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[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

Two cans and a firecracker

In 2006 we returned to the Rogue valley after eight years of living in Florida. We had found a beautiful house just outside shady cove atop a hill with a few acres of rolling landscape. The house was perfect for doing one of the thing we love doing most, having family barques. This was one of times. The shopping was done, the beer was cold and our guests began to arrive. 

There were in laws and friends, kids and adults the plenty. Being that the house was on a hill and it was backed by state owned land it made the prefect place to do a bit of shooting before the festivities began. The men and young boys of the group quickly scurried outside to try out each others guns and have a bit of entertainment. 

After awhile my wife came out to announce the ladies were all going shopping for a bit and they would take the younger children with them since “I burned down the back yard” the last time I was trusted to watch young children. You burn down one backyard and you never live it down. I sighed with fake disappointment that I wasn’t allowed to babysit all the kids.My boys were old enough to fend for themselves during any of my disasters so they got to stay. I gave her a kiss and she was off and we were back to shooting shit. 

After awhile it was determined that the shooting needed to stop and the BBQ and beer drinking needed to begin. While loading up his guns my friend rob pulled out this odd round plastic container with a bright neon orange label on it. It said “CAUTION EXPLOSIVE MATERIAL” on the side of it.

 He asked me “Do you want to see a big bang before we start grilling?”

I smiled and responded “I aint be knowin what dat is but if it blows up, I for want to see it do that”. (This is best said in a backwoods Virginia accent)

Rob smiled back and said he was going to set it up. In the mean time, I started getting the burgers ready and light the grill to warm up. A few minuets into my meal prep my sons ran in and called me to the back porch to see the fireworks thing go off. I grabbed my beer and headed that direction briskly. I love fireworks, especially the ones that explode. 

The sun was just beginning to set and darkness was overtaking the light. It was a delightful spring evening.  Upon my arrival Rob pointed out in the pasture. He said “I put the Tannerite between two can out there between the two oak trees” I scanned the area looking for two beer cans with a firework between them. I saw nothing. Rob raised his rifle to sight in the explosive device and looking down the barrel I saw his target. It wasn’t two tin cans...It was two 5 gallon metal can of deck stain!

I quickly asked where they found these “cans”  and the group responded with a resounding “In the shed”...Well the only cans in the shed were full of Kerosene. I just began to express my concern when I heard the shot go off. Rob hit center mass and the Tannerite EXPLODED!!..Well I’ll be dammed the label didn’t lie. 

This wasn’t a fire cracker this was more like C4. The tannerite went and with it so did 10 gallons of compressed kerosene. I was like a nuclear explosion. A fire ball the size of a small house expanded outwards incinerating all the grass leaves and low lying foliage. I stood with jaw wide open as the blast wave shook the entire house and heat passed over us like a strong wind. The giant fireball rose up through the trees turning what leaves didn’t instantly blow off into ash. The fire ball shot upwards of 40 feet turning the dusk into bright daylight. This was the single largest explosion I have ever bared witness to. This was not fun, this was dangerous.....OK so yeah it was pretty fun. Hehehe.

Everyone watched our small nuclear devastation come to an end with cheers and laughs. No one was hurt...well, no one but the two now lifeless oak trees that now stood sadly black and charred in the pasture. The house was well shook but nothing broke. So while I had no doubt that my wife would not have approved of this type of activity, she was unaware of these events and needn’t be bothered with such trivial information. 

I talked with the boys a moment and let them know that mom wouldn’t be interested to hear about this so it would be best not to bother her about it. I’ve learned that when it comes to children it’s best to guide them through these type of events in life, lest they want to tell the whole damn world about things better lest unsaid.

The ladies returned a moment later as the burgers were just finishing up. Everyone was just getting settled into eating when we saw a red and blue flashing light coming from out driveway area. “Who could that be?” my wife exclaimed just as the doorbell was rung. She jumped up and got to the door before I could even move...”Damn, this can’t be good.” I thought.

As I arrived at the door were two fine officers asking my wife about a possible gas line explosion. My wife responded with “No we haven’t seen anything”. I smiled impishly and hoped they would just move along with that answer. Nope, no such luck. The officers then went through the list of calls they recieved by about a dozen citizens ranging from our own neighbors all the way to Shady cove 3 miles to the north of us. These call ahd pinpointed the catastrophic explosion to our property. 

With a big sigh and a guilty look I explained to the officers the events that had led them to my doorstep. Although I had a dozen accomplices while committing the act, I stood alone at the door, and by alone I mean the only known guilty one. My wife looked fist in amazement as I spilled the details of our exploits then in anger as she realized it had slipped my mind to mention even the smallest detail to her.

The police officers issued me a warning because the explosive is legal and we were all legal gun owners outside city limits, but if there were another explosion tonight or ever, I would be getting a free ride in a cop car. I thanked the officers and shut the door. 

My wife was red in the face furious (To this day she does not believe I had no part in the set up of said explosive device.) After ten minuets of interrogation I was wishing the police would have taken me. The boys turned on me (as always), my friends attempted to calm the storm but my wife was having nothing of it. She turned to me with piercing eyes and pointed finger as she laid out to me (and everyone else in the room) her closing argument. In plain and simple words, so I could easily understand: “IF YOU EVER BLOW SOMETHING UP OR BURN SOMETHING DOWN AGAIN I WILL DIVORCE YOU. IF YOU DO IT AND LIE TO ME ABOUT IT I WILL DIVORCE YOU AND DEDICATE MY LIFE TO MAKING YOUR LIFE MISERABLE”...This statement was followed up with a gentle “Do you understand?” With a slight tremble I nodded (along with half the other people in the room for some odd reason. She wasn’t talking to you assholes. We blow something up together again she’ll still be your friends after the divorce.) With that in true female fashion she gave me a kiss on the cheek and smiled and she was as chipper as cheerleader the rest of the evening. This scared me more than anything and I was unsure of going to sleep that night.

That was about 6 years ago and despite even myself, I am yet to test her threat. Nothing has blown up or burned sown...well not that was my fault. There was that 6 pack of condensed air that were  unbeknownst to me in a file cabinet I put on the fire....but that’s a different story for a different time.   

[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

The unplanned, under funded, experimental fishing excursion

Approximate age of occurrence 23

So to begin, my friend Lloyd and myself had planned for a Saturday fishing excursion up to the spillway at the lake at 2:00 am on Friday night. After several beers we determined we would get up at the butt crack of dawn to go fishing at the lake. Just us, no girlfriends or wives. No friends of friends that bring no beer but drink a lot of beer. Just two guys some worms and whatever leftover warm beers we could scavenge.

