Runways Freeways And Fairways: Two Of These Things Don’t Go Together!

Freshly back from a day of high school league golf, and I am ready for another round. At least today’s match will be in a very quiet, secluded venue. Yesterday’s match was a great time, but sadly, the course is bordered by a small plane airport, and a major freeway.

So much for hearing the birds chirp and the leaves rustle gently in the breeze. Nope, small planes, mostly props, taking off for the S.F. bay area every thirty to sixty seconds. It sounds like a fleet of flying lawn mowers taking off. As for the freeway? The main artery from the San Joaquin Valley to San Fransisco and the bay area is the northern border of the course! The only description I can think of is think of the freeway as a pile of poop and sugar, and the cars, and trucks are ants and cockroaches who have tapeworms! They never stop moving.

Now that I think about, the intrusion into our daily, and personal lives by the federal government is much the same. We are the fairways, and the Fed is the ever-present, noisy runway/freeway and those darn bugs are represent politicians/laws that plague us Americans that just want to be left alone on our fairways to play golf. No matter how good or bad we are at the game/life.

Yeah, but what do I know, my claim to fame is being able to eat multiple Habaneros and swig gallons of beer on a Monday morning:)

Sorry for the slight injection of politics, but it has been quite awhile since I went American Terrorist!

The Mystery Of Curb Couches

Since moving to the thriving metropolis of Modesto CA, met-head central, I have noticed a strange phenomena: worn out couches appearing on neighbor sidewalks! I spotted two of them this morning. Most of them are of the crush velvet variety, with an occasional ripped leather mixed in. Some of them look like they still have a few good years of backyard beer drinking service left in them. Heck, if I were a street bum, I would rig up some casters, and McGyver myself an R.V.

Whatever happened to just taking your junk to the dump? I guess we live in a society that figures if you can remove your problems from your house or yard, then problem solved.

T Minus 49 And Counting

49 working days til summer vacation. And I can’t wait. Between almost losing my two pups to a virus, and all the budget issues at work, I need some fishing time! Then again, with cost of living rising, and the check decreasing, I just might end up working a part-time summer job.

Question is, who wants to hire a guy like me for a part-time summer job? What employer wants to invest in somebody who will only be working for a few months? Guess I could pick crops, or work for a canary. I bet I would be a popular guy working in the fields of Central Cali:)

One Home One On The Way!

B.W. has officially survived his life threatning malady. Little dude is already running around 80% of normal. Eating some food and drinking a lot of water. It is now Bill-Willy’s turn to come home. It is going to be Christmas in March for me.

If all goes well, they will be in prime shape for St. Paddy’s Da

Two Sick Puppies

No, I am not talking about those two broads from the flick Monster, I am talking about my boys; B.W. and Bill-Willy. I knew something was up Tuesday evening when I had all the fixins’ for the bbq ready to go. This is the green light that all the dogs wait for. Usually, the two boys and thier sister, Tula, start jumping up, and twirling at first sight of me grabbing the goods, and really go ballistic when I go for my beer. They know what is about to go down in the backyard. This past Tuesday night, all this mess was going down, except B.W. was missing. I found him sleeping on his cushion. He saw the beer in my hand, but he was not moving. I checked him out,( don’t forget, I am not a vet, but I play one when I have a beer in my hand), no belly pain, eyes were clear, and breath was….not bad! I checked the yard, and garage, for anything that he could have consumed. Negative for bad stuff, other than a few piles of dog doo. Then It struck me, he likes to party in the cat box like it is 1999! I am talking Cat Crapcycles, Poop-Pies, ect. I figure he just ate too much kitylitter covered poop. He is just now starting to move around, other than when he is hurling his innards out. Wednesday morning, his brother Bill-Willy comes down with the same malady. Same story as B.W.

Granted, I still have four other dogs to hang with and drink beer, and sing Hank Jr. tunes with, but I miss my boys! They are seven months old and it seems they have been part of the family for seventy years. I am hoping the can pull themselves together by tonight, because I don’t know where I will find the cash to take them to the real vet’s office, and two, it is Friday, their favorite party with dad day. I figure their raiding the litter box days are over:)

Still In Blackout Mode And Norma My Pet Chicken

No, no, no, I am not making another beer reference…yet! I am talking about my political news black out. It is an amazing fact that life is quite fun when I dumb myself down. It allows my very high functioning CPU to work on other things. Like spending more time outdoors with the dogs in the backyard. Getting my fishing gear in order for this summer; watch out catfish, the Hillbilly is coming for ya! Cleaning out the garage, though there ain’t much to move other than the dust. I have also spent many an hour watching my james Bond Marathon Theatre, seeing I have all the movies.

