humor

What’s Important!

Share a lesson you wish you had learned earlier in life.

Wouldn’t it be a gift to be born knowing the opinion of one’s peers mattered little? So much of the angst of learning your way would be relieved. Often, a person wastes that time unlearning the basic rules learned as a child. Kindness, empathy, and decency may be discarded in pursuit of fun, friendship, and ambition. It’s good to mature and be authentic.

Mice Tales

I confess I once committed a grave sin. When my son was in the sixth grade, he had a science fair project. For once we planned ahead. His premise was “Sugar makes mice hyperactive.” We purchased eight white mice, dividing them into two cages. One group got sugar. The other didn’t. John monitored each groups activities for a few minutes daily.

There wasn’t much to watch. During the day, the mice mostly burrowed under the shredded paper in the cage. Some days later, it became abundantly clear there had been plenty going on under that shredded paper. Little mice started slipping through the wires of the cages to cavort around.

Horrified at the population explosion, I shut the experiment down. “These mice have to go! Hurriedly, we gathered up both cages of mice to put them outdoors till we came up with a solution. Fortunately, the babies scurried back to their mamas.

Providentially, a neighbor kid stopped by as we were pondering what to do. By this time John was thoroughly tired of the whole problem. “What are you gonna do with ’em?” he asked.

I don’t know but we can’t keep them in the house.” I answered.

Heaven smiled. “Can I have’em?” he asked.

I didn’t think twice. I didn’t tell him to call his mom. “John, help Stevie take these mice home.”

I hope I can one day be forgiven.

Favorite Foods

What are your favorite types of foods?

I love comfort foods. My favorite meal is home fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, small green lima beans and corn cooked together, and biscuits. Since I know it’s bad for me, I only cook that meal on special occasions. I also like brisket, marinated till tender, cooked at about 340 degrees till it’s fork tender. I suppose my favorite foods are home cooke. We rarely eat out since my cooking is to our taste.

Broken Arm

Grandma lived near the Gulf Coast with my Aunt Cookie, Uncle Riley and Cousin Barbie. The long drive to their house was covered in crushed shells rather than gravel. Apparently, it had just been resurfaced, making it a bit challenging to maintain your footing, especially in areas where shell filled deep holes.

Barbie was one lucky kid. An only child, she never had to share. Her parents had never introduced the concept. Any time one of us approached a toy, she threw a screaming fit. Aunt Cookie and Uncle Riley backed her up, wishing we weren’t so selfish as to make precious little Barbie scream.

I’d never seen so many toys as Barbie had in her toy room. There was no furniture, nor toy box, just wall-to-wall toys, piling up along every wall and extending up a couple of feet in all four corners. There wasn’t a bare spot on the floor. After we’d tossed things around a few minutes, we’d even have the door blocked. A great deal of the time, we’d just be on a treasure hunt, digging up one amazing find after another. Billy would hold an incredible toy he’d just excavated and Barbie would run shrieking to try wrench it from his grip. Meanwhile, I’d unearth another jewel, causing her to abandon her earlier quest. We usually kept her running and screaming till she exhausted herself. Cookie would give us “the look” and hustle poor caterwauling Barbie off for some cuddling and consolation time. Cookie was always trying to stave off Barbie’s athsma, While Barbie slept it off, we partied.

On this particular day, while our nemesis slept her fit off, we prowled around and found a tiny, red bike with training wheels stowed in the garden shed. The hard rubber wheels were barely six-inches in diameter. It still sported training wheels. It was barely used. Cookie and Uncle Riley were wildly overprotective of their little angel and likely hid it after Barbie tipped over a time or two.

Billy, an overgrown eight-year-old, was far too big for the minuscule bike, but he gave it his best shot. He knees nearly bumped his chin as he tried to pedal through the deep shells in the drive.He bogged down as he struggled to move. Grandpa sat on porch dourly watching. “Boy, you’ gonna fall off an’ break yore alarm!”

Billy didn’t bother to answer, just struggled on. Bless Pat, if he didn’t dip into a hidden hole, take a dive, and lay howling on the ground. Sure enough, his arm was broken. To this day, he’s disgusted.

