One of the worst situations one can run into while driving a camper is a bridge out. What makes it worse is a bridge out while it’s foggy. Even worse than that is a cow driving the camper while his hoofs are sticky because he decided to blow a giant bubble with his gum. The structural integrity of his bubble was on the shady side so, of course, it exploded everywhere. Pure anxiety nightmare fuel.
Before allowing Mr. C. Cow to attempt to turn an enormous camper around, in the fog, next to a bridge out, we had to pull over and deal with this tacky gum situation. Did you know that wet wipes aren’t ideal cleaning tools for gummy hoofs? They don’t work optimally unless you use an entire container of them.
(*Note To Self* Pick up more wet wipes and less gum.)
After we got Mr. C. all cleaned up it was time to maneuver a humongous recreation vehicle in a space the size of a compact car parking spot. I closed my eyes when he started backing up, turning a tiny bit, moving forward, and so forth for thirty minutes. I might have sweated out of my eyes a little due to how hot it was in the camper. (It wasn’t tears of fear! It was sweat I tell ya! SWEAT!!) Backwards. Turn a little bit. Forward then back again. When was this camper going to get turned around? Will we survive and not fall off the edge?
We survived. There would be no postcard if we hadn’t gotten turned around and went over the edge. Huzzah for living! Mr. C. Cow is an excellent backer upper who, after many years of practice (and a few run over fences) has excelled in his driving skills.
Thankfully, we were on our way down the road, away from the broken bridge and spooky fog. I’m grateful to Mr. C. for his driving but not too grateful for his bubble blowing skills. Maybe he should work on that.
Mr. C. Cow has gotten into knowing everything he can about bugs. I’m not talking about identification, collecting, or even reading a book on the subject. He’s decided to get to know them on a first name basis. Their likes and dislikes. If they prefer coffee to tea. Who does that? Who takes the time to get to know if a spider prefers two lumps or one in their tea? Apparently it’s Mr. C. Cow.
We’ve gotten to a point where I’ve made cookies for a butterfly, gave directions to a beetle as to where the closest gas station is, and discussed the importance of fabric softener use to a caterpillar. Do they even use fabric softener? I understand that they are furry but do they wear sweaters in the fall if it’s chilly out? Do they need to make sure it’s extra soft? I should ask Mr. C. Cow since he is now an expert on this subject.
You know….if you think about it….Mr. C. Cow is the ultimate expert on everything buggy related. Most individuals spend their time studying the science when Mr. C. spends his time studying the individual. Think about how it must feel to a phantom crane fly when they are just trying to say hello but you misunderstand and try to swat them. Or the lady bug that was just trying to take a nap on your bathroom sink but you get freaked out because “OMG! BUG IN MY BATHROOM!!!”. She may have asked permission to be there but you didn’t hear her because she has a tiny voice and you weren’t listening.
We all need to take a page out of Mr. C. Cow’s buggy book and stop judging by looks. Not all spiders want to bite your face. (Face bite bad!!) There is good and bad everywhere. Maybe we need to stop looking for the bad all the time when it comes to the bug world, carefully shake hands…paws…legs…with a spider and ask them how they take their tea.
Yeah….I’ve learned that spiders enjoy a small cup of tea…as long as they don’t fall into it. (Bonus Lesson: Life jackets are needed if you give them a regular sized mug.)
Photos taken by…ME!!! Go Me!
Found this really great website to help you identify awesome insects, bugs, and spiders in your area. Check out Insect Identification!
We dig living in the country. Rolling hills. Dirt roads. Mr. C. Cow owns a pick up truck. What we’re not into is country music. I’m not a big fan of singing about our dirt roads or how my pick up truck makes me slightly more attractive to others. Mr. C. might be, slightly, more interested than my non-interest because I have heard him singing about dirt roads while in the shower. With this said, we just visited a country-western bar.
It wasn’t a planned trip. More like a stop at a gas station next to the bar trip. As I’m pumping gas, I lost track of Mr. C. Cow. When I finished paying, I noticed a cow wearing spurs walk into the bar. I don’t know how many cows own spurs (I didn’t even know Mr. C. had any!) so I had to chase after him.
