Friday, January 30, 2009

Even the Cows Love Me or How to Get Stuck in Your own Driveway

Sort of an involved story but it was like a comedy of errors. And it does involve animals.
Wednesday was our wedding anniversary. My husband had been gone on a trip and called to say he was coming home, he has a big truck (semi) and had driven through all the ice and sleet and snow we had in the midwest. We had like 2 inches of mostly sleet on the ground, some snow and ice, highways were clear but side roads hadn't melted @ all @ that time. I'm driving home and thinking can he get in the driveway? My dad had blacktopped the end of our driveway and it has a little hill so it's doubly hard to get into when it's slick. So I get a brilliant idea to use the bags of salt I had stockpiled in the trunk of my car. So I get home get out of the pickup and get in the car and take the salt out to the end of the driveway. Actual highway is out of sight in this picture, it's behind the mailboxes, this is what remains of the snow after a day of above freezing temperatures, was taken this morning. So I go out there and spread salt and get the brilliant idea to mush it into the ice and snow with the car. I own one of the last rear wheel drive cars made, cadillac cts. So I'm out there on this steep little hill with the car going back and forth and eventually I can't go back anymore, just forward which is downhill and out to the highway. So I have no phone and no drivers license because I wasn't planning on going to town. Don't want to turn around because all of the other side roads were bad, so I go to town to turn around which is only 1/2 mile away. On the way back there are cows (you knew we would get to them eventually?) in the cemetary which is across from part of our property. Two young cows, big calves actually, I think OK, I will honk so they won't run out in front of me, works with deer and cows usually. So I honk honk honk, get back to my driveway and get a run @ it and get back in. So now I'm back @ the house and look to the N toward town.
This picture was taken this morning when snow had mostly melted but it's the view I saw minus cows. I see the cows running down the airstrip toward me, that's it running along the highway and then almost up to the house. A car had pulled in behind me and the girl in it said she didn't want to bother me but did I know my cows were out? I told her they weren't my cows they just followed me home but thanks anyway. Remember it's my anniversary, I have to feed my animals and think of something for supper because sandwiches won't do on an anniversary, and figure out whose cows these are. In the meantime the dogs, lab, schnauzer, bichon and terrier have discovered these cows in the yard happily munching on the compost pile and are naturally trying to run off the invaders but luckily the calves ignore them, I didn't want them out in the highway. I figure out whose cows they are, get ahold of a babysitting 13 year old boy who isn't sure how many calves they have. His mama is supposed to call me. I decide to go shovel a little on the blacktop part of the driveway, feed animals, start supper etc. After awhile I see the cows hightailing it back to the cemetary. Eventually after 1/2 hour or so my husband does come home, makes it in the driveway fine, the boy calls me and says the calves are home, I described them and told him somebody needed to check the fence.
So that was Pee Wees big adventure for the day. I guess they call the calves to feed them by honking so that's where I made my mistake, they thought they were being called to supper! Was hilarious but for awhile it was what next! So how long has it been since you've had cows follow you home, @ a run no less?


Ian Myers said...

Hey there, my dad just emailed this story to me. He got it from a friend who got it from a friend, and as usual with these things the origin has been very much lost along the way! Jasper and the Unbaked Yeast Rolls. I thought I would send it to you and see if you had ever heard it.

Those of you who have/had animals will probably appreciate it more.
It is a story that is hilarious in itself and the person that wrote it
is a good writer and made the story even better. Enjoy...

We have a fox terrier by the name of Jasper. He came to us in the
summer of 2001 from the fox terrier rescue program. For those of
you, who are unfamiliar with this type of adoption, imagine taking in a
10 year old child about whom you know nothing and committing to doing
your best to be a good parent.

Like a child, the dog came with his own idiosyncrasies. He will only
sleep on the bed, on top of the covers, nuzzled as close to my face as
he can get without actually performing a French kiss on me.

Lest you think this is a bad case of 'no discipline,' I should tell you
that Perry and I tried every means to break him of this habit including
locking him in a separate bedroom for several nights. The new door
cost over $200. But I digress.

Five weeks ago we began remodeling our house. Although the cost of the
project is downright obnoxious, it was 20 years overdue AND it got me
out of cooking Thanksgiving for family, extended family, and a lot of
friends that I like more than family most of the time.

I was assigned the task of preparing 124 of my famous yeast dinner
rolls for the two Thanksgiving feasts we did attend.

I am still cursing the electrician for getting the new oven hooked up
so quickly. It was the only appliance in the whole darn house that
worked, thus the assignment.

