Day is Done

This morning I awoke to the bright, beautiful morning sun shining in our east window. Good grief, I thought to myself, I am going to have to start shutting the drapes at bedtime if that thing is going to be waking me up every morning... I got up and shuffled into the kitchen for my coffee, turned on the BBC World News, and, as my aforementioned post stated, settled in to the cricket scores between Belgium and Birmingham. And others. Not our typical Saturday morning, but a fun way to start out an interesting day.

I took a run later in the morning. Hmmm...make that: 3 runs. I left our gate telling that Spouse o' Mine, "Make sure Biserka (the Bouvier) stays in the yard." Off I went, down the road. Past some calves, across the bridge, partway past the cornfield...and then, I heard something come up behind me. Biserka, the Bouvier. Trotting down the middle of the highway.

Sigh. She can't go with me because she doesn't know enough "running" words like the World's Best Dog, Bear, did. "Get up." (go up the curb) "Come down." (get in the street) "Move over." (move over) 'S'go. (go faster) "Here." (stop) Biserka only knows "Pasture! (!!Let's go to the pasture!!!) and "Go upstairs!" (!!Go up the stairs!!) And those two phrases have to be said sing-songy with a smile on your face or else she thinks she is in trouble and will run the opposite direction. Note: That Spouse o' Mine does not have a sing-songy voice in his repertoire, so it's a safe bet to say Biserka rarely minds him.

OK -back to running. I ran back home, me on the shoulder of the highway, and Biserka running down the middle of it. Such a nice thing to have no traffic on Saturday mornings. I let Biserka in the house with a happy "Go upstairs!! (which she happily did), and went back out to restart my jaunt. I ran past the calves, and, lookie there, our cat Euripides was sitting on the side of the highway, waiting for me. Sigh. I scooped him up, WALKED back to the house, and tossed him inside.

Morning Run: Take Three. I ran past some calves, and before I crossed the bridge, I spied something really weird on the side of the road: a deer tail...in a ziplock bag. What is that all about?! I kept running, across the bridge, past the cornfield, around the curves, and back home again. Jiggety-jig. On with the day, I thought to myself.

Biserka the Bouvier is shedding, so next on my Saturday agenda (which was planned in order of cleanliness-to-dirtiest jobs) was grooming the Bouvier. Ick. But I checked that one off my list.

Next job, even ickier, was for that Spouse o' Mine and I to take our little red wagon and a bunch of trash bags and commence picking up all the litter on the sides of our roads. It's a very unpleasant job. Local bumpkin yahoos think it's fine to throw bottles, cans, fast food trash, and the occasional deer tail into the drainage ditches along their way.

We got done with the highway part of our property, and moved on to the county road. I was a smidgeon ahead of that Spouse o' Mine (we were on either side of the road), when I kicked something black, down in the grass. It looked like a scraper for a painter or something.

But then, I touched it w/ my shoe, and ascertained that it was...

A machete!!

And it had red liquid all over the blade!!!

And I screamed!!!!

I was quite sure I had uncovered a murder weapon.

That Spouse o' Mine came over to my side of the road (he is so ding-dong calm, even when I am screaming about a murder weapon.) and he kicked it a few times.

"Trish."

"It's a toy."

Huh.

We finished that task, and moved on to others, still in some order of clean-to-dirtier: burning a little brush, cleaning out the duck house (that was not very pleasant), and finally, the task to end our day: remove the septic cap and see why the drain is so slow to drain. You know, septics are positively archaic, and this task is a REAL BIG ICK on the list, but Shitty Smitty showed me how to do it the last time he came out (that's our septic guy and yes, that is his name, and yes, he has it painted on his truck, so there), so that I would not have to pay him to make a return visit any time soon. Shitty is funny, but maybe not a real good business man.

And here it is, nearly dusk, and we're cleaned up and prepping some lamb chops for the grill.

What a Saturday.