The Duck Quilt

"Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.  But how can one keep warm alone?"  Ecclesiastes 4:11

My Granny Donaldson gave me this quilt.  She called me one day, sometime before I got married in 1997, and said she had something for me.  She was quite the quilter and had a huge quilting machine in her house.  I was less than impressed with the duck quilt, considering I’d seen some of her other creations, but I remember her telling me “I thought it might keep you warm.”

Granny Donaldson died in 2001 at the age of 96.  The duck quilt never found a prominent place in my house.  It’s a bit manly.  Doesn’t really go with anything, and the 20 ducks on it are a little too brown and orange for me.  Plus, Granny Donaldson is gone now and I’m never getting another one, so I should put it away and save it.  But…

In 2007, we experienced an ice storm here in Northeast Oklahoma that caused horrible damage and power outages and constraints on normal folks that I wish not to live through again.  Trees literally exploded with the weight of the ice breaking enormous branches.  Standing out in front of our house the next morning, we thought we were in a war zone for all the explosions of trees around us.  Our power was out, but the husband had secured a generator from his workplace for us to use. 

There was a mad dash to secure a generator if you did not have one, and we provided the cash necessary for our neighbor to buy a large one from a wholesaler who had come to my bank to sell generators.  Everyone was desperate!   

We have a wood burning fireplace, so we camped out in the living room for 13 days without power!  One of the things I did to conserve heat was to place this quilt in my doorframe that leads to the upstairs of our house.  I remember thinking then that “it had kept me warm” just as Granny Donaldson had said it would. 

It was without a doubt the worst camping adventure I’d ever had and I hope not to do it again!

Ever!

And then yesterday, our air conditioner to the upstairs decided to die.  While we didn’t have to worry about freezing to death, sleeping was a high priority last night.  We camped out, once again, downstairs, but this time we slept in the extra bed and bedroom since we didn’t have to keep the fire going.  And once again, I hung Granny Donaldson’s quilt in my doorway to conserve energy.  And I’d say it is working!  The upstairs thermostat is currently reading 81, while we are sitting at 73 downstairs.  The air conditioner has only kicked on a few times in the past hour, so I’d say the quilt is keeping me cool too! 

Thank God for two air conditioning units, local repairmen who will hopefully show up today, and a less than impressive duck quilt from someone who knew I would need it!

The Orange Kitten

"Happy is the home with at least one cat." - Italian Proverb

I am not a fan of orange cats.  It’s not that I think they are any different from any other color of cat.  I just don’t care for orange ones.  And I believe there are enough stray cats in the world, that should I go to choose another cat, I should be able to find one that is not orange in color.  Orange cats are also known as “blonde” by my 7YO. 

Second in line on my Cat Color Hating Scale is a calico cat.  Not a fan.  Probably because of a black and orange calico cat name Kiki that would not let me pet her when I was a child. 

So the 7YO’s cat, Mittens, had been killed by a car late last summer and a cute little mostly gray kitten had shown up at the neighbors.  (She undeniably had peach colored calico mixed in with her gray fur, but I was willing to ignore it because she was a nice kitten.)  The neighbor didn’t want her, so I said I would take her home with me.  The 7YO promptly named her Mittens and she became his own. 

Fast forward to about a month ago.

I’d thought about getting Mittens fixed, knowing she was borderline on the preferred age of six months to have her spayed.  But was she getting fatter?

The 7YO noticed first that she had “milk suckers”.  Great!  Maybe I could still take her in…

Let me just say that nothing riles up the pro-choice/pro-lifers at this house like an unexpected teenaged cat pregnancy.

How could we not let her have the kittens? 

And so, our ignorably calico Mittens has been ballooning up over the past several weeks.  The kids couldn’t wait until she “pooped out her kittens”.  They had already begun petitioning to keep one of the kittens as a “family cat”. 

“If there is a blonde one, can we keep it?” my 7YO asked. 

“I don’t really like orange cats,” I told him.

“Why would you say that?  When they grow up, they get all shiny and nice, and they look professional!” he told me. 

Professional cats. 

What will they think of next?

And so the days had been accomplished that the cat was either to have her kittens or explode. 

