ate a slice of the Strawberry Swirl on Tuesday evening. He skipped it on Wednesday night. But I tried a slice of the New York Style. This cheesecake assortment is only a 6-inch diameter. Not the full-size selection. So It was only a little bitty slice.

That cheesecake tasted off. I attributed it to me being used to the frozen version, not the refrigerator version. But on Thursday, I told Farmer H:

"I'm not eating any more of your cheesecake. So feel free to have whatever kind you like. I tried the New York Style on Wednesday night, and it seemed off. Now I have to poop. And it's not my pooping time. It's been about 21 hours since I ate the auction cheesecake."

Farmer H had no comment, other than, "Well, mine seemed a little off..." Then he ate TWO pieces! The Strawberry, and the Chocolate Swirl. I, myself, had been interested in sampling the Brownie version. But the roiling of my poop stomach dissuaded me.

We'll see if Farmer H suffers any ill effects. I just can't trust an auction cheesecake, which might have been at room temperature for a while before Farmer H's bid.

Don't Show, Don't Tell

The Pony is really having a hard time dealing with his second dog bite on the job. The physical damage has healed, but The Pony is apprehensive about a future attack. It will obviously take time to process the trauma. Hopefully, he will be able to move forward.

Farmer H got The Pony a gadget to carry along in his satchel. The Pony has the standard-issue dog spray that all new hires get in their packet of equipment. Some carriers say it's not as effective as they'd like. And profess that they carry bear spray. Or an air horn, which startles the dog away before it's close enough to bite. Of course, that's assuming you SEE it coming, unlike The Pony's second biter.

Anyhoo... this gadget is a little camouflage flashlight. When you look at it. But when you push the lever, it's a taser. Doesn't shoot out anything except a bit of blue squiggly lights, and emits an electrical zapping kind of noise. It is, indeed, a taser if it comes in contact with an attacker. 

Anyhoo... on our morning call Monday, The Pony said he had it in his satchel, and was going to ask a manager about using it.

"I wouldn't. They might tell you it's not allowed. Then if you used it, you would be in trouble for insubordination. Better to have it, hope not to use it, and apologize after the fact. I hardly think you'd be in serious trouble for defending yourself while being bitten. Maybe a reprimand or suspension for a couple days at most."

The Pony didn't say anything to that. I don't know if he mentioned his new gadget or not. But he DID give it a test run at the house where dogs rush the fence, gnashing their teeth and barking when he goes by.

"It's the house where one jumped over the fence one day, but ran off before I got there. This thing works! When it made that noise, they shut up and backed away from the fence. They didn't like the sound."

"Good. So you know it can be effective. It's not like you're chasing down dogs and jabbing them with it. Noise won't hurt anyone. Nothing for the owners to complain about."

I hope this gadget will give The Pony a little peace of mind for now. He is seeing a therapist about the issue, with hopes that it will help.

Ain't It Just Like The Wind This Time To Hit Me From Behind

Hillmomba was supposed to get severe storms on Tuesday afternoon. Starting around 4:00. I really meant to get to town a couple hours early, but that didn't work out. So I was coming out of 10Box at 3:45, when I almost fell flat on my face. 

I had just parked my cart/walker by the front door, for some other person like me to take inside. It's closer than walking to the new cart area once inside. I even had the closest handicap parking space. But a gust of wind came from behind me, and nearly knocked me down. 

Everyone knows that Mrs. HM is not a dainty person. She's sturdy. If Jame Gumb, the villain from Silence of the Lambs, decided to make a skin suit from Mrs. HM's flesh, he would need to take it in. Were she more spry, Mrs. HM could hold her own with an NFL offensive lineman. 

THIS WIND WAS STRONG!

I had seen on the morning news that this storm could contain large hail, 60 mph wind gusts, and possible tornadoes. Thank the Gummi Mary, most of it went north of Hillmomba, or had dissipated through the day. But that wind gust was no joke!

I held onto the concrete base of the metal sign designating that parking space as handicapped. The wind whipped my lovely lady-mullet almost from my skull, and blew my shirt all willy-nilly, though thankfully not over my head.

The Pony was heading back to the office then to clock out. And Farmer H was already at bar bingo. When I got home, some rain had just started. Jack and Scarlett were in a frenzy. Copper Jack was wise enough to stay home.

Oh, yeah. I stole that title from a James Taylor song lyric. [YouTube, 4:04]

Like Living With A Grown-Up PigPen

Farmer H doesn't quite walk around in a cloud of filth like Charlie Brown's buddy PigPen. But it could happen any day.

Monday, Farmer H had proclaimed that he wouldn't be home, because he was going to an auction that starts early. Of course I knew this meant that he WOULD be home, because that's what always happens. I won't expect him, then he comes barging in and scares the Not-Heaven out of me.

I had laid down for my nap at 2:00, with my alarm set for 2:30. When you only sleep 3-4 hours a night, that half-hour can make a difference. At 2:25, I was awakened by random thumping, then a slamming noise. I figured it was Farmer H waltzing about on his footless stumps, but was puzzled by the slamming. Without even turning over to look, I said,

"Of course you're home to wake me up. What happened to 'not coming home?' And what are you DOING to make that slamming noise?"

"I've BEEN home, HM. I fixed my mower again, and mowed over in the field. It's about an hour until I leave for the auction. And that noise was the toilet seat sticking to my butt when I stood up."

