Can't Put a Price on Innocence

“How can a young man keep his way pure?  By living according to your word.”  Psalm 119:9

*Okay, so Anakin Skywalker has nothing to do with this post, but I was really proud of my Halloween pumpkin.  We won first place at church.  Think of it as me waving the mighty sword of motherhood.

I try to keep my kids safe from the pitfalls of the world.  They’ve only seen a handful of PG-13 movies that I have previewed myself.  Mythbusters is probably the most risqué show we watch on TV.  And my husband and I don’t generally go around having inappropriate PDA moments. 

But…  I am lazy.  I have not installed a firewall on the computer for fear that it will complicate my life.  I used to manage the firewall at a bank that I worked at and we were all-exclusive when it came to the internet.  I had to open up sites one-by-one that were necessary for our employees.  The reason behind this was a few bad apples who spent nine hours a day on MySpace and completed or attempted very little actual work.  So I am well-versed in the pains of the firewall. 

However, my children like to play games on the internet. 

Introducing:  MommyWall.

I have given them “the talk” on how there are inappropriate things on the internet.  Things that will make their eyes fall out.  Things that will rot their brains.  Things that will make them go blind. 

“Like what?” they wanted to know.

Like sex, and violence, and people using drugs, and other stuff that is not age-appropriate.  (I use “not appropriate” as a catchall for all things bad around here.)

They have been instructed NEVER to click on an advertisement because it might take them straight to all these bad things.  They have been instructed to NEVER answer any questions or sign up for any memberships because bad people might be behind it.  They have MOST IMPORTANTLY been instructed to come and get me if anything looks weird on the computer.

So, the other day my 9YO comes out of the computer room with a wide-eyed look on his face.

“I’m sorry, Mommy…   I won’t ever do it again…  I clicked on something…  I think it was sex…” he said.

“Why do you think that?” I asked.  (Isn’t that what the psychologists say to ask?!?!)

“Because it said I had to pay!”

He has no idea!

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!

Turntables: The New Stone Tablets

While driving down the road to Wal-Mart yesterday, we were listening to Taio Cruz’s Dynamite song and my 9YO says to me:

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you could play the song backwards and there was a secret code in it?”

A question that spans the generations.

I remember as a kid hearing how certain songs held a secret message if you would only play their record backward on the turntable.

A few definitions:

• Record – big circular piece of thick black vinyl with grooves cut into it that were “read” by a needle on an arm that was also attached to a set of speakers.  Said grooves resulted in a grainy musical experience not able to be replicated by today’s new fanagled CDs or digital downloads. 

• Turntable – a large piece of equipment with the equivalent of a lazy Susan for mechanically turning said records. 

I had an old turntable that was part of a stereo that had belonged to my aunt and uncle.  It also had an 8-track player, which we're not even going to get into...  I had a few 33s (size of a record), including Michael Jackson and Van Halen.  I remember hearing about songs that could be played backwards on the turntable and said things like 666 or Kill Your Parents and believed them to be straight from Satan.  Reportedly one was by Ozzy Osborne, who was going through his blood drinking phase.  I thought if I even listened to one the right way, I would probably immediately become a Devil Worshipper (a horrendous fear of my youth) or at least be permanently warped. 

I think I tried to see if Michael Jackson had embedded any secret messages that I could unlock by spinning the turntable counterclockwise with my hand, but alas Billie Jean and Thriller always sounded better the right way. 

Nevertheless, my question for you today is:  With all our high tech gadgetry out there today, could a song still be played backwards?

When I hit the rewind (probably another outdated term) on my CD player, it merely skips back to the sound one second ago and then plays on.  I don’t believe it is truly playing the song backwards.  Plus, I am unaware (of probably a lot of things) of any way to truly slow down the backward playing of a song so that you could actually understand syllables to decode any secret message. 

Is this a part of my childhood that has been rendered obsolete?

Is this a path into the dark side that has been closed by technology?

Will my children ever have the opportunity to change the needle on an old turntable?   

Is this blog really being written by a cavewoman on a stone tablet?

I'm beginning to think so! 

A Sonic Epiphany

“Youth is wasted on the young.” – George Bernard Shaw

*Note to self:  I should just buy oldest kid a coat for Christmas, as this is the second year in a row his coat has given out the week after Christmas. 

So last week, we had to run to Tulsa to get the kid a coat, even though it was 70 and sunny.  While we were in the 71^st & Memorial area, I decided to throw caution to the wind and say:

“You guys want to go to the mall?” 

Now understand that my kids have been to the mall probably no more than five times in their lives.  They think of it as a magic wonderland where you ride stairs up and down, and get to eat at a lovely place called the Food Court.  There is also a place called Candyopolis there, the sights of which makes their eyeballs fall out of their heads.  So the answer from the backseat was:

“YYYYYYYEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!!!!!” 

