#231-DAISY LED HIM TO THE LIGHT

When my kids and I first moved to Missouri in the early 70s  I was determined to let my kids have lots of animals around.   I have written about most of them. (Daisy #65 =  2/11/10), (Bantys #18 = 8/5/10), (Ducks #219 = 3/9/12) However, I have not written about how Daisy handled a little bantam rooster we called Turkey.

First, you have to understand how our bantam Rooster got the name Turkey.  We had two and they were both beautiful and so very colorful.  Their feathers shined in the sun and almost glowed

in the moonlight.  Dandy was sweet and gentle and came when called.  He was almost a pet.  Where as his anthesis, Turkey, was mean and evil so we called him Turkey (as in what a Turkey!) 

See, isn't he beautiful!

Anyway, Turkey always wanted to fight.  He tried to pick fights with Dandy.  He tried to pick a fight with his reflection in the hub caps of my car and the trash can.  He had a real problem with anger management because he would attack anything that moved and some things that didn't.  I had to resort to carrying a broom when I entered the back yard as Turkey would attack my legs immediately.  So, big deal.  He was only about ten inches tall.  However, on his legs were 3 inch spikes, not to mention his sharp beak.  Turkey was a real TURKEY and we were all just about fed up with his behavior when my dog, Daisy, decided she was fed up too.  After all, she had to share HER yard with this feathered fiend who thought it was HIS yard.  


One Saturday morning I let Daisy out and started washing dishes.  (This is the ONLY time in my life I actually liked to wash dished.  The reason is that my sink over looked our three acre back yard).


I heard Turkey's screech out his call to attack and looked up just in time to see him lunge at Daisy.  Well, Daisy faked to the right, spun around, and grabbed him by his neck.  I started to run out the door to save his sorry little butt, but Daisy simply held him by the neck.  She held him high so his claws barely touched the ground and then she did her daily rounds with Turkey helplessly hanging from her mouth.  


You see, every time Daisy went outside she her usual check for interlopers.  Today was no exception.  With Turkey clutched tightly in her mouth she conducted business as usual.  She ran around behind the garage, down the west fence, then across the south fence, (did her business with Turkey still in her mouth. a feat worthy of olympic status) and then trotted up the east fence to finish the rounds of HER yard.  She finally turned Turkey loose (who must have had his life flash before his eyes several time).  He staggered around like he was drun.  He then plopped down shaking his head (I guess to see if it was still attached).  Next he slowly got up, stretched and shook his feathers out, fell down, and then staggered to the chicken coop, disappearing inside.


I went out back to make sure he was all right.  He appeared to be fine however, his neck feathers were in a disgusting sopping wet disarray.  Poor Turkey did not come out of the coop for a couple of days (not even to announce the arrival of dawn).  When he did come out it was like he was "born again."  Turkey never attacked another man, beast, or hubcap again.  Apparently, Daisy made him see the error of his ways and he repented.

#230 - "THWANG!"

The thwanger and the thwangee, CHRISTMAS 68

This is a short one...I seem to be running out of stories or words or both. 

Thanks to Melynda and her Pee story I remembered this about my two and prompted the question,

"At what age should a parent stop allowing  siblings to take baths together?"

Well, my daughter was about 2 1/2 and my son was around 5 which means that  I had been giving them baths together for around 2  years.  They got along well and it was obviously less time consuming to wash them both at the same time.  Bath time was a lot of fun with lots of toys, splashing and giggling.  

Then, one day my son stood up to step out of the bathtub and the above question was answered rather quickly.  My daughter suddenly reached up and smacked his....his....his...well you know and then said,"Thwang! "  Both kids laughed as I groaned because that meant bath time just changed and a I was going to need to have a personal conversation with my son to explain why.

So, the answer to the above question is:  The time has definitely arrived when there is a wiener whacking, followed by sound effects.

#229-AND THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO GET LUCKY!

A while back Laila  (The Untroubledkingdomoflailaknight) sent me a challenge and one of the questions I had to answer was:  #5 = Have you ever thrown your panties/underwear at a rock star or other celebrity? If so, which one(s)? If not, which one(s) WOULD you throw your panties/underwear at, given the opportunity?


This was my answer:
  

I have never thrown my underpants to anyone. However, it just so happens that I did throw my panty hose at a Matador while in Tijuana watching a bull fight.  But, cerveza (beer) did play a major role in that fiasco (and I did have underpants on under the hose).  This incident is on my list for a future post.  

So, here is the post I alluded to to which I alluded. (See, I do know not to end my sentences with a preposition, but it sounds so prissy.) 

The summer after my senior year in high school I was asked out on a date by a very handsome and sought after young man.  I was ecstatic and looking forward to the date.  However, since he wanted to go to Tijuana I insisted that we double date with a friend of mine.  He had a friend that would be just right so the date was made.

