Mrs. Killdeer

Meet Mrs Killdeer. She is steadily bitching at me for taking her picture. Actually I got too close to her nest. She's very protective, and she was quite willing to try and whoop my butt. Ha ha! She is nesting on our driveway. The eggs are really hard to spot because they blend in with the rocks.

Mrs. Killdeer cracks me up because she deserves an Oscar for her performances. The broken wing act is the absolute best, and I swear she channels Katherine Hepburn. Such spirit and courage. Not afraid of me at all and definitely willing to face me head-on. I got close enough to take this picture, but she stayed right there. Griping the whole time and showing me her tail feathers. She was not going to leave those eggs no matter what.

We are very careful when coming and going. I can't wait to see these hatch, and I hope that we see the Killdeers nesting here for many years to come. Matter of fact, we may just add their name to the mailbox, so they can get junk mail, too!

Tears for Harley

Harley Lynn

February 9th 1999 ~ April 14th 2008

Yesterday was hard. So hard that I'm not sure that I'm ready to write about it. I'm going to try, but forgive me if it is a pathetic attempt.

I lost one of my beloved dogs yesterday. Harley hadn't had an easy time for about the past two years, but the light was still in her eyes. She was happy, and in spite of her health, seemed to enjoy our world.

Harley's weight had steadily increased, but we had not a clue why. She didn't over eat, and she had plenty of room for exercise. I thought she would start dropping the weight when we moved to the country.

Harley did become more active, but the weight didn't drop. At some point she threw her hip out of place while running. Medication treatment and it got better for a time, but her hips were never the same.

Harley's hair stopped growing, and she seemed to drink a LOT of water. Those symptoms along with the weight gain seemed to me to point to her thyroid. I had some blood work done on her and sure enough, she was hypothyroid. Started her on medication for that with high hopes.

She dropped weight quickly. This seemed to have no effect on her health, and just getting around was still hard. At times I would have to help her stand up. Other times, I would just look behind me and there she would be, struggling to follow us on our walks.

This past weekend she took a turn for the worse. We saw the light go out of her eyes, and it was obvious she was in pain. It was time to let her go.

My tears are for her. My love is for her, and I was blessed to have her in my life. She never gave up, and she always wanted to be with us.

Our black shadow, our little Har Har Harley Boo.

Dear God, please take care of her until we get there. Will you give her those snacks she loves and her favorite chewies. Just until I can do it myself. And please tell her that Rudy misses her. We all do.

Damon buried her underneath the oak tree out back...

Tears fall again...

Slept My Day Away

I slept ALL day. I guess I ran out of go juice. Does that mean I'm getting old, or I'm just lucky enough to be able to do it? Both of my kids were gone for the day, and the hubby was out piddling on the tractor. It was a peaceful way to spend my Sunday. Feeling a bit lazy, but trust me...I'll get over it.

I'm Chicken around Chickens

We were watching this show on TV, and it was about this guy that was hunting giant anacondas. Can you say DumbAss??? Anyway, he was interviewing this Amazon native that had supposedly come into contact with one. The native shot the B.O.B. (Big Ole Bastard) because it was eating his chickens.

Me, being a "DumbAss," asked my hubby if he had thought about getting some chickens.

"Ya know what? ....I have." replied my dear hubby in all seriousness.

(HUH??)

"I don't know anything about chickens, though. You'll have to handle the chicken stuff." he said.

"I don't know anything about chickens either, honey. I only gathered the eggs. I just remember my Grandma sending me into the chicken coop with a hearty, 'Tia Lynn, watch out for those chicken snakes.' "

If he thinks I'm going in a chicken coop to battle giant Anacondas aka chicken snakes, he's a bigger DumbAss than me.

So much for living off the land...


FYI to my readers and my other half...My hubby's not really a dumbass and anacondas are not chicken snakes. ah ha ha :)

Daddy's Girl and My World

This is my baby girl, and my reason for being. ha ha! She really is....

All boys that think they might want to take out my daughter, I'm putting you on notice. We go by the Daddy's Rules AND you might want to give a listen to that song by Rodney Atkins.



It's called....

Cleaning This Gun (Come On In Boy)

Come on in boy, sit on down
And tell me 'bout yourself
So you like my daughter, do you now?
Yeah we think she's something else
She's her daddy's girl and her mama's world
She deserves respect, that's what she'll get
Ain't it son?
Now y'all run along and have some fun
I'll see you when you get back
Bet I'll be up all night
Still cleaning this gun


Hee Hee!!!

Seriously though, she's adjusted to the country life pretty well. She has a boyfriend that we tolerate. He's a good kid (thank goodness), but her daddy still isn't on board with it. Neither is mom for that matter. I really would prefer that she still thought boys were gross.

For anyone that doesn't know, we went from a 5A school to a 1A. My kids have gone through culture shock, mall withdrawal, and for my son... girl withdrawal. LOL! Meaning he can't switch girlfriends every month. They miss their friends tons. A lot of the kids they have known since they were babies. I miss the little boogers, too. Homesick? Yes, sometimes.

My baby girl wanted to move out to the boonies, but I did have to ask her the other day if she would rather live there or here. She says, " Well, I'd rather live there, but only if I could pick up my school and move it." I guess we'll be staying.

Daddy's Rules for Dating My Daughter

Having a teenage daughter myself....
I thought these were pretty funny!

Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.

Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a 'Barrier method' of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five: It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is 'early.'

Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is fixing her hair, a process than can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge . Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with strong romantic or sexual themes are to be avoided; movies which feature chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi . When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

Finding Myself

Cliche I know, but that's what I'm trying to do. Somewhere in between changing diapers and getting the kids off to school....I lost ME.

In the very beginning of my blog, I said I didn't have any writing ability. It's true... for this moment in my life. It hasn't always been so.

Once I was creative. I started writing at a very young age. Poetry, short stories, diaries...it didn't matter. I loved it.

I was also born with a pencil in my hand. I drew.... A LOT!

I sit down now to create, and it's as though I have nothing to pull from. Is it always going to be this way? Have I lost every creative thought in my head, or am I just out of practice?

I'm hoping it's lack of practice that is the answer. The more I write, the more I paint...
It will just become more and more ME...