Candyopolis was sadly closed, but was quickly forgotten when the crowds parted and revealed the beautiful neon of the smorgasbord known as the Food Court.  Unfortunately, the rest of Tulsa was still on winter break as well, and everyone had congregated at the Food Court. 

My children chose Sonic. 

Uh, did they not get the memo about their being free-standing restaurants where you don’t stand in line and they bring food out to your car?

Anyway, while I ordered, they held down three seats at the end of a long communal row of tables and chairs. 

When I had finally secured two Wacky Packs and a hamburger, I joined them at the communal table.  Our seatmates appeared to be traditional college students. 

I say traditional because my friend Deb has gone back to college and is a non-traditional student.  Not the age of the traditional college students.  Nice try, Deb.

As I sat eating my Sonic hamburger, I had an epiphany.  Probably caused by the caloric overload.

My children (who are 7 and 9) are now closer in age to these college students than I am! 

Now that’s disturbing.

Disturbing because I still think I’m with it.

Disturbing because I still think I haven’t changed much since that age.

Disturbing because I still have as many pimples as some of them.

So guess who was the “old” lady at the table that day?

Yep.  That would be me. 

A serious blow to my psyche. 

So from now on, I’m warding off Sonic hamburgers.  Apparently they cause serious introspection that can have disturbing results.  From now on, I’m sticking to only items from the ice cream menu.  There’s protein in soft-serve, right? 

Right????

Just say yes. 

Respect your elders, you know.

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.

Hairy Leg Comparison

Last March, after one of the coldest, snowiest winters in all my life, I posted about Roany Pony's hairy legs. 

This was the leg hair I observed:

For comparison's sake, here is Roany Pony's leg hair this winter:

Notice my taste in tacky fingernail polish has not changed. 

Is less leg hair for Roany Pony a sign of a milder winter?  Well, let's hope so, being as since last year's winter broke snowfall/blizzard/coldness records that I don't really care to revisit.  Or am I just early in the season and his leg hair hasn't had enough time to grow out? 

I'll let you know in March. 

You Wanna Fight?

I do this thing with Lucky.  It's our thing.  He really doesn't do it with anyone else.  Here's how it goes.

First, he sits and stares at me like this.

And I fail to notice, so he sits and waits very patiently.   Or, he stands and leans his full weight on my legs. 

Come on!  Say it!  he says. 

So I say, "You wanna fight?" with a grovely voice and I shove him over with my foot. 

Then he proceeds to attack my leg with as soft a bite as he can muster with those long teeth. 

So I put my foot on his head.

And he does things like this.

No, that's not blood.  Probably cat food. 

And then he does this. 

Which I take to mean "I surrender!!"

It's really quite the spectacle.  It's become a family favorite.  The kids say, "Mommy!  Fight with the dog!"  And for Mother's Day the teacher passed out one of those "All About My Mother" sheets and the answer for what I did best was "fight with the dog".  Everyone has a talent!

Then Lucky and I have to make up by shaking hands. 

"You're such a good boy! You big dummy!"  I say. 

"Who you calling dummy?" he says. 

Ouch!  Okay, I take it back.  Geesh!   

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!

Advent Memories

“Advent  - (from the Latin word adventus meaning "coming") is a season observed in many Western Christian churches, a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus at Christmas.” - Wikipedia

So there I was, sitting in church last Sunday, listening to the pre-service music, getting settled in my pew, when I notice the Pastor rise from his seat take his bulletin and flap out the Christ candle on the Advent wreath that the acolyte had mistakenly lit. 

You see, it was only the first Sunday of Advent, so only the pink candle and a purple candle should have been lit…  well, I hope that’s right because that’s what we ended up with after the bulletin smack down of the Christ candle. 

I’m not real current on my Advent candle lighting procedures since it has been many moons since I’ve been asked to acolyte.

Many, many moons.

Anyway, I found all this to be quite funny and filed it away under Advent Memories in my head.

Another Advent Memory of mine occurred when I likely was an acolyte, because in this memory, I have a front seat of the church view. 

A girl named Amie was singing in front of Mt. Olive, standing behind the black piano that was beside our Advent wreath.  Now the Advent wreath at my current church is quite substantial and tall, but at Mt. Olive our Advent wreath stood about four feet tall and was what I would describe as “spindly”.  I remember having to be particularly careful about lighting the Advent wreath for fear that the whole thing would go toppling over. 

And it seems I had to light that thing a lot!  I was a seasoned acolyte back in my day.

Anyway, back to Amie singing with piano accompaniment…

I don’t remember what song she was singing (maybe one of you out there can help me out), but sometime during the middle part of the song, an ember from one of the candles fell to the evergreen circle at the base of the candles.  Smoke started first.  Then flames. 