Yesterday morning, she wasn’t waiting at the front door to be let into the garage for breakfast.  She wasn’t in the garage at lunchtime.  I got to thinking that I hadn’t seen her all day and I’d been home for most of the day.

I checked with the neighbor lady who said she hadn’t seen her either. 

I decided to check the barn.  On my way out to the barn, I peeked my head under the roof of the well house.  There was Mittens and her kittens.  Four little dark blobs. 

But wait…. 

She moved her front paw.  And there… what did I see?  ...but another blob that was undeniably ORANGE!

I could almost hear God laughing!

I kept the secret until the kids got home from school.  My 7YO was so excited that he “happy cried”.  We relocated Mittens and her kittens to our back porch so they would be protected, and the kids could pet the kittens every day to keep them tame so that their fate of leaving this house to go to a new one will be as expeditious as possible.    

My 7YO then prayed, “Dear Jesus, thank you for my blonde kitten.  It is just want I wanted.  It’s my FAVORITE!  In Jesus' name we pray, amen.”

It looks like we’ll be keeping a kitten, doesn’t it?

Dead Cats

"For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet.  The last enemy to be destroyed is death."  1 Corinthians 15:25-26

We are a three cat family.  We have Mama Cat, Happy, and Mittens.   Mittens should be called Mittens 2.0 because Happy’s brother was the original Mittens, but he met a car that he couldn’t outrun last fall in front of our house.  He’d been dead longer than 24 hours when the kids and I found him.  Twenty-four long, warm hours.  It wasn’t pretty. 

New Mittens is a girl cat and is grey with some peach calico.  She’s a bigger kitten who showed up at the across the street neighbor’s house and she didn’t want to keep her. 

Mama Cat, who has also been called Kitty Waa Waa and Curly by the kids for reasons I don’t understand, has only been a mama once.  She’s older and is kind of cranky.  I’ve lost track of how long we’ve had her, but it’s been a while. 

Oh, and Happy is black and white and is two years old. 

Anyway, three cats…

On Sunday, I was working on getting lunch together and noticed out my kitchen window that I could see a dark, cat-shaped lump in the grass down by the neighbor’s pasture gate.  I kept an eye on the lump while I got lunch together and the lump never moved.  The lump was dark colored, so that made it either Happy or Mama Cat.  I kept watching.  No movement.

When lunch was almost done, I sent the 9YO outside to check and see if he could find all the cats.  Only Mittens was in the garage. 

“Why?” he wanted to know. 

So I told him.

“There is a cat shaped lump down there by the neighbors that hasn’t moved the whole time I’ve been in the kitchen.  I think it might be a dead cat.”

We looked out the window and then he showed his brother.  There was a sense of urgency and they both ran out the door and down the street to check on the dead cat.

My heart constricted.  They weren’t very happy when we found (the first) Mittens.  But I thought maybe this would be better since they were going on their own accord, knowing what to expect, and it wouldn’t be a surprise.

They marched down the middle of the street, Mittens 2.0 following behind. 

I kept an eye on the dead cat.  Still nothing.

But then, just as they passed the halfway point down the road.  The dead cat’s head popped up and Mama Cat ran to meet them. 

It was almost like when the bird came back to life.

I laughed and laughed and so did they.  They patted Mama Cat’s head and came back in the house to tell me she wasn’t dead.  She was only sleeping! 

Thanks be to God for little boys, funny cats, and the promise that our death will only be the beginning of our eternal life in Heaven!

Merry Pig-mas!

So yesterday, the kids got an invite to a friend’s house for a few hours in the afternoon.  I dropped them off around two and that gave me three hours to wrap presents and finish up Christmas stuff, since I’d been sick all week with an unidentified flu-like illness.  The friend lives just around the corner, so I drove down the side of our pasture on my way to drop them off.  The horses were over by the fence and I noticed Sugar and Lucky were by the horses.  Lucky was supposed to be in his pen, so I wondered how he got out, but there was another dog there too, wasn’t there? 

I got home, put Lucky up and commenced to wrapping presents and watching HGTV upstairs in my bedroom.  After about an hour, my back could take no more, so I went downstairs and had a little break checking Facebook. 

