Rambling

I've followed the CBS program Sunday Morning since the early 1970's, even though I detest left wing celebrity worship media, I like the show.

I read my Sunday paper as the program streams in the background. Once in while I'll drop the paper and give my attention to bits and pieces of the show. My point, heck I don't know. I'm conflicted. I watch a hour and a half program for the last ten seconds of nature.

Hear the elk...

*****

As she dressed for church I slapped on a skillet of hash browns and cracked eggs and tossed bread in for toast. After the coffee maker began its dance I flipped the kitchen towel over my shoulder and went outside for my morning paper.

Our weather has turned towards nice. The river is flat this morning. The scent of marsh is thick and pleasant - and I found a squirrel turd. Large oaks overhang our driveway and the little tree rats love to splat the concert with their droppings. As I examined my new found treasure I felt a presence. It was the poodle walker. He's a retired doctor. Lives across the street. The doc is about four foot nothing and prances around the neighborhood with a mangy poodle tied to his hand.

He seldom if ever glances my way as we have personal issues. His poodle likes to dump own my lawn. I know this because I clean its mess. I know the doc knows and he knows I know his mutt poops on my grass. Get it...

We don't like each the other and one of these days, as I once told him, I'll catch the critter in its act. Not exactly sure what I'll do, I mean, I'm an easy enough fella to get along with and I reserve violence only for those that intend harm to me or mine. I believe everyone deserves a second chance, but him and his poodle just might push my unfriendly button.

I'm fairly certain the doc doesn't like me, after all, he walks poodles and I shoot squirrels and paper images of democritters. So, there I am, with my rare piece of squirrel poop in hand, dish towel over my right shoulder, newspaper tucked under my arm on a beautiful Sunday morning wrapped in the peace of the moment when along comes the poodle walker. The poodle tugs at its leash, its beady eyes locked on my grass with a full load in wait of a download.

"No, Sabrina, no."

For Pete's sake, he called it, Sabrina. See what I mean...hey, if you're gonna walk a poodle at least give it a badass name. Something like, Killer or Deathray or Doom.

The poodle walker flicks me a quick glance and strains to control his two pound bundle of fury. Then, "Oh, good morning. Whatcha got there?"

"Squirrel poop."

"Sabrina, no. Come back here. Get away."

"Want it?"

I mean, after all, how often does one find a piece of squirrel poop. I extended my find.

"My, God, no. Are you cooking breakfast? Shouldn't you wash your hands...I mean, well, that's filthy and those things carry germs."

I'd forgotten the dish towel. "Yep, as a matter of fact if that rat on a leash dumps in my yard I'll have fried poodle for breakfast." Fast on my feet, I am...

He jerks the poodle into his arms and soon his tiny little legs carry him across the street. I yelled and once again offered him the squirrel poop but he never glanced back.

Weird little fella...

*****

I need to climb from this chair and run finance five gallons of premium gasoline. After my lovely wife arrives home from church we have plans to wash our travel trailer. It's way past time. I'll use my pressure washer and of course I'm slap out of premium gas. I only use the 'ole high test for all my small engined equipment.

After a years neglect the trailer is dirty and its roof holds at least a ton of leaves. Well, maybe not a ton but it is a mess. We've given thought of placing it on the market. Not sure yet. It's a pain to use and to tell you the truth, a waste of space. She's suggested a big tent. I'm thinking, depending on our budget, maybe down the road we'll look at a small class 'c' motorhome. Not sure yet. If we can't pay cash its just a pipe dream.

Either way our afternoon will be spent wet. We should take this time and also unload all the gear. Its full of stuff...canned goods, kitchen gear, two short wave radios, spare clothing, flashlights, medical kits and reference books and novels, three nice gas masks with spare filters, dutch ovens, rope and buckets and a cast net. Fishing gear with tackle boxes, Coleman lanterns and stoves and fuel for same. Like I said, lots of stuff. Then, where do I store all this gear.

Lord only knows.

You know, now that I think about it....a tent might just fit the bill.

 (No, the classic canned ham trailer pictured is not ours. It's a stock photo off Google. Nice, isn't it.)

Stephen

The Calendar

The last few dates of our kitchen calendar have been inked with, 'you shall sleep alone.'

Meaning me. She recently broke the news she plans to drive her mother to Atlanta for a medical procedure and afterwards on to South Carolina for our nephew's wedding.

Early this evening she asked if I'd please attend.

Me, attend a wedding. Now that's funny.

I don't do weddings, nor funerals. I attend rifle and pistol ranges, campfires, fishing holes, and any campsite with an old iron pot hung over a fire. I also attend, and will sign the guest book, to any gunshow. If hard pressed I'll attend county fairs, but only if it has a farm animal exhibit. Chickens and cows are cool. I have also been known to attend church, my granddaughter's school Christmas play, and boxing matches. But that's about it. I don't do crowds filled with poodle walkers and especially those known to attract metrosexuals.

She doesn't return until the second of September which gives me four full days of bachelorhood. I've plans. I should sit and put a few thoughts on a sheet of paper and make a list of those firearms I haven't shot in years and pull them from the safe. There are even a few for which have never had their pretty triggers tickled by my finger....the poor lovely lasses. They too shall be included along with select amounts of precious ammunition.


Our group meets next week at the shop and I'm sure I can recruit a few, if not all, to attend an early September range session. Perhaps make it a full day with the hours afterwards spent around a campfire with a skillet of bacon and a big pot of hot coffee and maybe even a good cigar.

Not sure though...a couple of 'em have been known to attend weddings and such silliness. One or two even wear those boy scout style shorts in public. This younger generation, I tell 'ya...

My friend and fellow group member, Senior has plans to mow the range grass and weeds to a manageable level. I've agreed to lend a hand as he's kinda busy these days with his late father's estate. We'll see. 

I know Duke will be present on the firing line. He'll of course bring along his wonderful and heavy range bag filled with various morsels. I always set my gear close to Duke's. We're buddies, he and I. He's a sucker for fresh homemade peanut butter cookies. If you place a paper plate filled with the aforementioned goodness, on the bench, he gets very distracted and will often step a foot or so away from his range bag. Just saying....I baked a batch tonight and will whip out another the night before we gather to burn powder.

I should also remind myself to not forget the Tannerite.

Weddings are for chumps.

Stephen

Highly Recommended

A couple of nights back I made fajitas. I used a new salsa. I fell in love.

Not the greatest picture in the world. This is a shot of my butcher block where I laid the jar on its side but I think you can read it. The brand is 'Mateo's.' The taste is great. I purchased the jar at Costco. Yes, for you poodle walkers out there it is organic. Trust me, try it.

Stephen