Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Oh, What a Night

Have I mentioned that I hate animals? Cuz today reminded me of that little tidbit. I pulled into the driveway to the scene of a loose coonhound chasing chickens and, lying dead on the porch, evidence that she was pretty good at it. Calvin stopped the current chase down with one wild chase down of his own. After unloading and putting away groceries, we commenced to doing farm chores, since Daddy was at his first Cross Country meet and wouldn't be home until after dark. When the boys brought me eight multi-colored eggs from the nesting boxes, I almost forgave the chickens for their transgressions.
Then, we began the impossible task of catching the escaped coon hound so he couldn't take out any more egg-layers.

To make a long story short, we tried, we failed. We tried again. And again. An hour and a half later, Reed, Max and I were loudly yelling, dancing, and driving dump trucks to create a distraction while Calvin, dressed up "as a plant" with leaves on his head, army crawled over toward the cage we'd lured the dog into. He would pause every time she stopped eating our bait and then slither closer. He was almost to his target--the door to the cage--when a dancing dump truck driver moved too closely and spooked her. This was the final attempt. It was 7:35 and we hadn't even had supper yet. So, we trekked inside for quick PBJ and bed time.

I just talked to Ryan on his way home and filled him in on what awaits him. It's 10:00. He's threatening the shotgun for that dog. If I would've known that was a viable option, I coulda saved him some time...

I Mean Business

This post may land me a call to DFS, but if they do take my kids - one in particular - I'm sure it won't take long before they come back apologizing that my actions were completely justifiable.

We were driving home and I was talking to my sister on the phone. When I hit the point of the drive where I lose cell service, I pulled over and put it in park. We were on the rarely-traveled gravel less than a mile from our house. A few members of the peanut gallery began whining that they wanted to go home and how much longer would I be on the phone and why did we have to stop. I warned them to shut up or else please be quiet. Twice. Then, Mr. Wild rudely said, "I wish I could just walk home!" So, I told him to do it. He immediately protested. I insisted he get out of the car, then finished the convo with my sister, which at this point was just me describing what he was doing outside (not walking, btw) and her laughing hysterically. When I hung up, I got out of the van and told him that he would have to walk to the intersection of the next gravel road (about 200 meters ahead) and then he could get in and try again. I drove ahead of him, close enough that he could see me, but far enough that he couldn't trip and get run over by me. He ran frantically, crying the whole way. I was feeling pretty bad when we reached the intersection, because I knew the experience had scared him. When he got in the car, I drove on, giving a gentle explanation of how he had to start listening and obeying and how sometimes mom had to do things to show that she is serious. I apologized for scaring him and summarized by asking, "But you have to know who the boss is. I am the boss. Who is not the boss?" In true form, he replied in a snarky tone, "Max." We were just a hill away from home at this point, so I screeched the brakes and ordered him again, "Get out!" He cried and all-but refused to, but eventually he had no choice. And this is what I watched in my rear view mirror as we creeped over the final hill to our home. Should I have been driving and taking pictures of my terrified tyrant? In the name of future blackmail pictures, I say yes!