Now to be fair this plan was made three hours previous to its expected launch time. This had not occurred to with of us in our slightly inebriated state. We headed to bed to get a good nights rest of three hours and agreed to be up early and leave silently...that is not what happened.

We did however still get up in the A.M., just barely. At the crack of 11:45 to be exact. When we woke we found a house full of everything we had hoped to leave behind. I walked out to Lloyd still passed out on the couch and every niece, girlfriend and wife within a five mile radius sitting in my house. Some were even sitting on Lloyd poking him with a a loose kitty whisker they found on the floor (yes, this was a thing in our house at the time but that’s another story for another time) Lloyd would snarl and grunt but seemed otherwise unbothered by the torment being felt upon him.

I arrived to the front room with a resounding “Good morning sleepy head” which did nothing to ease my pounding head and less to lighten my mood. I decided that misery loves company and there was no need to allow Lloyd the peaceful rest he was currently enjoying. I woke him with a loving yet forceful slap to the face. He jumped up like lightening had struck his dead body and caused the muscles to contract. His girlfriend Crystal who was currently sitting atop his chest was launched over the back of the couch and landed with a thud and a whimper.

Now Lloyd never needed coffee or an energy drink, he was either asleep or awake. There was never an inbetween to be found. He clapped his hands, put in a chew and said the worst thing he could say at this moment. “Ready to head up to the lake and do some fishin, let’s go man!” With that once sentence a hush fell over the room.

My wife smiled and yelled with enthusiasm “we’re going to the lake?..awesome”

I explained with delicate words that Lloyd and I were going fishing at the lake. Us being just him and I. These words fell on def ears.

My wife smiled at me again ( for you New to my life, she doesn’t smile this much. Not unless she is about to get revenge or a new car. We weren’t buying a new car today) she asked the crowd “Who wants to go to the lake?” Everyone in attendance raised their hands.

 I determined struggling would be futile and it was best to just save the day and take everyone. We had 2 cars, so transportation should be a breeze. Once we had all the coolers, food, suntan lotion, chairs and towels loaded, we all squeezed in and were set to go. A little tailpipe dragging getting out of the driveway but otherwise departure was looking like a success.

Something suddenly fought my eye from around the giant inflatable dinosaur that was pinning me in my seat, blocking my view and sticking half way out my window. What was it that I just saw? It looked familiar...Oh yeah it was all our fishing stuff still on the porch. I screamed like a little girl to stop the car and let me out.I then fought my way to freedom from the plastic gooshy dinosaur and ran to my beloved fishing gear.

I grabbed the gear and began heading back to the car. At this point I was passed by 9 of the 12 girls heading back in the house. The reasons ranged from getting a drink to needing to pee and even the “stretching my legs” they had been in the car three minutes!

Thirty minutes later we were reloaded, tackle and all and headed on our way.

The trip was as uneventful as one could expect with five sixteen year old girls packed in the back and half an inflatable dinosaur sticking out the side of the car. Several cat calls to guys walking on the roadside and 45 minuets of catchy pop music later we arrived on scene.

We were at the spillway of the damn of the lake. Sixty foot off the water stood out fishing platform, Better known as the top of the damn. We settled into our space. The girls set to sunbathing while Lloyd, myself and my wife Chell got to fishing.

Now we had never fished here before but we had seen shadows of huge fish below on previous occasions. Our plan was to drop onto the shadows and just pull the fish out of the lake. How hard could it be?

Now it did occur to me at the time that hauling a trophy size whatever fish up 60 feet of thin air with a standard trout pole might be a challenge but I figured we would cross that road when we got to it. No need to start proper planning now.

In quick fashion we had the lines set, worms on and the bait was in the lake. Chell caught the first fish (as always) she pulled up a 8” trout! Now the thing was gasping for air by the time someone could grab ahold of it, but none the less it was still alive.

It was at this point we realized the release part of the catch and release program was going to be a bit iffy. After careful consideration we determined that holding the fish by the tail and releasing it at a ninety degree angle to to water would be the best method to ensure survival of the animal due to the aerodynamic build of the fishes body. To your current amazement and mine at the time this method worked. The fish shot 60 feet like an arrow and barely made a splash. Then they swam away. Score one for the home team!

We soon all began getting bites and hauling less than trophy sized Trout from the lake. Celebratory beers were opened and a good time was being had by all.

Now our enjoyment had been noticed by the girls. They began to wander over to the fishing area like zombies to a dead body. Crystal announced with cheerleader like enthusiasm (as always) that she wanted to fish as well.

I pointed to the fishing gear all piled up over yonder and told her “Pick your weapon of choice”.

Now Crystal kind of knew fishing so with a bit of tying advice she was ready to bait the hook, or more accurately, ready for someone to skewer the worm for her. I was the only one currently without a bite so I went to her aid.

Now instantly I noticed that her hook was a giant treble hook. It was most likely a saltwater hook for sharks or whales or something. I completely ignored this fact due to time constraints and a complete lack of interest in actually helping her. I wrapped the worm around the giant hook and walked away in a hurry back to my pole.

Crystal moved to the edge of the abyss. She neglected the fact that no one else was casting because all you had to do was drop you line 60 foot dawn in the water. She pulled back in true “bass master 3000″ fashion and ripped it forward to give it that extra distance it must have needed.

At this point in time I was quietly minding my own business, evaluating my pole tip for proper fish biting movement. Enjoying the nice afternoon breeze. Then.... CRYSTALS GIANT THREE PRONGED ANCHOR OF DEATH snagged my shirt and lightly stuck into my shoulder blade. A little bit of pain but it had barely hooked my skin through my shirt, no problem.  I reached up to grab it and pull it free but no such luck would be had. Crystal wrenched the pole forward and down to finish her cast. The hook bit in and sunk deep into my shoulder muscle. I winced with pain and could only let out an almost inaudible yelp. My mouth formed words, but my breath failed to make the sounds. I bent forward, head down clawing at my shoulder and back to secure the now deeply embedded hook. No matter what odd positioning I attempted I came up short of even touching the hook.    

I looked up with panic in my face and fear in my heart to see  Crystal Confused, looking up in the air, then down at her feet as yards of fishing line floated all around. She was completely oblivious to her surroundings (mainly the flailing, silently screaming man to her left)  she began reeling in the extra line wafting all about. Soon the line pulled tight and she gave it another stiff tug to free it from wherever it had gone. SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT!!! The hook flipped back and forth in place with no intention of releasing it’s grasp on me. 

I finally managed to get a scream out. I sounded like a little girl shrieking on a roller coaster but at least it was something. Everyone looked at me with upset eyes, as if I had just randomly decided to destroy their tranquil afternoon. 