Now this wasn’t a catastrophic fire by any means, but Amie’s eyes got as big as saucers while she watched the flame grow to about three inches tall. 

While the rest of the congregation sat in paralyzed silence, our Usher Extraordinaire name Fred came up to the Advent wreath, Amie still singing and probably Eleanor still playing the piano, and put the fire out with is bare hands.  I can still see him patting and twisting those branches until the fire went out.

Fred was my hero.  Not that we were all in grave danger.  The interior of Mt. Olive’s sanctuary is mostly concrete, brick and stone.  The fire really wouldn’t have had anywhere to go.  And it isn’t like we couldn’t have used a less spindly Advent wreath, but… 

Fred was still a hero.   He saved Advent.

Fast forward to this past year…

My church holds an annual “Advent Fair” where the kids can make some sort of Advent wreath or calendar or other project.  Last year it was a wreath with a Styrofoam base, plastic evergreen garland, ribbon, and the five necessary candles all glued together.  We lit ours maybe once last year, but with memories of an Advent wreath catching fire in my brain, I find I’m not a huge fan of the at-home Advent wreath.  So after Christmas was over, the Advent wreath got placed in the attic.  I didn’t box it up, not that it would have mattered, because I was afraid it would get squashed and broken.  And after all, my babies made it!

Well, here’s what I found this year…

Seems that the 112 degree temperatures of our Oklahoma summer this year were too much for the Advent wreath. 

Quite the pathetic wreath, but funny nonetheless! 

I hope you’re preparing for the coming of Jesus, and I hope someday you share your Advent stories with me!

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. 

Warning: Depressed Blogger

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." Revelation 21:4

So I haven’t felt like writing much lately.  Call me Debbie Downer. 

You’ll recall that a few months ago, my cousin Jamie died of cancer at the age of 34.

Then, a man named Kylie, who was my assistant soccer coach for my team this spring, was killed in a car wreck.  He was 41. 

Then, my cousin Chris’s wife, Linda, found out she had and died from cancer in two months.  She was 37. 

Then, a week ago Wednesday, my neighbor, Becky, died unexpectedly after an upper respiratory infection.  She was 43. 

I’m tired of losing people.

Even if they all went to heaven.  

I’ve heard the internet quote that God sends people into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  I think I need some more lifetime peeps.  My friends Kylie, Linda, and Becky were literally in my life for a season.  Kylie – a soccer season, Linda – the summer, and Becky – okay Becky was with me about a year, but still… 

I’ve put a moratorium on any further deaths for people I know until at least the first of the year.  If you think you’re close, you’re going to have to just deal.

And this week I was supposed to be thankful, but all I’ve been thinking here lately is “Man, this just sucks!”

It sucks that my friends are gone.  It sucks that they all four left behind small children.  It sucks for their relatives who are left behind to struggle with life without them.

And then, my Russian friend, Nadia, tells me that her husband’s contract isn’t being renewed and they will be moving back to Detroit at the end of December. 

Ok, I know Nadia didn’t die (only I would actually die if I was told I had to move to Detroit), but it still felt like someone cut off my arm.  She was my new friend, and I was just getting to know her. 

Again…  This really sucks. 

And yet, it is not my job to try to sort out the plan that is at work here.   I’m sure there is a reason why four of my “young” friends were needed in heaven this year.  I’m sure there is a reason why Nadia can’t stay in Oklahoma.  I’m sure there is a reason why you’re reading this. 

Thanks for listening to my whining.

No more deaths till 2012! 

Love,

Debbie Downer

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? 

Lucy

"The pig is also unclean; although it has a split hoof, it does not chew the cud.  You are not to eat their meat or touch their carcasses."  Deuteronomy 14:8

Guess what we got? 

Isn't she lovely?  The kids named her Lucy and then told her we were going to kill her and eat her.  We'll see how that goes. 

This is me pig wrestling with her on her first night. 

My husband really enjoyed it. 

I put the dog harness on her because she was less than cooperative and I didn't want to carry a screaming pig all the way to the barn.  This got her away from my ear at least.  Plus, it gave me something to grab a hold of.  Pigs are kind of like bullets. 

Ever been in a greased pig contest? 

I have. 
I didn't win. 

Lucy became a new roommate for the chickens.  They were scared to death of her.  One chicken was injured in all the uproar.  One pig's feelings were forever scarred. 

The next morning she was a bit more friendly.  We introduced her to the dog.  Lucky initially acted like he was going to eat her, but then decided it would be more fun to play with her.  Unfortunately the pig didn't speak dog.  She just didn't get it at first.  Finally she started chasing after the dog and a beautiful friendship was born.  Lucky and Lucy - BFFs. 

Someone asked me if I could eat my dog's best friend.  Hmmm. 

Only time will tell.