"I TOLD you I hate that toilet seat! It always does that! It's not heavy enough. But at least it's not shaped like a funnel like the other one."

"Oh, bullhocky! There's nothing wrong with that toilet seat."

Because obviously, my opinions don't count unless they mirror Farmer H's opinions. Anyhoo... once he cleared out of the Mansion, I got up for my shower before going to town. When I walked into the master bathroom, I recoiled in horror.

SOMETHING WAS ON THE TOILET SEAT!!!

Of course I jumped to the conclusion that it was poop. Farmer H has a history of that, you know. But when I looked closer, at the stuff all over the front half of the toilet seat, I saw that it was blades of grass and leaf particles.

What in the Not-Heaven???

I suppose that while Farmer H was mowing, stuff flew up and got on his pants. So when he stood up from the toilet and pulled them up and fastened his belt, the particles fell off onto the toilet seat.

Was it wrong of me, for a split second, to imagine that Farmer H had been out in the yard, dragging his rumpus across the grass like a dog?

SO Glad I Don't Like Pepper Jack Cheese

Farmer H went to a birthday party Sunday evening, on his way home from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). It was for one of The Veteran's daughters. Farmer H ate a little bit of food there, and did not require a full supper when he got home after 5:00. I pointed out that we had some of the sliced cheese assortment left from our Easter feast, in case he wanted some cheese and crackers. He said he might, later.

Around 6:30, when the NASCAR race Farmer H was watching ended, he stood up from his recliner, and announced, "I have to pee." Then proceeded out to the front porch. You know. Because the outdoors is one big toilet.

Anyhoo... when he came back in, he started to the kitchen, where I had set out a pack of Ritz Crackers, and a plate for the Pepper Jack cheese slices. That's what Farmer H prefers, over the Swiss and Colby Jack. 

"Um. You might want to WASH YOUR HANDS, since you just came in from peeing off the front porch."

Farmer H grunted, and went to the kitchen sink. You know he would never have done that if I hadn't made a comment about it.

Seriously. It's not like he could pretend he had a hands-free urination. I must remain ever-vigilant with my nagging.

Terror In Hillmomba!

Friday as I started home from town, a truck pulled out from a side road. There was a car in front of me, and we both had time to hit the brakes. That truck looked quite a bit like SilverRedO. It headed out the road towards the Mansion. OVER THE CENTER LINE!

I was talking to myself, saying "Please don't let that be Farmer H!" Because that driver was obviously drunk, or having a medical emergency. It proceeded past the prison, drifting over the center line, reaching speeds up to 45 mph. The legal speed limit through there is 55 mph. 

Going over the long high bridge, that truck was in the middle of the road! Straddling the center line. Then it signaled to turn onto our county blacktop road. Great. At least I had discerned that the color was not cherry red like SilverRedO, but with an orange tint, like a truck that I've seen in our enclave. Not much solace there, but at least it wasn't Farmer H.

Sweet Gummi Mary! That truck STOPPED in the middle of the road, a few hundred feet onto the blacktop route. AND a black truck was approaching from the other direction. I stopped. What else could I do? I didn't want T-Hoe to be rammed from a collision. 

The black truck and I sat there. Not moving. Waiting. Then the red truck went forward, FAST. But not moving into its own lane. Right at the black truck! At the last minute, it veered into its own lane. The guy in the black truck, an older man sporting a pointy gray beard, dropped his two right-side tires off the pavement. No shoulder on that road. He was taking a chance with that couple-feet drop-off. But it was better than risking a collision with an idiot.

I watched that red truck turn right onto a gravel road/driveway where a new home had been built. And then immediately turn left INTO A YARD of a ritzy brick home! Made a circle through their yard, and came back out that gravel road/driveway. I was lucky to get T-Hoe past it before the driver pulled back out onto the blacktop road. 

It was a 50-something woman, with long gray hair. I'm assuming she was drunk. Not quite old enough to assume Alzheimer's. And a stranger to the area would not have been on the side road where she pulled out. Seemed to be someone who kind of knows the area, but changed her mind.

In T-Hoe's mirror, I saw that red truck drive down the WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD to the sharp curve before access to the county lettered highway. 

A lot of guardian angels were apparently on duty this day.

Almost A Good Deed Not Gone Unpunished

Yesterday, I mentioned how I had finally made an appointment at the lottery office to cash in two scratcher winners that are too large for a store to redeem. How Farmer H had been nagging me to get this task done.

Well. Today I returned home to see Farmer H mowing the front yard/field. He drove the mower onto the carport to come talk to me as I got out.

"You'll never guess what I got out of the mailbox today."

"Oh, no! How much do we owe? Who is suing us for what?"

We've had some recent issues with situations that are not our responsibility. But it doesn't keep people from trying to squeeze blood from a non-responsible turnip.

"Oh, it's not that. But I got a notice for jury duty at the time you scheduled to cash in your tickets."

Further interrogation revealed that Farmer H was confused with the calendar. The ticket appointment was actually a week ahead of his jury duty. So no big deal. 

It wouldn't have been such a problem anyway. I could cancel the lottery appointment, and mail in my tickets in time. But if Farmer H missed his jury duty, he could be held in contempt of court, and fined, or had "other sanctions imposed." Which I take to mean arrested and held in the county jail. 

Don't worry about Farmer H. I will make sure he shows up for jury duty.