That Never Happened...

Congratulations, Rachelle, on your winning entry in the photo contest! Winter Whiskers, it is!

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Darling cut her own hair!

I'm the queen of 'That Never Happened'. Really, I am. I never snorted boogers all over people while on a first date. I never dropped my cell phone in a public toilet and got caught fishing it out. And I certainly never go outside where truck drives can see me in my flannel pj's walking barefoot through muddy horse paddocks. No...these things never happened. Never.

Darling and Rufus

Today turned out to be quite lovely, despite the snow on the hill and chilly air. Darling and I decided to bring the dogs into town and walk along the old railroad tracks through Whatcom Falls Park. It's a lovely place; so picturesque and tranquil.

Now, I've not mentioned it before, but Darling has a habit of running into things. Little things, like walls, for instance. Fortunately for her, there were no walls out in the park. Unfortunately for her, there were trees. "That never happened," she said. That's Darling's second most favorite phrase. As I told her this afternoon, half of her life hasn't happened. She has no idea what I'm talking about, pleading complete ignorance. I really have no idea where she comes by such denial.

Someone is walking backwards...
Either the dogs are very talented, or perhaps it just never happened...


Hurry! She's old, we can outrun her!

While we're on the subject of Darling's favorite phrases...her most favoritist (is that a real word? The Grammar Nazi will come for me if it isn't) phrase is, "I was adopted, wasn't I. Please tell me I was adopted." I'm not really sure why she'd think that. We've always been very honest with Darling in terms of where she came from. Some years ago we sat her down and told her that, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much, they call the travelling pig gypsies who always have a supply of extra children. Pig Gypsies are always willing to barter a bit, so we traded a shiny bottle cap to them in exchange for a new daughter. To which Darling responded, "I was adopted."

Young Redwinged Blackbird pulls seeds from cattails growing in the pond.

Our walk this afternoon, as I mentioned, was along the old railroad tracks. Prior to entering the park, they travel past Scudders Pond, a gloriously swampy piece of water full of cattails, bullfrogs and mosquitoes. I told Darling how one early morning I'd decided to go for a stroll along this same trail. It was something like 6 am, probably not the safest time for a young woman to be out walking alone. That thought hadn't occurred to me until I'd been out there for half an hour and noticed that the only people I was meeting were a handful of male joggers. I was beginning to get just a bit nervous, imagining the worst each time I heard their crunching footsteps approaching me from behind. I'm sure they noticed my jumpiness, too, as I'd turn quickly around so as to get a good look at their faces just in case I lived through the attack.

My heart was racing by the time I was out of the woods and back alongside the pond. But I knew I was within sight of the apartments across the pond now; surely someone would be up and hear my screams should worse come to worse. Just as I was letting that thought slip through my head, my fears were realized. I was attacked from behind! I let out a scream; I'd been hit on the top of my head! I fell forward, the palms of my hands hitting the gravelled trail. I recall wondering briefly why I hadn't heard them come up behind me...

Quickly I attempted getting up to flee...or fight... Do you know how awkward it is to turn gracefully when you're on all fours and facing downward? Breathlessly I got up, but there was no one to be seen. I looked around. And then it happened again. Thwunk!!! On the top of my head!! What the heck??

That's when I heard the squawking and chiding from a tree above me... There sat a red winged blackbird, thoroughly ticked off at my hot pink headband!

Oh, sure, they look innocent enough...

I brushed the bits of embedded gravel from my hands, straightened my sweater and looked nervously around to see if there were any witnesses. Thankfully, there were no joggers at the moment. Hopefully, no one was awake over in those apartments to have seen what had just happened. Imagine, being attacked by a silly little bird and having it drive you right down to the ground.

But of course...That Never Happened!


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Now, a quick Taffy update! Here's what she's looking like from behind. Her udder is filling up, but we're not there yet.

Could this be considered Sheep Porn?
(Oh, never mind me...I'm up way past my bedtime!)

And the Winner Is....

Okay, when I asked y'all for stories, I had no idea how many of you had a hard time keeping your pants, skirts and even shirts on! After careful evaluation and a few hardy laughs, the winner is... Haha! You'll just have to read the rest of the blog to find out.