My neighbor wrote: Just finished the big neighborhood pig roundup.  My Christmas present to you Mickie.  :)  

To which I replied: Are you freaking kidding me?

Lucy, the WonderPig, had apparently had enough of the confined life and decided to take a tour around the neighborhood.  She ended up in Sugar’s backyard and thank goodness my neighbor saw her.  He and his family rounded her up and brought her back home to her pen behind the barn.  She’d apparently worked on the cattle panels that make up the fence on the west side of the barn and pushed them so that they looked more like a teepee propped up on the telephone poles that are the infrastructure of the barn. 

This just after Wednesday, when she decided to heck with the chain link gate and shoved her way right out of it.  We now have chains on everything around here.  It’s like Alcatraz for animals. 

On Wednesday, she stayed in the backyard, while I ran around her in circles screaming at the kids to “get the dogs”, “come help me”, “NO!”, “get out of the WAY!!”  Nothing puts me in a panicked, screaming mood like a loose animal.  I’m surprised someone didn’t call the cops, thinking someone was being murdered over here.   

What we learned on Wednesday was to always hook the chain on the gate, and that I run about as fast as a 3 ½ month old pig. 

Anyway, my neighbor must have been quieter in his escapades, or I had the TV turned up way too loud, because I was totally oblivious to the whole situation! 

I wrapped up my wrapping and covered my tracks and then headed out to check on the barn situation.  The entire 20 ft. or so made up of cattle panels was leaning precariously.  There was a foot wide gap at one end that I thought the pig could have surely fit easily through, so I thought she was out again! 

Please God, don’t let the pig be out again!

“Luuuccccyyyy…” I called.

And out steps a very sleepy pig from the chicken house where she sleeps.  She’d been taking a nap!  Too much excitement, I guess. 

So I corral her back in the chicken house and lock her in so she won’t be doing any escaping before I get the fence put back up and wired in place.  Sounds easier than it really was…

By this time, I had to go pick up the kids.  I told the mom over there about the pig escape.  Her older daughter and the dad had gone to Wal-Mart earlier and the daughter said, “I saw a pig on our way to the store!  I said, ‘Dad, look, it’s a REAL LIVE pig!’”

Great.

Lucy the pig. 

Neighborhood celebrity.

I don’t know how long she was out, or where her travels took her, but it was exciting nonetheless. 

And embarrassing.

Stupid pig. 

My 9YO and I worked until dark wiring the panels back in place.  I should say we worked until my helper’s hands got too cold and until mine hurt from bending wire in place.  I was feeling like a farmer last night!

This morning, we go out to inspect our pig-proofing.  We also took Lucy an old bowling ball to play with at the advice of another Facebook friend who has raised pigs for years.  Said she might be bored.    

Lucy and Lucky immediately started playing.  Lucy kept head butting Lucky and was trying to bite his tail.  It was funny to watch.  She didn’t think a whole lot of the bowling ball, but gave it a couple of shoves with her nose.

I also had her eat dog food out of my hand and this time she let me pat her back.  I think her whole trip around the neighborhood made her a little friendlier to us.  They say pigs are smart.  Smart as a dog, I’ve heard.  Maybe, just maybe, she had some escaper’s remorse yesterday while she was off gallivanting with the dogs.  Maybe there was a bit of panic in her heart that she was truly lost.  Maybe there was no tussling with the neighbor because she was relieved that someone knew where she belonged.  Maybe she thought “There’s no place like home.”

Maybe we should have named her Dorothy.

Dorothy Houdini.

The Rabbit's Revenge

“For by now I could have stretched out my hand and struck you and your people with a plague that would have wiped you off the earth.”  Exodus 9:15

A couple of weekends ago, my neighbor and I headed over to Claremore on a mission to visit Hoover’s Antique Mall.  I’d been in there a couple of months ago and saw some wooden signs with funny sayings that I thought would make good Christmas gifts. 

Like: “I’m so busy, I don’t know whether I’ve found a rope, or lost my horse.”  Ha ha!