“YOU DAMN HOOK IS IN MY BACK CRYSTAL... FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PUT THE DAM POLE DOWN!” I screamed in a slight less girly voice, but still not manly sounding by any terms.

Crystal abandon her pole and the three quickly moved in to inspect my back. I suddenly became a side show freak. I could have charged admission as I gathered from all the “oohs” and “Awes” that were coming from the audience at my backside. 

Now while none of us had any form of real medical training my wife had doctored several horses and other various farm animals over the years. This made her the most qualified candidate to perform the extraction. We had no intentions of traveling all the way to town to have it removed properly by adequately trained personnel. My wife quickly retrieved her surgical instruments:  1 pair of slightly rusty pliers, 1 fairly dull boning knife and 1 pair of scissors with unidentifiable goo stuck to the blades. We had all we needed right here!

I was given two beers to drink as quickly as possible and a leather wallet to bite on to get through the procedure. We were going wild west on this situation. I finished my beers in haste and my wife went to work. She cut the shirt free from the hook and sectioned a large hole in my shirt to clear her work area. Once uncovered it was determined that only two of the prongs had stuck in..GOOD NEWS! But they had gone all the way through and the barbs were exposed on the backside...BAD NEWS!! First she attempted to cut the barbs of with the pliers but all that did was indent the cutting edges of the pliers and gave me a fair amount of pain in the process.We thought to sand down the barbs but alas we had no file.  After a fair amount of squabbling and medical discussion (We were all suddenly doctors) it was determined to just “Rip it off like a band aid”....

I told My wife to “Grab a hold of that sucker and giver “er hell, lets get it over with”...And with that statement she did nothing less then exactly what I told her. It was quick and blindingly painful and the barbs plunged back through the flesh and out to freedom. I used the wallet to bite on, it was of little comfort but it kept me from screaming like a little girl...again.

The hook was out and the pain was bearable, it was time for another beer. Crystal came up and apologized. I rolled my eyes and told her “I’m not taking you hunting so don’t ever ask”. I finished fishing the rest of the afternoon with a hole in my shirt and blood running out of it. We never did catch the “Big one” but we did have a good time regardless.       

[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

The fight for the bed

This my tongue in cheek friends is the story of how I got crabs when I was 18 and on spring break...Okay, so how I got a crab anyways.  

 I was a senior in high school and very nearly done with the whole deal. I was living in Costa Rica as I had been for the past 4 years. My friends and I had decided to go to Jaco beach for spring break. We visited this beach several times a year and while it was not lush in accommodations or tourist allure it was affordable and was popular among people of our age group, so a good time was always easy to find. 

For this trip we had rented two four person bungalow cabins on the beach to stuff 15 people into. While the sleeping quarters would be tight, this set up ensured extra money for the important things in life like...beer and rum. Which we were legal age of there and would be taking full advantage of that situation. 

Upon arrival it was determined that although we had all promised to our parents that there would be a his and hers cabin structure, that it was better left to a free for all (I’m as surprised as you are). Now I was privy to the fact that there were only 4 actual beds being as I was the one who made the reservations. Immediately after check in I handed out the extra keys to the group and began a mad dash across the courtyard all by my lonesome to the first cabin. My friends looked on for a moment in confusion as I fled the scene post haste. Leaving my own girlfriend in the dust as well. It must have dawned on them that I was scurrying away for a reason because soon I had 14 teenagers in a dead run right on my heels. 

I arrived at the cabin first, which surprised me as much as anyone else. While not always the slowest horse in the race I was usually barely faster than a hermit crab on most occasions. I preferred to run only whilst being chased generally. I fumbled the key for a moment (dammit, hurry up Jeff!!) I slammed the key in the lock, jiggled the doorknob for dear life and to my glee the door popped open. I jumped inside, spun around and with a quick flip of the wrist I swung the door shut with a loud BOOM...Right in the faces of my best friends in life. Girlfriend still included in that group. 

Once inside I took a quick gander at the simple yet conformable looking beds. I selected the one closest to the door and threw my luggage upon it. Throwing your stuff on a bed during a vacation basically is the unwritten rule for claiming your space. I guess I could have peed on it but that’s reserved for when you’re in A rock band or traveling with a sports team. I could hear my friends squabbling to figure out which key fit this door. It’s not a hard task unless 14 people are reaching for one key. I slid the chain latch into the slot and opened the door just far enough to yell “FIRST COME FIRST SERVE ON ACTUAL BEDS, THE REST GET COTS OR HAMMOCKS!” A small faction broke off to claim the other cabin.  My job here was done and even with the attempted coo that ensued once everyone entered the room I managed to keep my prized sleeping quarters”. 

Sleeping arrangements were set and after fighting and arguing with a particularly difficult and stubborn young woman, I decided that I guessed I could share my bed with her. I didn’t have a problem with my girlfriend sleeping on the floor but apparently she did. I found it rather absurd that because I had won a bed, that she assumed she had also won a bed. This was now OUR bed in her eyes apparently. I began to continue to argue but it was pointed out that the means by which I came to having this bed were less than honest and those facts could be used to make it completely HER bed if brought before the “Jury of our friends”. We met at a  stalemate. I would have offered her half the bed in time anyways but I never missed an opportunity to make her life difficult. She never missed the opportunity to prove me wrong.       

The afternoon and evening passed as one would expect on a tropical beach. Drinks were poured, the ocean was swam in and night clubs were attended. At the very stroke of midnight we all slowly meandered, stumbled and staggered a jagged line back to our cabins. 

After a very unneeded nightcap on the cabin porch we all decided to head to bed. Now while this may seem to the naive reader to possibly be a moment of romance for myself and a special girl, that was not in the books for this evening at all. The overindulgence of the day left us sunburned sore, and drunken. Also the sleeping arrangements left us littered with friends barely an arms length in any direction. The only thing I was looking to get a hold of was my pillow. And that’s exactly what we did.

About a hour into my sleep I was awoken by the difficult young woman I spoke of earlier. My girlfriend shook me and said “I can hear a strange sucking sound”. I listened and expected to discover some X rated situation that I had no interest in being informed of but instead I heard nothing but the breathing of everyone sleeping. 

“Go back to sleep, I don’t hear anything.” I mumbled as I rolled back over. 

Moments Later I was shaken again and the same sentence came forth from the darkness. “Jeff! I can hear slurping or sucking and clicking now!” I lifted my head to listen and still heard nothing. 