After the two hour drive we arrived at the border where we had to park our car and take a taxi into town.  The taxi ride was part of the adventure.  None of us spoke Spanish, but all we had to say was bull fight and off he went (at the speed of sound).  He weaved and dodged other vehicles and sightseers.  The driver appeared to be in a race with other taxi drivers to get his fares to the spectical.   He took one turn on two wheels and then screeched to a stop.

In front of us was a long line of cars going up this narrow road to the place where the bull fights were held.  Seeing that the only way around the traffic jam was to take a detour to the right side of the road he did just that.  This meant that he had to drive on the side of the hill as there was very little shoulder on the road.  With all four of us in the back seat we slid together like sardines.  It was then that I realized that we probably should have stopped in town and gotten blitzed first.

Finally, after a harrowing ride we made it in one piece to the arena.  The place was filled with people, most of them drunk and apparently celebrating surviving their ride to the arena.

After finding a seat fairly close to the pit we stopped a young man walking around yelling,

"CERVEZA."  Immediately, our hands popped up in unison.  It was a good thing that I had several cervezas under my belt before the action started.  It was interesting at first, but then the bloody part started and right then I decided I was never going to another bull fight.  By the time the whole thing was over I was so drunk that I was really inthralled with the Matador.  So, when several women started taking off their panties and tossing them into the ring I guess it must have seemed like a good idea to me.  The only problem was that I had panty hose on over my pants (thank God).  So, I, not so delicately, pulled off my panty hose and tossed them into the ring.  That must have been quite the sight as they kept catching on everything.  I can remember having a hard time getting them off so I must have danced and gyrated quite a bit.  My girl friend said loud cheers that rivaled those that the matador had received rang out during my exhibition. 

Imagine this guy with a pair of panty hose
hanging from his nose.

The taxi driver taking us back to town drove like a little old man.  He probably knew to take it easy so his cab wasn't littered with recycled cerveza.

But that's not the end of my story (what a surprise).  We then had a terrific meal at a street side cafe (with bottled water of course).  We did some sight seeing and walked around looking for a show to attend.  I was aware of the raunchyness of some of the shows in Tijuana so I carefully reviewed the pictures on each marque posted outside of each establishment.  After what seemed like ages we came to one that showed a fully dressed (gorgeous) woman only dancing, so we went in.  Wanting to keep my dinner in my stomach I had stopped drinking by this time, but the guys hadn't.

We watched this beautiful woman dance for about 40 minutes.  She was very good and extremely seductive.  She had the most beautiful legs I have ever seen and the guys kept making all kinds of comments about what they would like to do with those legs (as you can probably imagine).  I was beginning to worry about what the guys might want to do after watching such a sexy show, however, the dancer took care of that for me.  Once finished, and with quite a flourish, she took a bow.  (It is what happened next that took care of my worries.)   She reached behind her back and undid her braw.  I sat up straight and softly said, "Oh, no!" (thinking it was a strip tease after all),  then to my delight HE flipped HIS bra and HIS wig off at the same time.

I roared with laughter as I knew that this was a real embarrassment to the guys who had been going on about HIM throughout the entire show.  One might say it was a real downer!

PREVIEWS OF MONDAYS TO COME:

kt 9/2011

#228-A SCREAM PIERCED THE AIR

In deference to those of you who hate snakes I chose non threatening snake picture for this post.    I had another one which was a picture of S. Jackson and "Snakes on a Pane" but when my 16 year old grandson saw it he started laughing.  I asked him what was so funny and he pointed to a phrase written in the picture.  It said something like, "I hate' f-in' snakes.   I guess I had better look closer at what I choose for art from now on.

Over the years I have had a few encounters with snakes.  Unlike most women I don't run screaming for the nearest man to save me from the slithery serpents.  (No, I walk up to the nearest man to ask them what kind of snake it is.  See Snakes 1 #209 and Snakes 2 #220 if you want to see their less than manly reactions).  

I happen to like snakes.  Well, maybe like does not describe my feelings toward snakes, it is just that I don't dislike them.  In fact I find them very fascinating creatures.


This incident happened when I was teaching at a newly opened residential school for behavior disordered youths.  Students ranging from ages 14 to 16 were in my classroom all day and I taught every subject with mostly spit, air, and duct tape for materials.   Therefore, for science we went on a critter hunt on the school grounds.  The grounds were on about 10 acres and there was a small pond.  Luckily for me there were lots of frogs and FROG EGGS.  We gathered up numerous eggs and put them in an aquarium I had fixed made out of old door transoms I found in an attic of the school.  With a large pan of water in the center and landscaping around the edge it looked like a small pond.


A funny thing happened on this hunt.  One of my students yelled out, "Look, a two headed frog!"  All the other students came running, as did I.  Who wouldn't want to see a two headed frog.  As it turned out, it was my first class on sex education.  You see, the male frogs were smaller than the females and there was one tenacious little guy hanging on Ms. Frogy's back for dear life.  That day, they learned a lot I hadn't planned on.