Having stubby little otter legs, chasing isn’t a quick thing to do. It’s more of a creeping movement rather than a rapid follow. By the time I made it in through the saloon doors, Mr. C. Cow was country line dancing with a duck. If you’ve never seen a duck country line dance with a cow then you haven’t really lived!
I wasn’t too surprised that Mr. C. Cow knew how to country line dance. I’ve seen him shimmy, electric slide, electric boogie, and boogie electric woogie. Country line dancing was right up his alley. The surprising thing was the fact that Mr. C. owned spurs. I didn’t even know he knew what spurs were. We’re talking about someone who thought a ten gallon hat had to hold that many gallons in liquids to earn the name. It doesn’t and my living room rug can show you just where all of the liquid goes. A cow who thought the phrase “Hold Your Horses” was a literal thing. Country line dancing….not a surprise. Spurs….super (and dangerously sharp) surprise.
I’m gong to let Mr. C. Cow have some fun dancing. I’ll just get a drink from the bartender, take a deep breath, and make a mental list of spur rules if he’s going to wear them around. My living room rugs can’t take anymore abuse.
Thirty-seven and a half days ago we were doing pretty good. The birds were singing. No one was licking food out of bowls. Life was great. Until….the whip cream incident.
The day started out as any other, normal, day. We stopped early to gas the camper up. Mr. C. Cow made chocolate chip pancakes with homemade whip cream. I had gotten in my required morning coffee intake. Breakfast was delicious, as usual. Things felt pretty marvelous until I noticed the whip cream bowl on the camper counter…..
Someone wasn’t just putting it on top of breakfast. The majority of this whip cream was not making it onto a dish. Someone was licking it out of the bowl during breakfast. I was horrified! Had Mr. C. Cow reverted to licking food out of a bowl before serving? Were we back to wondering if our food had been cow tongue attacked before it was given to us? Had thirty-seven and a half days of restraint been destroyed by a fluffy pancake topping?
I was apprehensive at the thought of having to pull out the interrogation lamps. Making Mr. C. sweat it out under the lights while I asked him how many dishes he had licked before serving did not sound like the normal day that we had started out with. Was all of our progress back to zero?
Before I had a chance to get out the questioning chair, Mr. C. started cleaning up the dishes from breakfast. He noticed I was staring at the whip cream bowl with a mixture of horror and sadness on my face. As I opened my mouth, Mr. C. Cow produced a spoon that he had used to eat the whip cream. No one had licked the bowl. No one had used a spatula to shovel food into their mouth. A spoon, not used more than once, had been used to eat. Double dipping had not happened. Our thirty-seven and a half days were safe. So was our appetites.
Lesson learned….sometimes you need to not jump to conclusions before you know all of the facts. Trust in your friends. Even if it involves breakfast.
Photo taken by me.
Actual photo of whip cream that we made. No one double dipped into the bowl. Huzzah!
We’ve been super busy around the house as of late. Mr. C. Cow has been redecorating the kitchen as well as helping Marslean study for her pony school tests. His idea of studying involves asking questions like “How many carrots can you eat in one minute if you’re unquestionably starving because you skipped breakfast?”. While I do not feel that this is a legitimate math question, Mr. C. feels that it is an important answer to know. To humor him, Marslean challenged him to field test the problem. Our current solution is six.
While Mr. C. Cow and Marslean have been studying, I’ve been dealing with a peacock problem named “Ervin”. Ervin has been staying with us, with permission from Marslean, while his condo is being remodeled. I’m all for helping out a friend in need but Ervin hasn’t learned how to pick up his towels from the floor after showering. I’ve also had a problem with him leaving feathers all over the living room. Hopefully his remodeling will not drag on much longer. There are only so many times I can pick feathers out of a decorative bowl of hard candy before it will drive me to insanity.
Speaking of insanity, just last week while I was grocery shopping, I watched someone buy an entire cart full of kale. As I waited patiently to buy some, they took every last piece they could get their hands out and wiped out the entire supply. When the produce stock guy came back he stood in the way, calmly waited for the kale stock to be refilled, then took all of that as well. Who fills an entire cart full of kale? Who needs that much kale? I only wanted a pound of the stuff and I felt that I was muscled out of my greens. The world is a strange place!