I made the decision to cook the rolls on Wed evening to reheat Thurs
am. Since the kitchen was freshly painted, you can imagine the odor.
Not wanting the rolls to smell like Sherwin Williams #586, I put the
rolls on baking sheets and set them in the living room to rise for a
few hours. Perry and I decided to go out to eat, returning in about an
hour. The rolls were ready to go in the oven.

It was 8:30 PM. When I went to the living room to retrieve the pans,
much to my shock one whole pan of 12 rolls was empty. I called out to
Jasper and my worst nightmare became a reality. He literally wobbled
over to me. He looked like a combination of the Pillsbury dough boy
and the Michelin Tire man wrapped up in fur. He groaned when he
walked. I swear even his cheeks were bloated.

I ran to the phone and called our vet. After a few seconds of
uproarious laughter, he told me the dog would probably be OK, however,
I needed to give him Pepto Bismol every 2 hours for the rest of the

God only knows why I thought a dog would like Pepto Bismol any more
than my kids did when they were sick. Suffice it to say that by the
time we went to bed the dog was black, white and pink. He was so
bloated we had to lift him onto the bed for the night.

We arose at 7:30 and as we always do first thing; put the dog out to
relieve himself. Well, the dog was as drunk as a sailor on his first
leave. He was running into walls, falling flat on his butt and most of
the time when he was walking his front half was going one direction and
the other half was either dragging the grass or headed 90 degrees in
another direction.

He couldn't lift his leg to pee, so he would just walk and pee at the
same time. When he ran down the small incline in our back yard he
&n bsp;couldn't stop himself and nearly ended up running into the fence.

His pupils were dilated and he was as dizzy as a loon. I endured
another few seconds of laughter from the vet (second call within 12
hours) before he explained that the yeast had fermented in his belly
and that he was indeed drunk.

He assured me that, not unlike most binges we humans go through, it
would wear off after about 4 or 5 hours and to keep giving him Pepto

Afraid to leave him by himself in the house, Perry and I loaded him up
and took him with us to my sister's house for the first Thanksgiving
meal of the day.

My sister lives outside of Muskogee on a ranch, (10 to 15 minute
drive). Rolls firmly secured in the trunk (124 less 12) and drunk dog
leaning from the back seat onto the console of the car between Perry
and I, we took off.

Now I know you probably don't believe that dogs burp, but believe me
when I say that after eating a tray of risen unbaked yeast rolls, DOGS
WILL BURP. These burps were pure Old Charter. They would have matched or beat any smell in a drunk tank at the police station. But that's
not the worst of it.

Now he was beginning to fart and they smelled like baked rolls. We endured this for the entire trip to Karen's, thankful she didn't live any further away than she did.

Once Jasper was firmly placed in my sister's garage with the door
locked, we finally sat down to enjoy our first Thanksgiving meal of the
day. The dog was the topic of conversation all morning long and
everyone made trips to the garage to witness my drunken dog, each
returning with a tale of Jasper's latest endeavor to walk without
running into something. Of course, as the old adage goes, 'what goes
in must come out' and Jasper was no exception.

Granted if it had been me that had eaten 12 risen, unbaked yeast rolls,
you might as well have put a concrete block up my behind, but alas a
dog's digestive system is quite different from yours or mine. I
discovered this was a mixed blessing when we prepared to leave Karen's
house. Having discovered his 'packages' on the garage floor, we loaded
him up in the car so we could hose down the floor.

This was another naive decision on our part. The blast of water from
the hose hit the poop on the floor and the poop on the floor withstood
the blast from the hose. It was like Portland cement beginning to
set up and cure.

We finally tried to remove it with a shovel. I (obviously no one else
was going to offer their services) had to get on my hands and knees
with a coarse brush to get the remnants off of the floor. And as if
this wasn't degrading enough, the darn dog in his drunken state had
walked through the poop and left paw prints all over the garage floor
that had to be brushed too.

Well, by this time the dog was sobering up nicely so we took him home
and dropped him off before we left for our second Thanksgiving dinner
at Perry's sister's house.

I am happy to report that as of today (Monday) the dog is back to
normal both in size and temperament. He has had a bath and is no
longer tricolor. None the worse for wear I presume. I am also happy
to report that just this evening I found 2 risen unbaked yeast rolls
hidden inside my closet door.

It appears he must have come to his senses after eating 10 of them but
decided hiding 2 of them for later would not be a bad idea. Now, I'm
doing research on the computer as to: 'How to clean unbaked dough from
the carpet.'

TC said...

LOL, I will remember the drunken tricolored dog for a long long time, and remember to guard my roll dough zealously from the dogs!! THANKS so much for sharing Ian.