After hitting Hoover’s and having lunch at The Pink House, we were just about ready to head home, but…  who could visit Claremore without hitting the Goodwill? 

Well, maybe you can, but I can’t.

“Since we’re so close….” I said. 

My neighbor was willing, so we headed on over.  I noticed when we pulled into the parking lot that it was completely full except for one space reserved for me.  Ok, I don’t really have my own parking spot, but there was just one hole left and I assumed it was for me. 

We go into the store and it is a frenzy of shoppers.  The sign on the door said “50% off all clothing sale”.  That explained the parking lot. 

I found several sweaters that beckoned me take them home to replace other Goodwill sweaters that have grown weary over the winters.  I found two red ones from Land’s End and Eddie Bauer, a brown one from Liz Claiborne, and a white one from a frou frou mall store who will remain nameless to protect the innocent. 

The white one was a turtleneck lovely that was as soft as a cloud.  Kind of felt like a rabbit.  I checked the tag….

Yep, sure enough, it WAS a rabbit! 

I loved it, but it seemed kind of hairy.  So I washed it with some unsuspecting other clothing items.  Yes, the tag says hand wash, but around here if you can’t make it through the washer and the dryer, then it is back to Goodwill you go.  Everything seemed okay when I placed said sweater in the dryer along with all its other new friends from the washing machine.  I had the forethought to assume it would be putting off a lot of fuzz so I checked the lint trap twice during its drying.  Both times it appeared that I had stuck a cat in the dryer.  A big, fat, fluffy, white cat… who was shedding profusely.

Little did I know…

I put all the laundry up into their respective places and then decided upon wearing my “new” sweater the following day.  I ignored the first few strands of fuzz that landed on my eyelashes as I pulled the thing over my head. 

As the day wore on, I noticed my nose tickling.  Then, as I was speaking with animated hands at Sunday school, I noticed that I was caught in a veritable whirlwind of fuzz trying to shove itself up my nose.  This was one hairy sweater!

I would not be deterred.  It was a nice sweater.  It fit me perfect and looked cute with my red snowman scarf I’d gotten from the dollar store.  I took it off as soon as I got home and threw it back in the laundry. 

Monday passed and upon the arrival home of my husband, he asked me if I’d washed his shirt with something fuzzy.  His entire shirt was a veritable spider web of fuzz! 

Great.

Then I began to notice fuzz on my coat, on my undershirt, on my underwear!  It was as if I’d released a great fuzzy pestilence upon my household.    

I was still in denial that I could be beaten by a $2.50 sweater.  So I washed the sweater again, by itself, twice.  And I dried it… twice.  And each time it was as if the rabbit within was releasing more hair this time than the last.

But it was such a nice sweater. 

Yesterday, after wearing the sweater again, I resolved myself to the fact that some clothing articles should just stay at Goodwill.  After a day filled with pulling fuzz strands out of my nose and itching my eyes to clear away the cobwebs of fuzz, I placed the fuzzy sweater into my own Goodwill donation pile.  I hope it finds a good home, really, I do.  Maybe someone who will be willing to hand wash it this time.  Maybe it was my own fault for trying to change it into something it wasn’t meant to be.  Or maybe it was the company’s fault for using a rabbit to make a sweater in the first place.  Or maybe it was finally the white rabbit’s revenge.  What he had against me personally, I’ll never know. 

As for me, my days of angora are over.  After this rabbit sweater experience, I can only imagine what a mess an angora goat sweater could make.  (If you thought I was going to stop shopping at Goodwill, you’re sadly mistaken!)

May your days be fuzzy and bright, and may all your rabbit sweaters be white!

BFFs

"This is my command:  Love each other."  John 15:17

An update on our pig growing adventure... 

Lucy gets bigger everyday.  Bigger and bigger and bigger. 

She still doesn't think too much of the human lifeform, but she loves Lucky. 

She also loves dogfood.  She may be suffering from an identity crisis. 

Currently, here's how the feed goes at our house:

• The chickens like pigfood. 
• The pig likes dogfood.
• The dog likes chickens. 

It's a full circle of life.... and death.

Anyway, the dog has not acquired a taste for pig ears or pig feet just yet, which is a good thing because she loves him.