Dog’s Life in Photos

Croc in his bed in living room

Izzy’s bed in living room

Izzy on bed. As soon as I make bed he scrambles to put all his toys back on bed.

Croc giving me attitude. It’s 315 pm and he can’t eat till 400 pm.

Run?

How often do you walk or run?

I run if I see a bear, Freddy Kruger,a mudslide, or a Tsunami coming my way. I walk to get where I need to be. That’s about it.

The Wit of the West: Amusing Cowboy Anecdotes

More than anything, Bob wanted to be a cowpoke. Taking pity on him, a rancher decided to hire the lad and give him a chance.

“This,” he said, showing him a rope, “is a lariat. We use it to catch cows.”

“I see,” said Bob, trying to seem knowledgeable as he examined the lariat. “And what do you use for bait?”

A cowboy was giving a tour of the ranch to a bunch of dudes. One lady asked “Have you ever had an accident?” The cowboy replied “No.” She said “You mean to tell me you’ve never been hurt as a cowboy?” He said “I broke my arm when a horse throwed me, I got run over by a cow, and I’ve been snakebit.” She said “And you don’t consider those as accidents?” He said “No, I think they done it a-purpose.”

“If yer in the corral and one of yer amigos gets bucked off, everybody rides over to see if he’s alright. If he’s alive you start tellin’ the story right away! If he’s dead, you wait a couple days!” ~ Baxter Black

“I speek many languages you know, French, Italian, and Thousand Island.” ~ Hank the Cow Dog

A cowboy is giving a talk to some school kids explaining that everything a cowboy wears has a purpose. He says, “Now, my hat is shaped the way it is to keep the sun off my face and the back of my neck and if my horse needs a drink I can use my hat to scoop him up some water”…..”Any I pull this bandana here that’s around my neck up over my face so that I don’t get dust in my eyes and nose when I’m trailing cattle”…. A little boy sitting in the front row says, “How come you’re wearing tennis shoes instead of Cowboy Boots”? The cowboy smiles and says, “That’s so folks don’t mistake me for a truck driver”… 

An English Gentleman was traveling in the US, and came to a large Texas ranch. Walking up to a cowhand, he asked,”I say, my good man, is your Master about?” The cowboy looked him in the eye and said “The SOB hasn’t been born yet!” 
Paul

Leader?

Do you see yourself as a leader?

There is no need for me to be a leader anymore. I am retired. I am part of a two person team. We are both in charge.

Night Terror

My young John’s imagination was wild.  All through the day he was a superhero vanquishing monsters and besting villains, feared by evil-doers, all.  Sadly, even superheroes have to sleep in the dark. When he was quiet abed, he could feel them creeping out of the shadows, coming for him. Every night, I kissed him, tucked him in, and checked under the bed and in the closet to show him there were no monsters.  

Switching off the light, I’d leave the door ajar.  Soon the light would flip on and I’d hear,a little voice at my ear. ”Mommy, I’m scared.”

Back  to bed we’d go,  me assuring assuring him there was nothing hiding in the dark.  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.  After a few trips, I’d enlist Bud’s help.  Eventually, fatigue would overtake his fear and he’d drift off.  

I’ve never been a good sleeper. Every time I awoke, I’d peek in on the kids to make sure they were covered and cozy.  One memorable night as I tiptoed in to check on John my toes squished in something cold and wet, not a good feeling for a dog or cat owner.  

“Crap!” I said, an expletive and likely description of what was squished up between my toes.  I hobbled on my heel, toes in the air, driving a spire into the heel of my other foot.  Dropping to my knees, I landed on a firetruck. Even in my agony, It was identifiable as a fire truck by the siren and flashing lights.

By this time, John was screaming in terror at the invading monster. Bud stormed to the rescue, flipped on the light, ready for action, only to find me me on the floor, PlayDo between my toes with a jack stuck in my heel.

It turns out, my adventurous  son had gotten up and constructed traps for monsters about his room. PlayDo  mounds were scattered about the carpeted floor.  Metal jacks, cars, trucks, and all manner of wheeled toys encircled his bed.

Only a winged assailant could have gotten to him.  Needless to say, it took a while to figure out what was going on and get the terrified little boy settled back in.  

My throbbing foot kept me company till morning.