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.
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.
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 know that many of you are asking “Well…what happened on Valentine’s Day?”. Another question is “Did Mr. C. Cow achieve a successful showing of love without making things explode?”. I would like to inform all of you that nothing exploded. For those of you that are disappointed in no detonations I would like to educate you with the knowledge that a marshmallow exploded in a microwave will not only increase in size but catch on fire. I would fill you in on the details of this mishap but it’s for another day. (Also…Mr. C. Cow is not over the trauma of combustible marshmallows.)
Everything went exceedingly well this year. I was majorly distressed that he might go overboard with such items as paper heart drops from the sky (paper cut danger zone), hiring a professional flame baton dancing ostrich (seriously….fire hazard), or going low-key (in his mind) and covering our equipment companies scissor lift in chocolate. My anxiety was not (finally) needed and things were fantastic.
There was a real picnic blanket that was not the sheet taken off of one of our beds. The only thing that was on fire was the spicy jalapeño appetizer Mr. C. Cow created. Instead of anything involving mayhem, explosions, and general confusion we were treated to wine, cheese, and an amazing view. Mr. C. Cow not only showed his love but he managed to show it successfully without any injury to individual or property. I call this a love win!
We shouldn’t take one day to show the love we have to others. As a family unit we tell each other each day that we care. Mr. C. Cow lets us know he is devoted to his clan by showing us an incredible day. No fires. No explosions to put out. No mess.
Valentine’s day is tomorrow and Mr. C. Cow is on a “mission of love”. When I say “mission of love”, I’m talking about showering friends and family with over-the-top gifts of fondness. Last year he set up a million heart-shaped balloon drop from the equipment company ceiling when Bishop walked into work. This proved to be less of an emotional showcase of caring and more of a loud balloon popping mess. Not only were there not nearly a million heart shaped balloons, they started exploding into a fury of noise when they would hit the equipment.
Bulldozer + Balloon = Kerplow
Forklift + Balloon = Kablooooeee
After the melee was over we only had to calm Bishop down, clean up popped balloons, and fix the forklift. If you don’t understand how a balloon can screw up a forklift then you’ve never had one pop in an engine compartment.
This year I’m helping Mr. C. Cow scale down his appreciation display into something more manageable. After debating the pros and cons of a million doves holding Valentine’s in their beaks, we settled on a family picnic. We’ll take the camper out to an enchanting location, pack something delicious, and have fun together. No loud, exploding decorations, no broken forklifts, no angry polar bears named Bishop.
Mr. C. Cow is attempting to pack an entire fifty layer red velvet cake in the picnic basket. I’m trying to explain that this is something we like to call “overkill” but he’s not buying it. He keeps mumbling something about “not killing a cake” and “How does one overkill cake?”. I’ll let you know on Valentine’s day if our plan of keeping it amour simple goes off without a hitch.
Mr. C. Cow thought it a marvelous idea to inform me that he was holding a dinner party. My first response was to ask why we needed to hold a dinner party after we had held multiple parties though the holiday season. This past November through the first of January was nothing but appetizers, cocktails, and elegant dishes. Why did we need to hold a feast so soon after the holidays? Mr. C. Cow said it was because he wanted to wear a cummerbund. I don’t think he knows what a cummerbund is. I am assuming that he thinks it involves butter and cinnamon.
This declaration of banquet festivities puts me on the spot. I have to go and purchase all of the ingredients to make the food as well as the drinks for everyone to enjoy. After that is done I have to clean the entire house. I’m not talking a quick sweep and go but a full blown cleaning. The kitchen has to be spotless. Mr. C. Cow’s hoof prints have to be washed off of the dinning room ceiling. On top of the cleaning I have to inform Bishop that Mr. C. Cow is on a cummerbund mission and we have to throw a party that involves toothpicks holding together tiny foods. I will have to take our lil’ cow friend to buy the cummerbund he desires because has no clue what one is.
When Mr. C. Cow was properly introduced to a cummerbund he didn’t seem as thrilled as I thought he would be to wear it. He loved its lime green with purple stars design and the fit was good. I think Mr. C. thought he would look less like a waiter and more like an international spy in it. I’m hoping he’s not planning on trying to international-cow-of- mystery spy shop anytime soon.
As for the dinner party, it went surprisingly well. No one ate any of the toothpicks holding the tiny foods together. There were no cocktails spilled on the couch. I had a pleasant time and a clean house so I couldn’t complain. If Mr. C. Cow wants to throw another shindig in the (distant) future I’m all for it. Can’t let his lime green, purple star cummerbund sit in the closet too long.
Mr. C. Cow was on the phone yesterday and all I could hear him talk about was “the craft scene”. I wasn’t trying to listen in or anything. He sometimes makes it hard to not overhear his conversations because he’s a loud telephone talker. What was a “craft scene”? Is that where all the hip kids go to knit hats and do the origami thing? Why am I always the last to know about something neato?
It wasn’t until later on during the day that I found out “the craft scene” had nothing to do with making throw pillows or boxes out of popsicle sticks. Mr. C. Cow was talking about craft beer. I should have known better because the last time Mr. C. used glue he got his hoofs stuck together.
Mr. C. Cow’s telephone conversation got me thinking about combining crafts with craft beer. Make marionette puppets out of cardboard tubes while having a pint. Maybe sip on a stout while making a solar system out of styrofoam balls. (Crafty and educational!) As long as we make sure Mr. C. doesn’t glue his hoofs to a beer glass it might be entertaining!
Next time we go to a brewery I’m taking my arts and crafts kit with us. Maybe others would appreciate making yarn dolls.