They play and run together.  It is really quite funny.  Then Lucky will lie down and Lucy will root him with her nose.  He doesn't think too much of this, but it is fun to watch. 

Sorry for the angle.  She's not aware this isn't her best side.  Or maybe it is!  Isn't that a pork butt?  Mmmm.....  Pulled pork sandwiches.... 

The neighbor dog isn't allowed in with the pig or chickens, so she watches from the outside. 

When Lucky is out but not in the barn with Lucy, she runs the fence and grunts at him when she can see him.

Such good friends are they... 

 
We suspect she will probably be tough from running with the dog and from the kids. 

I'll let you know in a few more months. 

Maybe. 

Another One of Those Days

I woke up to find the stick horse in the pasture. 

I'm sure he had canine help in getting out there, but he looked funny to me.  Kind of looks surprised, doesn't he?  I'm sure he and Roany Pony will have lots of fun today skipping around the pasture. 

Then I find lots of this stuff on my lawn.

Burned bank statements, cancelled checks, deposit slips.  Only as you can see, they're not very burned!  Remember that I used to be a Bank Examiner?  And then I worked in a bank?  One of my titles was Information Security Officer.  This is an Information Security Officer big no no.  And ironically, the checks were all deposited into an account at a bank I used to examine.  Hmmm. 

So I go across the street to the neighbors to tell them that bank statements are flying around everywhere.  Her husband is a junk man and apparently his friend had cleaned out a storage facility where the statements were kept.  Now they are kept on my front yard, in my fence and across my pasture.  Where are YOUR old bank statements???   

And now a public service announcement...

Please shred!  It makes it easier when the lawnmower hits it.  Plus, I won't be able to steal your private financial account information when your statements come blowing onto my lawn. 

Anyway, I came home with this:

 Sorry, she's a little blurry, but she REALLY enjoys being petted!  And she sticks her face in my face every chance she gets.  And if I'm not in constant physical contact with her, she cries.

Just another day in the life of... 

What kind of excitement are you having this Wednesday? 

El Diablo

"Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently.  But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted."  Galatians 6:1

Do you have an alter-ego? My dog does. His real name is Lucky. Most of the time he’s a big, sweet, lovable dog.



Lucky likes to just sit by me. He likes to lean on me if I’m not touching him. He lays his big slobbery head on my lap and leaves me looking like I’ve been slimed. He watches the kids and stays with them wherever they might be playing in the yard. He watches the neighbor cows and if they make one wrong move, he’s right up to the fence barking them back into order. When I try to catch Roany Pony, he corners him for me, and miraculously, Roany immediately gives up when Lucky is on the job.


But…


Lucky has another side. One where the day-to-day business of being a good boy catches up with him, and he just can’t help himself. One that says, “It’s okay if I tear up the trash and steal the neighbor’s stuff.” One that has earned him the nickname El Diablo.


El Diablo only comes out when Lucky is without direct supervision. El Diablo knocks over the trash can and spreads a week’s worth of garbage on the lawn in search of a lone McNugget. El Diablo steals the neighbor’s cigarettes and spreads them on my lawn for no good reason. And last night El Diablo stole the neighbor’s solar lamp (see picture) and gave me a weird freak out moment when I saw something glowing on my lawn. The aliens have returned….


El Diablo - chronic kleptomaniac.


The funny thing about El Diablo is that he disappears immediately whenever he’s caught. Lucky is extremely remorseful for anything El Diablo might have done and hangs his head in shame. We go through the “leave it” routine taught to us at obedience class, and Lucky swears with his face that he’ll never touch it again. And that’s been the case with the newspaper he kept stealing from our newspaper holder thingy and chewing up on the driveway.


But even Lucky has his weaknesses. He can’t resist a good chicken on the foot. He can’t resist leftover ice cream or popsicles in the garage trash can. And he can’t be trusted not to drink out of the swimming pool even though the horse’s water would be more convenient, one would think.


It is with those things that the metamorphosis takes place and Lucky becomes El Diablo.