I also find I steer clear of political topics in conversations I have with my beer drinking pals down at the watering hole. More time to discuss sports, food, beer and such. It is, and has been a nice break, and one I think I am going to continue for bit longer. There is one draw back to this Blackout of mine: I really miss pissing off people, well the ones I meet for the first time.

OK, now for a Hillbilly Moment. Growing up on the farm, I always had plenty of animals, especially chickens. During the spring, it was not uncommon to have 20-30 baby chicks hatch. Sometimes, there would be a chick that was a slacker. So I always checked the pile of un-hatched eggs to make sure everyone who was alive, made it out. I can remember th foul, bitter smell of the rotten egg! I used to chuck the un-exploded ones like a grenade against the rabbit barn. I could always tell which had a bird by gently shaking the egg. These I would crack and peel slowly, sometimes having to put them in a bowl, to dry the chick out in the sun. After a few hours, they would pop to life and join the rest in the brood. But there was one that, for some reason, a piece of the shell stuck to her little leg. I must have tugged a bit too hard, and broke her leg. I went and retrieved a tooth pick and some duct tape so I could make a splint

Another 4 day Work Week

Just finished another terrific 3-day weekend. Weather was nice; 70 degrees and sunny during the day. One of the few good things about living in California. I decided to hit some golf balls at the range on Monday…and so did nearly a 100 of my good friends! Looks like the weather is going to get cold for the next few days. I guess it is my fault for washing the truck.

So I am starting another week of “political blackout” which is great. I figure if I don’t hear the crap going down, it ain’t there:) I will just focus on my golf season, and my intense love of beer. And hope I don’ get hit by a frigging meteor!

Great Balls Of Fire….In The Sky Over Russia

Check the pictures and videos of the meteorite flying through the Russian sky this morning! There is also a video…..I don’t think this is a hoax

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2279020/Russian-meteorite-Moment-meteorite-exploded-doctors-treat-500-people-injured.html

The Turkey Whisperer

Sleeping with Jenny’s and Jake’s. I am talking turkeys here. One summer my dad decided we were going to fill the freezer with turkey meat. So he purchased around 20 of the little dumb critters. Yes, turkeys are dumb, but some of the tamest things with a beak and feathers. We kept them in one of the hen houses, and one morning we noticed there were a few missing, though some of their feathers remind. It did not take long to figure that there was a stray feline, or two, serving themselves up a fresh, hot turkey sammich. Of course, there was only one course of action: Flop down an old mattress, and a young Hillbilly in the middle of the hen-house during the night. So around 9pm, and snuggly wrapped in a musty old blanket, I was sleeping with the Jenny’s and Jake’s.

I must say, there were quiet birds at night, but I found out that they were curious as all get out. I awoke not much after the day’s first light. I had the feeling of not only being watched, but being pinned down. Probably like Gulliver felt with all those super midget’s who tied him down. Upon further review, I had every darn turkey either on the mattress, standing, or sitting on me. Not making a sound, but staring. Kind of like Hitchcock’s The Birds….but more like The Shortbus version. This went on for over a week, till the cats stopped sammich shopping. Those darn birds grew up, and then filled up the freezer. I will tell you what we did with the innards of those turkeys another day.

Little Red And The Cycle Of Farm Life

This is one of my favorite yarns, and it is 100% true. When I was a kid, my dad had multiple cows in the pasture. So he purchased a bull, so we could produce our own beef. This bull turned out to be a beast. About 1,800 pounds of white-faced bovine. Of course, we called him Big Red and it did not take long for him to perform his duties. The heifer he dropped anchor in, was a bit small, so when it came time for the calf to drop, she needed help. Of course, my dad had me fish him out. I was no more than 11 or 12 at the time, so, I sank up to my neck when I reached in. I felt, and found his head, and leaned back and yanked him out. Little feller looked just like his dad, only smaller. Momma cow would have nothing to do with Little Red, since he smelled like a Hillbilly. So I bottle fed him from day one. I would spend days during his first summer playing in the field; chasing him and scratching his ears. Over the next 10 months, Little Red grew to be less than half the size as his dad. In other words, thanks to the role of the genetic dice, he was on the fast track for the freezer.

I came home one fall day from school, and was handed a big bowl and told to head out back, I heard the sound of the butcher’s truck, or I should say the sound of the water boiling in its trailer. As soon as I arrived, I saw the butcher pop and drop Little Red, and I was there with the bowl to collect the brains and innards. Some folks asked if I cried, and the answer is no. I knew the rules of farm life, and Little Red’s role was to fill the freezer and my boiler. As for his dad, a beef rancher from Red Bluff spotted him and offered my dad $2,000 for him. He needed him to service his herd. Something tells me Big Red Died a bit differently than his son.