Each day we watched the eggs develop into tadpoles.  One day I unlocked the classroom door in the morning to find the entire floor moving.  Over the weekend the tadpoles had developed enough to hop out of the aquarium and onto the floor.  When the students arrived they had a jolly good time with what was eventually called the "Great Frog Roundup" (somewhat like the frog round-up in Cannery Row.  If you haven't read it or seen it you have missed a classic).  There were frogs hopping all over the school section for days.  A few we got to kinda dissect after they were stepped on.  We learned a lot about frogs (and this was without a computer or a science book in the classroom). 

Ok, you are probably thinking, "I thought this story was about snakes."  Hold your horses there kiddo, I'm getting around to that.  The above little excerpt is a kind of foreshadow of things to come.


Later on, long after the frog fiasco, we went out to look for other critters.  This time we ran into a few snakes.  We found two small black snakes, a stub nose and three garter snakes.  We named them all (the stub nose was our favorite and we called him Charlie).  I also learned a lot from the frog lesson and made a lid for the terrarium we re-landscaped.  The students were allowed to handle the snakes and thanks to the town library we were able to get books about them.


Charlie was a neat snake.  He loved to be handled and would bend his head over until he formed a hook and would hang from your finger.  Then we would stroke him and he would quiver with delight.


Now, you have to know where this is going.  But, I will tell you anyway.  One evening the lid was left off the terrarium (who would have thunk it) and I forgot to check before I left.  The next morning I went in my classroom and started my usual routine when I noticed the terrarium was empty.  I gasped in horror as I had to jump a lot of hoops to be allowed to have the snakes after the frog debacle.  Quickly I scoured every nook and cranny of the room.  The door opened and in walked my students.  In a whisper I informed them of the problem and we devised a scheme to covertly check the other rooms in the school.  The students spread out and told anyone they encountered that they were on a scavenger hunt (and it was not shared that the only thing on that list was... snakes).



Within ten minutes of school starting a scream pierced the air.  All ten of my students converged upon the the room from which the shriek came.   When we entered the classroom the teacher was on her chair pointing to a snake that was slinking along the baseboard.  One of the students grabbed Butch and we all scurried out of the room (after swearing her to secrecy).  It didn't take long before another teacher came scurrying out of her room.  Like Ghost Busters we intervened before she could blow the whistle and Harry was captured.  We found every snake but Charlie.  The kids and I were really bummed out.


Then the weirdest thing happened.  I flopped down on a bean bag and said to the kids, "Too bad he's a snake.  If he were a dog I could just call him. Here Charlie, here Charlie."  Then one of the kids squealed and pointed, "Look."  Out from the side of a bookshelf wiggled Charlie and he headed right for us.  I scooped him up and we all gave him a welcome home stroke.  To this day I believe that Charlie came because I called him... ... ... Ok, you believe what you want...... and I will believe what I want!


By the way I taught for 4 months like that until our books finally arrived.  I called this my period of Socratic teaching.  At first I was scared to death, but it turned out to be the most fun I have ever had as a teacher.   And, all of the snakes were released back into their original environment before it got too cold for them to find a place to sleep for the winter.  

PREVIEWS OF MONDAY'S TO COME:

#229-AND THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO GET LUCKY

kt 2/15/12

#227 -FREAKING OUT!

May 1st:  I am trying to get ready to go to visit my daughter's and every FREAKING thing in this FREAKING world is going FREAKING wrong!

We have been having  FREAKING thunderstorms for three FREAKING days/nights straight (which means no FREAKING sleep)! Therefore there is about 4 inches of FREAKING water under my FREAKING house I had to FREAKING pump it out! 

This is a FREAKING picture of the FREAKING water
being FREAKING' pumped out my FREAKING front door! 

It has rained so FREAKING much that the small FREAKING tree by my FREAKING front window is FREAKING leaning at a FREAKING 65 degree angle!


Not only that but I could hear a FREAKING loud drip...drip...drip in my FREAKING attic all FREAKING night.


In addition to all of this, I have to leave the FREAKING front door open so the FREAKING sump pump hose (which I had to FREAKING buy and hook up myself) can snake out the my FREAKING front door. Because of this a FREAKING huge fly just FREAKING buzzed by my FREAKING face.  She is probably going to lay a FREAKING ga-zillion eggs in my home and when I return I will find my FREAKING house filled with FREAKING flies!

My FREAKING refrigerator is leaking water onto the FREAKING kitchen floor, and my FREAKING toilet in the half bath is FREAKING cracked and needs to be replaced!

And, lest not FREAKING forget, that I have to contend with this FREAKING new blog program that is FREAKING confusing.


I am so FREAKING stressed out that it is a FREAKING good thing that I don't FREAKING use the FREAKING "F-bomb" because I would have already used it a FREAKING 40 times. 


kt on FREAKING 5/1/12   (41)