I’m a lot like Lucky. I have an alter-ego named The Napper. I should be more productive. I should do laundry and wash dishes while the kids are at school. I should be well ahead on the task to provide an evening meal for my family. But sometimes the call to Slumberland is just too strong. Sometimes I have to lie down. Sometimes I think it will only be for a minute…


The Napper – borderline narcoleptic.


So what’s your alter-ego? I’m guessing you have one. Might be The Meanie, The Procrastinator, The Whiner. I guess it all depends on what your weakness is. How we act without supervision is just as much a part of our personality as the face we put on for the public.


Now, my secret is out: I’m lazy… but at least I don’t steal!

I'm a good sinner!  Really, I am!! 


And to my neighbor: I’ll put the lamp in your mailbox. Sorry!

Uninvited Guests

As I recently predicted, the neighbor goats have become a nuisance.  They are out nearly every day.  Most days they just hang out in their own front yard, but they've eaten all the flowers of an elderly neighbor, got penned up in the wrong pasture and had to be driven out by none other than yours truly, and have stopped at least a couple of cars trying to cross their path. 

Last night my goat deterrent system was in full force as they were trying to visit me. 

He's pretty fearless.  Well, until they lower their heads and act like they are going to butt him.  Then he runs away.  He waits a while and then tries again.  The goats are just as stubborn. 

They were determined to get into my pasture since we have a small dirt pile that is always fun for "kids" to climb.  My gate is a little low for them, so here's how baby maneuvered the gate. 

First it was lay down. 

Then it was fall over to slide under.  Mama goat just kind of got down and walked on her elbows, or stayed where she was on the other side of the fence, which is where she belonged in the first place!

Eventually they tired of my place and decided to dodge traffic on their way home.  They're pretty good at it since there isn't much traffic. 

Hey, wait a minute, is that little one sticking its tongue out at me?

Is this the equivalent of a obscene goat gesture? 

KIDS today!  Got to be diligent or they'll turn into juvenile delinquents. 

Let's hope my goat deterrent doesn't make friends with the wrong crowd! 

Invasion of the Goats

"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne.  All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.  He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left."  Matthew 25:31-33

After a wild night on the town in Bartlesville, Oklahoma - three games of bowling, eating at Taco Bueno, and visiting the Kiddie Park for what could possibly be the last time due to tall children - I was rudely awakened at 6:30 am by the incessant barking of my neighbor's dog, Sugar, right out in front of my house. 

I'd gone to sleep with wet hair.  Wet short hair.  Thank goodness for elderly neighbors who don't see so well. 

I opened the door. 

"Shut up, Sugar!" I said. 

She lowered her head and looked at me like she was guilty. 

"Git," I said. 

But she didn't move. 

I threw my shoe at her and she decided to go home.  And I went back to sleep. 

Then we all got up at a more decent hour and got ready to go to church where I would be covering Sunday school, so we couldn't be late. 

Woman who says things like "shut up" to a dog and occasionally her own children covering Sunday school.  What will they think of next? 

Anyway, headed to the car, I look around the corner and see this.

So I run and grab the camera before it gets away.  I'm believing this to be the guilty party for the early morning barkfest. 

Then I see the other two.  Mama up by the house, other baby already in the dog pen. 

Very cute, but I don't really have time for a band of rogue goats before church. 

I grab a bucket with a little horse feed in it and try to get them to come over to me.  They weren't interested, but as soon as I walked toward them, they went into the dog pen through the gate.  Our dog was still in the barn and barked from that gate at the intruders who were stepping onto his turf. 

I shut both gates and headed off to church, leaving them the bucket of horse feed.  I was sure when we returned, someone would have come for them and taken them home.  But I was wrong.  I had three goats taking an afternoon snooze in the shade under the tree after church. 

We figured out that they probably belonged to the new neighbors, so we went over and told them we had their goats.  Judging by the escaping frequency of the horses who lived there last year, I expect this to happen no fewer than 25 times in the next 6 months.  Especially if I keep feeding them.   

The oldest boy came over and herded them home. 

I thought it was kind of a funny site. 

Three goats heading home down the street. 

Stampede!!

Not something you see everyday. 

Hope your day too was filled with surprises, or laughter, or little flopping goat ears!