Strange shopping aside, we have a long, three-day weekend coming up! Bishop is planning on BBQ-ing some of those math problem carrots, Marslean is going to take a break from studying, and Mr. C. Cow (hopefully) will have our kitchen remodel finished.
Spring has sprung. I’m not sure if it sprung a leak or sprung into action but it had arrived. With the new season landing it has brought along nicer weather and a hint of buds among the trees. Spring has also brought along the required cleaning of the camper. This task lies, mostly, on my shoulders as Mr. C. Cow is more of a mess maker and not a mess cleaner. I don’t mind because it beats having to tell a cow that a pair of cowboy boots do not go in a dishwasher.
To keep Mr. C. occupied, I sent him off to take pictures to share with all of you for todays postcard. I know that I can always trust him to take wonderful photos to share with all of you.
While he was gallivanting around nature, I was elbows deep in soapy water. I was tackling the task of washing five tons of cups I found under Mr. C. Cow’s bed. I’m not exactly sure how they ended up there or how they all fit but it was a monstrous activity. Having a glass of water next to your bed at night is a wonderful idea but forgetting about it after it rolls under your bed is not so great. This explains why I could never find any in the cupboard.
My next undertaking was something I like to call “How many empty orange juice containers can you fit in a fridge crisper drawer?”. If you guessed “fifteen” then you should get a prize. I was guessing only two but I was WAY OFF. I’m not sure why Mr. C. Cow feels the need to throw empty containers in a fridge drawer but he must have some sort of reasoning. Maybe he thinks it’s an empty container drawer that magically empties itself. Who knows!!
When I got to the laundry, I was expecting a pile of blankets with hoof prints and jelly all over them. (Mr. C. has a habit of eating jelly sandwiches in bed). To my surprise there was no laundry to do. All of our clothes were hung up in the closets. The blankets were nicely folded and placed on top of the dryer. Mr. C. Cow even washed his oversized floppy hat and hung it up to dry. I was floored! No…literally….I was so shocked I had to lay down on the floor while feelings of excitement passed. There were no bubbles covering the floor due to the overuse of soap. The jelly stains on Mr. C.’s blankets were eradicated. I was so happy I had little tears of joy!
When Mr. C. Cow came back I gave him the biggest hug one of my size can give a cow. He moo’d in confusion until I explained how important he was to me. It’s not just the laundry nor the postcard photo taking that makes Mr. C. important. What makes him an important part of my life is the fact that, jelly stains aside, he’s always there to help without anyone asking. That’s what friendship is all about. Helping each other out.
Maybe next Spring I’ll have him help me with the dishes. Only if he’s the one to clean all the cups out from under his bed.
I have been feeling really down lately. Not exactly sure why I was all sorts of blue. We were stocked full of martini olives. The camper had a full tank of gas. Mr. C. Cow hadn’t chewed on any of our hand towels in the bathroom lately. Life has been pretty good.
Mr. C. Cow has noticed that I’ve been sad a lot. When I’m sad it makes him sad. This makes me sadder. It’s a vicious cycle of unhappiness filled with cow and otter tears. Instead of swimming around in his own cow tears, Mr. C. Cow decided that it was his job to cheer me up.
When it comes to cheering an individual up there is no one better than my best cow friend/family in the world. He knows what everyone needs when they need a bit of happiness in their life. If cotton candy makes you smile then he’ll fill an entire tractor-trailer full of the stuff just to see you do it. Music and dancing are easy to come by if that makes you grin because he’s there playing three instruments at the same time while dancing just to kick the sad out the door.
What could he do to put a little joy in my life. Worlds largest cocktail glass? One cow parade complete with a float? Pizza in the shape of a heart? Mr. C. Cow knows me better than anyone I know. He knows that the way to make me smile is when he draws me a picture.
A picture of our little family unit makes me smile. These are my peeps. My unit of support. I love each and every one of you guys and I love you Mr. C. Cow for picking me up out of the funk and making me happy again.