Happy New Year! I just came in from an invigorating walk with our bird dog, Caesar. We covered the grounds that surround the little blue house at the end of the road. The king and I did some exploring while we were out and about. He found some fuzz, laced with birdseed from my sweeper's tank, and picked up a quick snack. The new kid on the block complained about his mouth being dry. We took time out while his eager tongue lapped up a fresh drink and he cleared his throat of debris.
I suggested that we go over to the homestead property to check on the wintering over groundhog. Trek, our young male cat was in a playful mood. I could tell by the look that Caesar gave me that wanted to interact with his newly claimed friend. The cat climbed the trunk of the maple tree and then jumped down directly in front of his playful pal. Then, after a friendly exchange of affection, the pup was ready to lead me on. Trek wanted to be cradled in my arms and his wish was granted.
Somewhere, Gray, the sometimes (most of the time) anti-social semi- tamed feral cat was, no doubt watching with envy the bond forming and the merriment taking place on this cloudy day between "Mutt" and "Jeff" and me.
We walked across the yard toward the old red utility shed to check out the groundhog burrow. Caesar sniffed the sizable opening that heads out toward China. Nothing jumped out and said, BOO!"
Milder than average temperature brought the nuisance animal to his feet, earlier, however, He or she, whatever it is, gnawed on and tore off a large section of plywood covering near the base of the structure and continues to move earth. Unsightly!
Judging from the amount of destruction to the building's foundation area; that old rascal is not working alone. If you give those burrowing scrappers and inch they'll take a mile. If you mess with them they will take a hunk of flesh without batting a sleepy eye. I told my hairy friends that!
I warned the bird dog and the cat of dangers. It fell on deaf ears. So, we gathered up our thoughts and headed back to our safehavens. I assured my charges that Paul Baby would help us solve the problem, in a humane manner.
This old girl sung a happy song about rain and a parade, and; we ran all the way home to their soft beds.
Last week I ask you if your 2009 calendars were ready for service. Can you believe that the Sartors don't have one? I held off buying one in the mall, because, I, in the past depended on the freebies handed out by companies that I do business with. However, many shop owners downsized advertising tools: pencils, pens, and yes, calendars included.
So, how do I manage until the blank space on the kitchen wall is covered tonight or soon, at Paul Baby's convenience? I put the pencil and ruler to work and created a temporary register for the month of January, without a beautiful winter landscape, but usable. Oh, come on now; I know this might have happened to you or someone you know.
My father always had access to new calendars each year. We had several to pick from by the time we started clapping our clappers, singing "Auld Lang Syne", making empty resolutions and gobbling down a greasy goose.
My mother liked the one given by Millers Funeral Home. Some suppliers to Lynch Bros. Grocery, Dad's place of employment, during my youth, handed them out.
Usually Mom hung another of her favorites on the back of the white enameled bedroom door that led to the kitchen. It shared the corner space with an arsenal of Dad's best shotguns, including his father's fine old weather beaten "hammer-lock." The largest and less attractive of the new date keepers would hang in the summer kitchen, the old feed store shed, so many of you and your family are familiar with.
One year, as I recall Dad came home with a calendar that my mother flatly refused to hang. A shapely woman holding a soft drink showing far too much skin did not fit her fancy. Dad thought it would be a befitting date keeper to see him through the year and my brother Johnny displayed his boyish grin and gave thumbs up. Mom frowned, rolled her disappointed spouses treasure up, and stuffed it beneath the blankets in the closet.
The grin was removed from the pin-ups face and the coke bottle lost its configuration and contents, in the springtime, when Mother cleaned the shelves of overstuffed storage area and threw a kitchen match toward her victim. The gal with the smile curled up and died. Mother didn't shed a tear. I know the pretty lady didn't feel bad about the demise of Dad's calendar girl. She laughed the day the smoking hot up gal with the smile lit the evening sky. Poor dad missed the cremation of the sensation.
Why the dancer/quick change artist, shocker, in the dresser drawer got to stay, for years, I'll never know. Maybe mom forgot to check beneath the slipcovers.
Thanks to all for the calls and emails that I received in 2008. I am grateful.
I send condolences to the family of Joseph Earl Eaglin Sr. Your loved one was a good man.
I can be reached at 446-4852 or drop me a line to 613 North Elm St., Brazil, IN., 47834 or by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.