“You’re either dreaming or crazy woman, I don’t hear anything” I unfortunately uttered this sentence loud enough where she could hear it clearly and now nobody was going back to sleep. We bickered for a moment in the darkness and then in a moment of silence I heard something. It sounded like someone sucking on a straw from an empty paper cup..but very faint. “WHAT WAS THAT, you heard that right ???” she said loudly. 

Yes, I heard it.  jumped to my feet and turned the light on. Waking every single person in the room. I looked under our bed...nothing. I looked in every corner and drawer....Nothing. 

Then I looked over at our bed...what was that? What did I just see there? Something purple...no Orange. Something staying very still. I crept over to where I could see between the bed frame and the wall. “OH MY GOD!!!” I uttered. This was enough to get everyone up and heading to the door in various states of undress and consciousness . They didn’t even know what they were running from but they were more than happy to leave me to deal with it. Turn about is fair play I guess. I fought of the bed, well whatever inhabited it now was technically my problem alone.   

I pulled the bed away for the wall and out dropped a giant Halloween crab. The thing was bigger than a softball ( it had been hiding right behind the headboard on my girlfriends side, thus why she could hear it better). It hit the floor running and I armed myself with a flip flop. This room was now “THUNDER DOME!” Two creatures enter but only one creature will leave! 

How hard could it be? I just had to get him out the door. Well, he seemed to have no interest in leaving and was ready to protect his space.He drew first blood by pinching my toe as I tried to help (kick) him to the door.   He was amazingly fast for a crustacean(???)  crawling up and over luggage and clothes. I returned fire with a cross swipe of the sandal. I caught him center shell and sent him flying against a wall, knocking three legs off in the process. Ooops. You would have thought this would have slowed him down but , no, no it didn’t. If anything the loss of extra weight propelled him faster. He abandon his detached limbs and dashed into a beach bag that had fallen over on the floor. I grabbed the handles of the bag to throw outside and the little bastard latched onto the skin on the underside of my forearm just as I sent the bag but not the crab flying out of the room. I screamed, mostly from surprise but pain was a part of it as well. I broke into a run and the gawking crowd that had assembled at our door split like the red sea as I passed through flailing my arm about with a giant crab attached to it.

Once outside in the courtyard I grabbed the crab by the body in desperation and pulled down in an attempt to free myself from his clutches. I was successful in pulling the crab free....But not the claw.. (Hmmmm, didn’t see that coming huh, well neither did I at the time) The giant purple claw was still firmly attached to my left arm while I held this now 6 legged crab firmly in my right. He reached for my fingers with his other claw trying to latch on again and I spiked him into the ground. More legs popped off and lay twitching on the ground. You would think mother nature would have attached their legs a little better. Do they just pop off when the wind blows?

   “That should do it” I thought as I ripped the dangling claw free from my arm. Once freed I turned to throw his own claw back at him just to add insult to injury, but he was headed back towards me with all three legs he had remaining.  So I beat him with the sandal a few more times, paused to check for movement then proceeded to lay another barrage of sandal slaps on him until I was fairly certain he no longer posed any danger. Finally the beast was slain. 

I stood up to find the most of the hotel outside with me. Staff, guests and friends watching intently. Some with looks of horror, Some with tears in their eyes from laughter.. and others like my girlfriend just waiting for the spectacle to finish so they could return to bed. I realized it was a bit breezy this evening and quickly noticed I was in my underwear. I nodded confidently to the crowd and briskly exited to my room. We slept in peace the remainder of the night as soon as the laughter and unavoidable jabs and jokes subsided.

Now, I don’t feel like a super hero for beating a crab to death with a sandal in my underwear, but that was a really long time ago and that’s really what happened. At least as I remember it.

[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

The snowstorm and the refrigerator

It’s not often we get snow at our house and that’s a good thing in my option. While most revel in the beauty of the white blanketed hills and pine trees draped in snow. I grumble under my breath of dangerous driving conditions and high power bills that come from weather events just like the one that you are preparing to learn all about. The snow came down by the bucket load through the night and into the morning. Upon waking this Sunday morning we found a winter wonderland complete with sub freezing temperatures and closed roads. Our boys who were 12 at the time devised a plan to turn our slanted pasture into a sledding hill. This was a brilliant idea. Mainly because it would get them out of the house and away from the video games. I jumped at the chance to help and headed to Walmart in the snow only to discover they had no sleds. I called other stores only to discover the same reality, There was not a sled for sale in the entire valley.... Sadly, we would not have sleds today. I returned home to break the bad news to the boys. I told them that while we lacked any form of real sled I would be more than happy to find an alternative option. The boys headed off to pack down the snow and make their course. I collected a number of objects that could be used as a sled. We worked through trash can lids, a shop crawler with the wheels removed, a giant piece of foam and a waxed cardboard box even, but alas nothing gave that high speed exhilarating ride like a true sled would. As the day wore on we built a fire and family came out to spend the day in the snow. Still no one had any sleds. At this point I was eyeballing an old refrigerator down in the shop.The door was slightly rounded and it came to a perfect curve at the top! My GOD how had I missed this gem. I grabbed a screwdriver and went to work on the old beast . Quickly the door fell off and I carted it out to the fire where everyone had gathered. My wife rolled her eyes and shook her head.. It was quickly pointed out by my son that there was nowhere to sit! There were shelves and bins attached to the inside of the door. Have some vision my young naysayer I exclaimed. Determined and stubborn I returned to the garage....where I beat the crap out of the plastic molding until there was nothing left but the backside of the metal front. At this point my sons and brother in laws had come down to see what all the commotion was about. I proudly displayed my handy work. Everyone cast a skeptical eye upon my new sled...no one could find an error in my thinking until my son asked “don’t you think that might be dangerous? There’s broken edges of metal and plastic all around it.” I scoffed and pointed out that we had layers of clothes and gloves to protect us from any harm. I assured him that I was an adult and my vast knowledge of the world eclipsed his and that means it has to be safe. Everyone seemed satisfied with my response and we headed to the pasture. On our way out my wife yelled from the house not to ride that thing down the hill. I assured her with a waving hand and a shaking head. What could go wrong? I’m a responsible adult and had safety checked the vehicle myself. My son Wyatt was the first to head down the hill as we all watched in amazement at the speed and smoothness he descended with down the hill. Suddenly everyone wanted to ride down now. I sat back full with self satisfaction and told my brother in law that he and my son Cody could go together. I could wait. Down the hill they went. Upon returning he pointed out that while the sled was wicked fast the sides were skins of sharp and had cut his hand just a bit. We both chalked up the occurrence as bad luck and we readied the sled once again. I would go down with my son Wyatt. It was a fast and bumpy ride, that made you fear for your own safety... Exactly what you would expect from sledding. But then we went off track slightly and hit a buried rock. I grabbed the sled to stay put but that wasn’t going to happen. I was launched several feet from the sled and Wyatt finished the ride alone. I landed, rolled a couple of times and came to rest face down in the snow. No harm no foul I thought as I rose to my feet. I must have smacked my hand upon my landing because it was completely numb and kind of tingling like it was asleep. I looked down to see my thumb hanging a couple of inches from my hand. A little strand of fabric and skin kept it from falling off completely. What the hell! That doesn’t look right. Instinct set in and grabbed it with my other hand and placed it back in its proper spot. There all better. I let go and it fell off again. Still no pain, no blood even yet, just numbness. My son called to me and I turned and yelled “I cut my thumb off!” He laughed, I laughed and said "no I really did". We all then walked briskly back to the house. As we all burst through the door my wife turned and asked “what happened?!” She had a sarcastic yet concerned tone to her voice as only wives can have. I pulled of my glove to show her. Her mouth fell open as blood began to pour down my arm. She sprung into action and fetched the first aid kit. She quickly wrapped my hand tightly and stopped the bleeding. I noticed she seemed to have that look of "I told you so" but she refrained from actually saying it. Instead she said “ you need to go to the hospital”. She stayed with the kids and myself and brother in law headed to the doctors. Upon arrival at the hospital the nurse asked what I was there for? I responded very calmly with " I cut my thumb off" and showed her my wrapped hand. She looked at me and said " I'm sure it's a bad laceration but I'm sure the thumb isn't cut off" Sitting at the entry desk she began to unwrap my hand so she could evaluate my injury. Upon removing the final wrap, my thumb went with the bandage and blood began to pour out onto her desk. She looked at me wide eyed and open mouthed and said "You cut you're thumb off" " I already told you this" I responded "But you're so calm I assumed you were over stating you injury" she said with a slightly stressed tone. Meanwhile the blood was starting to cover her desk and drip off the side. She finally broke from her trance, noticed the blood and wadded my hand back up in the bandages. I was then swept off into a private room while she cleaned up her desk. After a bit a young female Doctor came in and asked me "What did you do? I explained the whole sledding incident and then held up my crudely re-wrapped hand and said "I cut my thumb off" She responded the exact same way with " Well, I'm sure it not cut off, probably just a bad laceration"