We girls just love a good party!

So, it seems there's going to be a blog party beginning tomorrow. I only just received the invite. Well, let me clarify, I never received one, but I read about it on someone else's blog. And knowing how my rowdy groupies here love crashing a good party, I thought I'd swipe the invite link and post it here so y'all could party on! (Do try to keep your clothes on, though, so we don't have any more embarrassing moments!)

That little bit of sun was sure nice yesterday. Too bad I woke up to the four letter S word today! About three inches, not bad when you consider they were having a slick mess of a time down in the Seattle area. A 50 plus car pile up was the 'highlight' of the news on Snoqualmie pass yesterday and even today. Yikes!

Tait and Rocket help Sunny with the grain. The temporary divider is coming down; the full divider is now up (but not in this picture!)

Snow aside, City Boy set to work putting in a new divider in the barn. Sunny has been fighting such a horrible case of lice, you may recall, and I've kept Quiet Storm out with the sheep so she didn't pick it up. However, with Taffy so close to lambing, I really need Storm back in the paddock.

Hmmm...let's see...what else was on my mind tonight? Oh, yes! Something about a contest... Well, I must tell you that your stories made me feel much better about the whole booger date incident. I got quite the giggle out of most of them, and was quite surprised to see how many of you lost your clothing in public. Snot just doesn't seem so bad anymore! In the end (ha!) I had to go with the G-string bowler, though. Jr. High? Yeah...that would be embarrassing. Congratulations, Dixie!

And for the second prize...yes, a name was drawn from the remainder of those entries, and Connie Peterson, that would be you!

Now, y'all have a good Friday and we'll see you tomorrow when the party starts!

Finally, the perfect Blogging Award! Or...

Why Slick Had me Awake at 3:00 am...

A picture of Darling's smile.

Whenever I come to my blog and see your comments, it makes me smile. I often then go visit your blog (if you've got one), and read what you've got to say. Sometimes I leave comments, and I'm always interested in reading other people's comments as well. And if I see someone commenting on your blog whom I've yet to meet, well, I tend to click their name and follow the link to their blog. It's a fun, distracting way to pass the afternoon, evening, early morning when perhaps I ought to be doing something else (cleaning toilets? Never! Sleeping? Well, that's a novel idea...)

Skipping through blogland in this fashion is how I came across Slick's blog. If you read the comments left by others here yesterday, you'd have seen that Slick was among you, confessing to thinking the piglets were cute. He also requested that I not let word of that get around, but since he left the comment here, I don't see any harm in repeating it here (I promise, Slick, I won't come over to your blog and leave feedback concerning your affection for little pink piggies...really, I won't. I promise!)

Now, if you click Slick's link, I feel I must warn you in advance that Slick's blog is not for everyone. I only say that because the first post I read there was Slick telling off some woman who'd written to complain about his language. I find this interesting, myself, that people will read your blog and then send you mail to either complain or let you know they're praying for your soul. In fact, I'm a bit jealous. No one ever writes to me complaining (okay, that part I'm not jealous about) or to let me know they're praying for me. What, am I not worthy of your prayers? Are you not concerned with my soul? Humph...I'm a sinner, too, y'know...

But I digress. I didn't spend a whole lot of time in Slick's little world; I didn't watch the video of him talking to his daughter (after reading his tirade directed to the woman complaining about his language, I thought I'd rather skip that little treasure of a video.) I did, however, skip down to the post he'd left the following day where he explains exactly what a redneck gentleman he is. And he made me laugh, out loud. And as I told him, I rarely laugh out loud at people's blogs. Chuckle, giggle, yes. LOL? Well, let's just say I'm prone to typing it more than actually doing it. And I think we all know why that is. To truly LOL for me means there may be boogers on my screen.

But again...I digress. But not really, for Slick was also complaining about not receiving any blogger awards. And I thought...yeah...I didn't get a blogger award, either! Never mind that I've only been blogging for a few weeks. But Slick, well, I'm not sure how long he's been blogging, but he did make me laugh. Out loud, even. And this surely is worthy of an award.

