Dog Toys.

 Dog Toys.

 

Sylvia is a disaster looking for a place to happen when it comes to taking apart toys—especially the kind with the extra-large, extra loud squeakers. But just whisper to her that she is a silly dog, and she will do her best to lick your nose or anything else she can reach. Yes, she really is a silly dog. But Thompson does not fight with her over the squeaky toys—well, or much else, for that matter. He lets her get by with just about anything as long as she does not try to get into his dog dish at dinner time. He waits patiently for her to get her bowl before he goes into the hallway to get his bowl. Dinner time for dogs around here is jut a bit amusing. But this morning, the dogs got to go in the truck to McDonalds. Probably won’t do THAT again. Oh, the dogs thought it was just great. But three sausage-egg biscuits cost just a few cents less than $14. Now that is a bit much. Connie said that lunch at What-a-Burger was similar to the kind of expense one would expect at a sit-down restaurant.

 

My phone just dinged to tell me to expect light rain in the next thirty minutes. These phones have all kinds of interesting information. This morning the 360 app told me that Jennifer was in the middle of the Potomac River while Gary was at the Reagan Airport. Interesting. Just a bit later, Jenn let me know that they were at DFW. Whew! But at least Siri was able to tell me when Chase Bank was going to be open. Then the sanitation schedule showed that the trash truck would come today since it did not come on Friday. Yep, very useful little lady, is that Siri.

 

Other than the trip to McDs and the bank, my little white truck took me to Sutherlands for some stuff to go around the back door in the big bathroom. Also, got something that fits under the bottom of the door. Not sure what it is called or exactly how it is to be applied, but it did look as if some instructions were on there. May wait until Lance comes to see about putting it on the door. Jennifer would watch a YouTube video and do it herself! But she is a bunch like Lewis—handy and headstrong.

 

While at Sutherlands, had them load two bags of chicken scratch in my truck. When the lady asked someone to go back and pick up two sacks of scratch, a young man’s voice came back, “WHAT is ‘scratch’?” She looked at me; we both just about choked laughing so hard. She said that while she is not a country girl, she at least knows about chicken feed. The really bad part was the price. At the first of the year, scratch was less than $10 a fifty pound bag. Now it is $18.99 per fifty-pound bag. Dear Hearts, enjoy each one of those golden nuggets ‘cause those jewels are costing a fortune to produce. And that does not even take in to consideration the molting of at least three hens, plus the older hen that has stopped laying. Fourteen hens and only ten lay every other day. Could not afford to have animals on the hill if the hen count was 36 again! Sitting here wondering how many hens Billye Ruth has now!

 

Read a weather forecast somewhere today on one of those sites that tries to cause headaches. It said to expect a longer, colder winter than we have had in years. Well, surprise, surprise, surprise! Not anything more than we would expect—and not even blaming it on the danged Democrats! Ahem.

 

Had some wash going in the machine last night before it was really bedtime. Heard a ding, ding and went to see about the washer. It had maneuvered nearly to the middle of the kitchen floor! Guess ya know that those door stops did not a particle of good. Sigh Anyway, got that sucker shifted back in place and gave it a piece of my mind. Had so much to spare, ya know!

 

Just went out to pick up eggs and see what a hen was yelling about. Seems we were down to just corn giblets in the feeder. Not the good stuff with wheat, milo, and whatever. Yep, hard put to be a good hen when the food is just not all that great. Ah, well. The life of an animal on Dickerson Hill.

 

And just to send you wandering to another subject: Chickens on the Brain?

Going by the ounce, one has to consider that a whole chicken has some lost weight in the bones. But then, just how many ounces of a chicken is its bones? Anyway, the old woman bought two chickens and cooked them. Good chicken, believe it or not. Wondering where we are all going to start buying food when these supermarkets start trying to sell us ostriches instead of turkeys. Years ago, a chicken might weigh two pounds at the market. Now a chicken will weigh in at six pounds! And there’s another difference between this chicken’s carcass and one back 50 years ago: today’s carcass includes more cartilage than bone because the chicken is killed at four weeks. Anyway, the point is, the chicken was much smaller and actually had heavier bones fifty years ago. Oh! And young wives—the ones that actually cook, would be surprised that cutting up a chicken included removing organs and neck bone in a bag inside the chicken. And just so you know, some of us really enjoyed fried chicken gizzards or livers or even a heart.

 

Know about two-cents worth of nothing, so won’t strain your eyesight or shock your socks off.

 

Praise God for life and love. May you rest and find joy! You are loved.