What is with the people in this hospital I thought. Did I stutter? Am I failing to properly express myself clearly?

She began to unwrap my hand over a small metal table and once again the thumb came loose with the bandaging and once again I was now sitting in front of a wide eyed, mouth opened medical professional. But this time she grabbed the thumb and stuck it back in place, as if that was just going to fix everything. I told her I already tried that and it doesn't work. She then kind of got this pale look to her and said.. "I can't do this" and left. We never saw her again. We did however have several nurses, one police officer and a couple of paramedics come in to hear my story and take a gander at a most impressive wound. All noting that my sense of humor was well in tact. Now I do admit that while I should have been in a lot of pain, I wasn't really....Shock is an amazing thing. A nurse came in and said they had a specialist coming and he would get it all figured out. The specialist walked in asked what was going on and I VERY clearly responded once again with " I cut my thumb off". He smiled at me (I was waiting for it...) looked through the pile of bandages to find my hand and said " Yes, Yes you did". Halle-fricken-lujah. We have a winner! Upon inspection he discovered the only thing still holding the thumb on was a blood vessel. That was good, the thumb could be saved. With a bit of local anesthetic he began to sew it back together. Once finished I looked down and my thumb was sideways to how it should be??! What the hell man you're a professional and shit. You should at least be able to eyeball it better than that! I can't walk around with a sideways thumb! I asked him about it and to my disappointment he said it didn't matter, that I would have to have surgery to cut it back off and put it back in place properly at a later time. He congratulated me on a job well done noting that even with a scalpel he would have a tough time matching the precision in which I have removed my own thumb. I responded with "Any job worth doing is a job worth doing well". He laughed signed my prescription and sent me on my way. In the end I did have that surgery. I took me 2 months to recover from it and return to work. The total bill for my thumb came to just shy of $15,000.00. While you can't tell so much I cut it off these days, it still doesn't bend and I have no feeling in it but I don't even notice it anymore. I still do everything I did before. So the moral I want you to take away from this story is.. There is a difference between a laceration and an amputation about a $14,000.00 difference

[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

The stump and babysitting

So while telling the tale of my own children betraying me after a slight fire incident in my backyard it was brought to my attention that some of you were curious as to how my back yard came to be fully engulfed in flames. Fair question and here is the long yet albeit perfectly normal answer:

We were living in North Florida at the time and we had bought a brand new house with a roughly cleared 2 acre lot. There were pine stumps littered all over the yard. It looked as though our yard had 5 o'clock shadow. Between the stumps and the palmettos our yard needed some clearing out. My well meaning but hillbilly neighbor informed me that the stumps could be burned out using a bag of charcoal laid on top of the stump and lit. Well I'll be a monkeys uncle if that didn't work amazingly well. I was burning up stumps left and right. Eventually I got to one particularly large stump that was not burning well. It's a this point I decided to "Improvise" from the true and trustworthy method that has worked so well up to this point. I decided that what was needed at this point was a bit more fuel to really get the burn going. Now when a 25 pound bag of charcoal isn't enough heat there is only one thing that can bring you to the next level...yep you guessed it, Used motor oil, or at least that's what seem the most logical at the time. I craftily poured the oil onto the stump and coals...Watching with increasing satisfaction as the stump quickly began to become engulfed in flames. I grabbed myself a celebratory beer and returned to the back yard to watch my masterfully crafted plan unfold in all it's glory. Now at this point you may be thinking the obvious is going to happen...Wind would catch the fire and whisk it over to dry brush, causing the end result we all know is coming....but no my assumptive friend, that is not what happened at all. Upon my return the stump was actually glowing red with heat...Then all of a sudden I heard this faint whistling noise that starts to grow louder. Odd..Once it reached an uncomfortable lever the stump POPPED! It literally split open and boiling sap by the gallon spewed from the crack..igniting as it flew through the air. Luckily for me it sprayed all over dry palmetto leaves about 15 feet away. They ignited like paper soaked in kerosene.The fire was still small but growing quickly. In a moot attempt at extinguishing the flames I flung my glass of beer at center mass and that only fanned the flames and spread the growing inferno. But wait, I had the hose ready just a ways back. Grabbing the water hose I ran back to the fire...never have I been more a day late and a dollar short than at this very moment. The hose was a bit too short as I ran frantically around praying for just a few more feet of hose. leaning with all my weight to get it there and the stream fell just inches from the flames. I accepted defeat and now was the time to call in the big guns. I charged into the house to make the call. Told the children to stay inside...none of them did. I ran outside with 6 children hot on my heels. My yard was fully engulfed by this point. The fence...the 30' pine trees, the grass. Yes even my green grass was burning like little green matchsticks. My neighbor had a $150,000 RV parked just on the other side of the fence. MY GOD!...What to do? It's mostly plastic and will burn up in seconds. The firetrucks couldn't get there fast enough. What to do? No worries a group of 12 year old southern girls had seen the blaze on that side and had commandeered the neighbors hose. They were stomping the grass flames out on that side with jelly flip flops on. Fearless they were. The fire trucks arrived and unloaded thousands of gallons of water on my yard. What the fire didn't destroy the high pressure water cannons did. In the end 1 acres of my 2 resembled the dark side of the moon. No life. The trees were nothing more than stripped off 30' posts. So as you can see, this was basically just bad luck and could have happened to anyone at any time. Now nothing more to see here folks, move along, move along.