For some strange reason, these were the thoughts running through my head at 3 am this morning. I'm sure Slick is getting a good laugh knowing that he had me awake and unable to sleep at 3 am. Something tells me not many women would admit this publicly. Go ahead, Slick, you redneck southern gentleman, give it a good guffaw. Go ahead, get it out. Now let me tell you exactly why I was thinking about you...

It occurred to me that perhaps I ought to create my own blog awards. Something special to give to those people who really get a good snot...er...snort out of me. I'll call them the Booger Blog Awards! There was a second option, of course, as when you get to be my age, and if you've got a full bladder, you run the risk of laughing so hard you pee your pants. But somehow I didn't think the Wet Undies Award would be a good one...people may get the wrong idea!

But back to boogers: Of course, I won't be sending the winners a real live booger, that would just be gross. No, I'll need to come up with some sort of cyber booger to send to people when they make me snort snot all over my keyboard. I'll have my graphic artist come up with something. Of course, I've no clue how to write html...maybe someone out there does? That way my booger can actually have a link, like other blog awards do. I think that would be neato.

But back to Slick. Dahling...since you made me laugh out loud, and since you're whining about not getting a blog award, I'd like to offer you the first ever Booger Blog Award! When the little Booger Blog Button is created, I'll send it to you to proudly post on your blog site, K? And now you know why you had me awake at 3:00 am.

Now that I've got all that off my mind, I'm headed back to bed...

The Dating Diaries…

Well, at the urging (aka nagging, whining, blackmailing…) of some of my faithful readers (who, for the moment, shall remain nameless until I get a little dirt on them), I shall tell the story of the Booger Date. I did not want to do it, but it would appear I have little choice in the matter…however, when the dirt is dug up you can be certain that those nameless (for now) readers shall be exposed (that’s not a threat, dearies…it’s a promise!)

So….

Decades ago my mother had a friend who lived just up the road. My sister and I knew there would be no ride home from the bus on sunny days; we’d be walking the half mile up hill while our mother and her crazy friend were out having a blast on their horses. Why would I call the woman crazy? Well, for Christmas one year she gave us a jar of dead goldfish that she’d fished out of our pond. Another year we got a box of road apples…aka, horse poop. Crazy.

This crazy neighbor’s father was one of 12 children. She was the oldest of a whole passel full of cousins. One afternoon my mom, sister and I came home from shopping to find a note on our front door; “Hi, I came over with my 19 year old cousin and his black Porche convertible. Will come back later tonight!” My dad came in from working in his shop to read the note and smiled. “And for who’s benefit do you think she left this note?” he said with a smile and wink in my direction. I’m certain I perfected my eye rolling ability as a teen.

Later that night, true to her word, my mom’s crazy best friend showed up at the door with her bearded cousin and his fancy automobile. I guess she thought it would turn my head. I think he thought it would turn my head. But could it pull a horse trailer? No. In fact, I rather made the off-handed comment that it looked like an elephant had sat on it. I’m not so sure he was impressed with me at that point.

The Porche driving cousin was visiting from California for a week. In that time he borrowed his older cousin’s horse and we went out trail riding a couple of afternoons. And then the inevitable happened…he asked me out on a date. Well, one date wouldn’t hurt, right? I mean, he’d be leaving the next day and I’d never see him again…

As I said, this was decades ago. I was a senior in high school. And what do high school students do on Friday evenings in September? They go to football games. I’m not certain that’s where the cousin had in mind, but that’s where we went. Now, I must admit to the fact that I was not part of the popular crowd at school. No, not even close. And yet somehow we ended up sitting right in front of them. The air was a bit chilly, and I’d been getting over a cold. My nose was beginning to run a bit, and I kept sniffing…trying to keep it from being noticeable.

I don’t recall what was said. Does it really matter? My nose was running. Someone said something funny. I snorted. Snot flew out. Everywhere. People in front of me thought it was raining; I can only imagine the disgust from the popular crowd behind me. I was sure I’d completely grossed out my date. But hey, after tomorrow I’d never see the guy again, right???

Oh, if I’d only known…

And somebody...if you've got a more embarrassing first date story, I'd love to hear it!