[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

Trust can be guessed by weight of the holder

It's times like these when it's quiet at work I tend to reflect on my life's past events. Today there's two occasion that came to mind: One being the first time my wife and our friends left me at home to watch all the kids while they went chicken shopping. The other being the time I burned down my own backyard. Just so happens both events happened at the same time. In the end the events that lead up to the fire department soaking my back yard while children ran amuck all over the place is moot in point. What is important is this: YOU NEVER KNOW WHO YOU CAN TRUST, and by that I mean you can't trust any child to keep even the simplest secrete. By the time the adults returned the fire was out, the giant trucks with flashing lights and water cannons had left and all the children were again quietly playing games in the front room. A bit sweaty and frazzled I sat on the porch sipping a cold beer as my wife walked up. She asked "how did it go".. I responded "GREAT!"...She walked into the house with a smile and quick kiss on the cheek for my success as a father and husband. I remained on the porch. No need for me to prematurely point out that our back yard now resembled a slashed and burned rain forest in Brazil..Perhaps it would go unnoticed??? Never know. The door closed and what do I hear. 4 children frantically betraying their father and friend. Laying out every detail in dramatic fashion to their now captivated audience. My own son physically reenacted my frantic flailing and ultimate failure with the garden hose. I remained on the porch. I heard gasps and the back door open...The jig was up. I casually walked out back, saw my tiny betrayers pointing and jabbering still. I looked into my wife's furious eyes, smiled and said "Oh I forgot to mention, I cleared out all the brush and overgrowth you asked me to do a few weeks ago while you were gone too". I am lucky to still be alive to tell the story.

[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

The dog and the bobber

I have always been a man who enjoys the peace and tranquility that only a sport like fishing can bring you. Some days at the river or lake all you need is the beauty of the surrounding wildlife to bring peace in your soul. This day was not one of those days. This day was something all together different. So I give you THE DOG AND THE BOBBER:

      My wife and I had long ago in the days before children a Jack Russel Terrier named Simon. A stout square little dog that topped out about 14" and weighed all of about 10 pounds. (You'll need to remember those dimension later..yes there will be a test at the end). He was by far one of the smartest beings I've ever encountered on this planet, he also happened to be one of the most stubborn.

     While we were packing to go fishing one morning my wife decided with no vote from myself that Simon would go fishing with us for the first time. The trip was quick although with Simon bouncing from front to back and barking like a mad man it seemed like an eternity. Upon arrival we were pleased to find the little ponds was all but abandon. PERFECT! 

      Simon was off like a shot and quickly entertained by the prospect of a fallen log that may or may not house squirrels. Either way it was his duty as a Jack Russell to investigate the situation VERY thoroughly. I fixed up my trusty Walmart pole and attached a very attractive worm topped of with a stunning red and white classic looking round bobber. No sooner did my prefect and lengthy cast hit the water and the bobber settle calmly into place then Simon hit the water at an amazing speed. He glided through the water like a mini seal. He reached my bobber in mere seconds, retrieved it and brought it back to shore...line and all. Upon landing, he proceeded to ravaged my poor bobber into several useless pieces before I could come to it's aid. Now tangled in my line and spitting broken bits of my fishing tackle out as he bounced with joy from spot to spot. Invigorated with the adrenaline from his kill. I moaned to my wife to stifle the little beast so that perhaps I may catch a fish if there were any left in our area of the pond anymore. 

      She decided to tie his leash to the cooler handle. Being full of beer, soda and ice the thing had to weigh 50 lbs. So Simon was tied and now under control. I was retied and ready to cast. Back and forth and there went the bobber agian into the lake. At that point I hear the grinding of something being drug across gravel and dirt. A sound much like nails on a chalkboard. I look over to see Simon dragging a bright red fully loaded cooler across the dirt road. He's headed to the pond! No worries my nail biting friends...there was a shallow root in his path..The cooler would never clear that...And that thought held true. The cooler slammed to a hault but Simon didn't. The leash attached handle pulled to a 90 degree angle to the cooler then snapped off with a loud crack. Before I could even comprehend the events that had just unfolded before my eyes, Simon was returning with my bobber. Simon's celebration of his feat ensued once more. 

      Again my wife contained this 10 pound hound from fishing hell. He was securely fastened to the tow hitch on our truck. HA! now escape now you little bastard. I was down to 2 bobbers but now worries, the situation was under control. The cast...A quick glance back to ensure Simon was indeed still captive. He was...Ahhh now to relax and wait for the fish. Such joy in the quiet air of the mountains, I thought as I scanned the sky for clouds. Then I herd the splash of a jackie hitting the water??!!!? How? But he.....What the hell? Half the leash dangled from the hitch. He had chewed through his own leash to free himself and once again kill my bobber. 

     Irritated I broke my line off and headed back to my tackle box. Simon jumping at me to get me to celebrate his victory with him. In utter disgust I snatched for my final bobber and in doing so accidentally let it slip trough my hands.. OH GOD NO!. It no sooner touched the dirt than it was cracked into a hundred pieces with precise devastation. I picked Simon up with bits of bobber still raining down from his snout....tossed him in the truck. Managed to get my one handled beaten and bruised cooler loaded. My wife rolled her eyes at my childish tantrum but none the less loaded up. Now we took Simon all over Oregon during his years with us but we never brought him fishing again.

[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

The squirrel and the stick

I was diligently mowing the lawn on yet another Sunny morning in north Florida. As I was making a pass something caught my eye. Something just fell out of our giant oak tree in our yard. For whatever could it have been? It was a squirrel (you may have guessed this from the title). 

     There he lay arms stretched out in front and legs stretched out in back, as if he thought he was flying trough the air but I assure you he was firmly in contact with the ground. I inspected the odd fellow and saw no immediate damage or reason for his descent. While still breathing he seemed to have no intentions of moving. 

     I quickly grabbed a stick (and the other half of the title enters) Not to beat him with but to lift him back up into the tree while still keeping a safe squirrel attack distance. I chose a Y shaped stick, flipped him belly to the sky and cradled him at the end. Carefully I transported him to the tree trunk and quickly realized my stick was not the right tool for the job. It was however all I had. So trying to press this little guy up to the tree so he could grab hold was awkward. first attempt ended with him slowly peeling off like a failed window sticker and plummeting back into the dirt. The second time was slightly better as he put in a smidgen of effort, only to release and land promptly on a big flat rock. Third time was the charm and he awoke from his trance and shot up the tree. 3 foot then four...Up into the canopy! I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to finish the lawn. 

     Then I heard rustling of sticks and leaves followed by a hollow thud. I slowly turned to find Mr. Squirrel back in the dirt. Ok, so this is the chance for you faint of heart to exit this story, for the rest, our ride on the short bus will continue momentarily....upon returning to his landing spot I decided to take a bit of a closer look at my directionally challenged new friend. I quickly noticed lumps on his back, belly and head. Oh no, he must have tumors! Then something odd happened...it MOVED, not the squirrel but the bump. All of them moved. Tumors don’t move! My god! They were Bot worms! 5 in all and we’re about the size of AAA batteries. 

     My skin crawled with the thought of this poor animals existence while these worms grew inside him. I was repulsed, amazed and saddened all at the same time. The worms stretched at his skin and made his fur roll as the moved around him Mr. squirrel was still breathing so I ran to the house and fetched a shoe box and an old shirt. My wife worked at the veterinarian clinic down the road. I would take him there. They could do surgery and remove the worms and he would LIVE! Now I would like to tell you that’s how this goes but it Isn’t. I picked up the box to go and upon inspection Mr Squirrel had passed. The worms however had not. Slowly a bitter hatred and disgust grew in me for these worms. How evil it must have been to have these things grow like that inside you. To a human the would be the size of a 24 oz beer can moving inside you . Eating parts of you. So I did what need to be done. I smashed Mr. squirrel with a cinder block. He was gone already but I’d be dammed if I was going to let the worms grow to maturity. After a fair bludgeoning I wrapped Mr. Squirrel and his Five killers in the shirt and buried him in our back yard. The world can be a cruel and difficult place and Mr squirrel knows that better than most. Now not all my stories are happy but interesting at least.

[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

The great battle of the trash bin

     Long ago when I was young and new to adulthood my wife and I had just moved into a rustic little ranch home on the outskirts of Eagle Point. The home was old and simple but it was our first place together and we were more than happy to make it home.       I will admit forthwith that I was a bit naive to the daily occurrences that happen in less populated areas. One being the lack of roadside garbage pick up. As I sat mouth open in disbelief my wife laid forth the details of our situation..We would collect our trash in cans then once every two weeks load it into the truck and take it to the dump. Allow me to point out that we actually meant me. So after a thorough walk through of our plan and a quick run to the hardware store for four brand new trash cans we were set. Thing moved along fine for a couple of days until on the third I discovered all the trash in the cans had been pulled out and strung about in a most unorganized fashion. What the hell?? Who would do such a thing? Upon inspection it was determined to be the work of none other than a raccoon. Yes! This must be the work of the infamous trash panda.       I determined I would stay up late and catch this vermin looting my unwanted possessions. Confront him I would and teach him a well deserved lesson. Yes, this is what needed to be done.       So I perched myself on our porch around the corner from our waste retention area. I decided to pass the time with a couple of beers and a fishing pole that needed some rebuilding. About 11 o’clock and 4 beers later my wife poked her head out the door and said “are you def? There’s rummaging going on at the trash.” I jumped awake. I apparently had decided to take a nap without letting myself know.      With super hero speed I leapt to my feet and headed in the direction. Now, having a few beers and still being a bit drowsy I realized I had not properly prepared for this fight. I had no weapon. I grabbed for the nearest blunt object I could find. A BROOM! Yes not too heavy and quite lengthy. Perfect. I ran around the side of the house to find this white giant rat thing staring at me from atop the trash can. What the hell are you? You’re not a fuzzy ring tailed Raccoon as I was suspecting. Your a giant rat with no hair on its tail at all! He hissed a showed his evil little teeth. He was ready for battle as well. “Let’s do this Mr. Rat like thing”, I thought as I swung the broom down upon him. Now unfortunately I had not thought this through properly as the straw bristle end of the broom made contact with my foe. The impact did little more than knock the dust from his thin and dirty fur. He however must have been a seasoned veteran of this battlefield. He quickly turned upon impact and grabbed the broom with all four legs and a tail. As I lifted the broom he came with it. A few swings and to my amazement the critter held fast. I began to run around smacking the broom on the ground to free my weapon from this beast. I could hear my wife laughing from the porch. This was not going in my favor. Finally with my 6th or 7th hit he released his death grip and ran like a dart into near by berry bushes. I WON! Surely he had been greatly injured during our altercation and now slunk off to die somewhere.      I returned to the porch to find my wife with tears in her eyes. I looked at her and said “I’m sorry honey but I did what had to be done to that animal” She looked at me and said “ I’m not crying, my eyes are watering from laughing so hard watching you run all over with that opossum stuck on the end of that broom!, I almost peed myself!”      I quietly set my broom down, walked into the house, gathered my pillow and blanket. Me and my battered pride would sleep on the couch tonight! The next evening I had decided to return to the room for bed. Thinking proudly how our trash would go unmolested while we slept.       About 11 we were woken by the sound of crunching wrappers and falling trash can lids.. How could this be? I jumped up and put my clothes on. My wife handed me a rusty old BB gun we had in the closet. This was not a hunting weapon by any means. It was a single shot pump gun we used to let the nieces and nephews shoot cans with, but it was better than the broom.       I ran from the house, across the porch to find my sworn enemy from the previous evening staring blankly at me. I raised my rifle and pointed at him. I fired with pin point precision. The B.B. struck him at the shoulder. The beast hissed and leaped towards me....what the hell? He was attacking me. He grabbed at my pant leg and I sent him flying with a kick. He tumbled across the yard to a stop. He shook himself, looked my way and began running towards me again. At this point I did what any grown man would. I ran for the house, slammed the door and locked it. Locked it like he was going to kick it in or something?? He ran down the end of the porch and into the night.       My wife said she would call her dad in the morning about borrowing a trap. AWESOME! Just what every new husband wants...his father in law coming to the rescue. I grumbled a bit and went to bed.      The next night we placed the trap with cat food in it. We arose the next morning to find the best sleeping in the cage. I went to find a stick to beat it to death in its sleep but my wife stopped me. She would take it to her parents for further processing.       In the end Mr opossum was set free far out of town. While over the years we have had several more encounters with wildlife in our trash but I have never met a more worthy opponent on the trash battlefield.

[slightlysarcasticandvantast-blog]

The tail of two goats: Ever heard the term "Got your goat?" Well the term came about because you never really have your goats. You may buy goats, you may even take care of goats but rarely in my experience does one “got their own goat”. So I give you

The tail of two goats:

We have always had farm animals. Horses, a pig, cats, dogs and such but apparently to my wife that was pure amateur hour. We needed to step up our game, our neighbors had just brought in a gaggle of Emus she pointed out with a quivering finger and open mouth.. Now I can’t fathom why one would own a single emu much less a whole herd, but to each their own.

So with all the animals we already owned what would be the next logical step in our decent into animal hoarding? Well obviously "FISH" I said! They are quiet, fairly easily contained and quickly disposed of when they pass. I was obviously not being helpful to the situation. My wife announced with great great excitement that we would purchase not one but two baby goats. Can’t have just one goat...no, what’s the fun in that?

So we set out one stunning summer morning in search of baby goats. I quickly learned that one goat is not equal to another as we made our rounds about the farms in our area. There are milk goat and meat goats. There are mini goats and fainting goats that flop over when startled (We entered the pasture and about half fell over, I thought we killed the little things). There are even $400 goats that come with papers. I assumed the papers were to help clean up after the animal on the ride home but I couldn’t fathom why that would be worth the extra $250. Needless to say we passed on the $400 goats and found ourselves a fine brother pair of regular old nondescript goats for $150 for the set.

Good. Now we’ve got our own goat, two of them to be exact so we "Gots our Goats". We loaded them in a dog kennel in the back of the truck and we’re off to home.

Now our pasture is fenced and cross fenced with latched gates and hot wire where needed. Basically in my mind a goat keeping fortress. So we set the boys out in their new home and it quickly became apparent that our quiet ranch would now be plagued with goat baaahs for eternity since the duo never seemed to shut up. We ensured they had all two goats could want clean water, food shade and bedding. The two bounced around like a couple of ping pong balls in a tornado. Butting and kicking each other and bouncing off anything that might give them some extra lift. After a final check we headed in for the evening.

Waking up bright and early the next morning. I grabbed my cup of coffee and headed out to look over my land in quiet contemplation. The morning was almost silent. The horses, dogs, cats and pig checked out. Awesome! Everything is right with the world.

Now to start my day....wait a second??? "Didn't we have goats here yesterday?" I uttered to myself. "Yeah two little ones as I remember"...Answering my own question. For where did they go?

I scanned their pasture, checked the beds. No goats. I quickly ran about checking every paddock, rock and bush. Perhaps goats were like chameleons, how was I to know I never owned a goat before. Looking here looking there, No goats anywhere.

After quietly waking my wife with “THE GOATS ARE GONE!!! and shaking the bed vigorously. She jumped out of bed and "asked where did they go?"

I slowly turned in the calmest and most sarcastic voice I could muster and said "If I knew where they were lost to, They wouldn't be lost!." this brought the expected raised eyebrow look.

(Allow me to pause for a second my judgmental friends and explain how this helps the situation: It's times like these that maturity and respect need be cast aside in a marriage. I was dealing the first of many quips and digs from both parties that will eventually culminate in the casting of blame upon one another. Nothing can be resolved in a marriage without the classic "Blame Game". This is how that game starts. This is how the world works. Now back to the story.)

we needed to act quickly, there was $150 of my money running wild out in the world somewhere. My wife was up and we were charging out the door when our neighbor on the back side of our property was walking up to that very door. She had two baying goats on a string.

She asked “missing something?” In a rather unsettling tone.

I replied “yes my $150.00”. (Blame game is still in effect)

My wife smacked me and said "Yes thank you so much WE have been looking for them.”

We hadn’t looked for crap by the way. I was dirty, sweating and slightly fatigued from looking for them. She just got out of her pajamas. Our neighbor released the pair into our custody noting that damage had been done to her flower bed.

I responded with “The one full of plastic flowers??” I got smacked a second time. "We" (meaning my wife) offered to buy new flowers but the neighbor scoffed it off and waved goodbye.

Ah the world was right at last and it was time to have a relaxing Sunday with a bit of early beer followed by a nap in a comfy chair....To my disappointment none of this would be had. An investigation must be conducted! With my wife as chief inspector. Every blade of grass examined and all fences would be checked! In the end we found nothing. Nothing but the TRUTH! My wife had unplugged the hot wire fence. While fearing causing any discomfort to the "baby goats" she failed to realize they could fit between the squared field fencing. The culprit was FOUND! (BOOM! end of blame game, I win!)

So we plugged the fence in and after a couple of shocks.. I quickly discovered while Cunning escape artists, they were not the sharpest horns on the ram, but the boys were set and safe for the day. A couple of bed checks through the evening and we fell asleep confident we had a tight reign on our goats.

I woke the next morning to goats in the field and headed off to work. Upon returning home, I herd utter silence. How odd, maybe I should checks the goats. Sure enough they were gone. You’ve goat to be kidding me! Once again the boys had wandered acres away and were found playing on a rock formation a few ranches away.

So once again the investigation ensued and after hours of diligent spying we discovered they would get between the fence and the tree and climb their way to freedom. Then they would bounce and climb under and over the remaining fences to freedom. Most impressive.

So to save you some time here, well just do a summation at this point: over the summer we met most all of our neighbor and their neighbors. We found the dynamic duo on rocks, stuck in fences, stuck in trees, playing on top of a giant tractor, playing under blackberry brambles, drinking from the creek 2 miles away, swimming in our coy pond out front. We found our goats everywhere but the spot we had picked out for them. All the while we had added fencing and wire, put in pallets and bricks to block holes and slats and tarps to hide their view of the world in hopes of dashing their explorative natures. In the end it looked like a homeless encampment in our back pasture.

With the close of summer quickly ensuing we decided to find another hobby other than tracking down our goats three times or more a week. We sold them to a man who had a giant heard of crazy goats that they dump off to trim peoples lawns and pastures. We felt good about the decision. The boys loaded up with no resistance and we could hear them baaahing away as they drove down the road.

Now every once in awhile my wife will randomly turn to me and say "we should get some goats again"...It's sad to see dementia setting in on her at such a young age. Hahaha.